The World Behind the World: Part VI
Title: The World Behind the World: Part VI
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean; Sparrington
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I have no claim on POTC or the lovely characters who populate it, even if it seems that James Norrington has, somewhat disconcertingly, made himself quite at home in my head with no apparent plans to leave. Jack Sparrow's habit dropping by regularly, as he has for years now, probably doesn't help.
Summary: Consider this to be shamelessly fabricated backstory and subtext for the end of COTBP, with a way to bring in Davy Jones and the others without actually having to go through the other two films. James' worldview has been shaken and the only person he can really discuss it with is a certain pirate. Said pirate persuades him to expand his career options. Bantering abounds.
Beta: The right honorable Porridgebird.
“Douse the lamps.”
Slowly, every light on the Black Pearl was snuffed out.
James’ composure lasted for approximately five minutes (thankfully long enough for Will and his boat to be just out of earshot) before a burst of not-quite-stifled laughter escaped him. It escalated quickly despite his attempts to contain it.
Jack lowered his spyglass and turned to glare at him. “What?”
For a moment, James could only wave a hand in a vague sort of gesture as he laughed further, trying desperately to catch his breath.
If it didn’t bring such fetching color and brightness to the ex-commodore’s face, Jack might have been more offended.
At last, James managed to pull himself together a bit. “The mere idea--hah---the mere idea of the phrase ‘Jack Sparrow sent me to settle his debt’ being potentially life-saving...” He laughed again, a bit helplessly.
Jack scowled, but as James was forced to lean against the mast to keep from falling over, the dark expression faltered quickly. “Damn it, James,” he muttered, with a hint of reluctant affection, then added in a louder and more official voice, “As your captain, I am frankly ashamed of your lack of composure.”
James pulled himself fully upright, shooting him a charming, challenging, lop-sided smile that made the pirate want to take him below deck immediately. Then, in that oh-so-perfect Dutch accent and with utterly unconvincing contrition, James said, “My sincerest apologies, Captain.” He then stepped closer, standing just behind Jack’s left shoulder, pulled a spyglass from his coat and aimed it at the ship Will Turner was rowing toward.
Jack raised his own glass again, and they both watched in silence; although Jack heard the James’ sharp intake of breath when the Flying Dutchman erupted from the depths and halted alongside the wrecked vessel. The Dutchman was a decadent horror awash in green: the very picture of corruption. And yet...
James found himself seeing past the grotesque decorations, ignoring the ship’s manifestation of its captain’s warped soul and seeing the ship herself, and her potential: the lines of her, the balance of power and speed in her design.
Sparing James a glance, Jack was mildly disconcerted to see the intense look of anticipation and awe on the ex-commodore’s face. “See something you like, love?”
“Mayhap.” James lowered his spyglass slowly. “That is quite a remarkable ship.”
“Goes well with your eyes. The sails anyway. The rest of it isn’t exactly your usual preference, I suspect.”
James hesitated. “The decor, I admit, is not to my tastes, but that is something to do with her captain, is it not?”
“Most likely. I don’t recall her having half so many protrusions growing off of her the first time we met.” Jack squinted a bit through his spyglass as some fire caught his eye. “Will’s found lamp oil. It seems Jones’ fishy fiends are not wholly fire-proof.”
James lifted his own glass again, struggling for a moment to see what on earth Jack was talking about. Catching sight of the beastly crewmen of the Dutchman, James grimaced, feeling a sensation of cold rush down his spine. “Dreadful. Is that one a shark?”
“Partially,” Jack murmured.
They both winced in unison when Will was clouted and knocked out.
In silence, they watched him taken aboard with the other ‘survivors’ as he slowly regained consciousness.
After a few minutes, James chuckled. “He just said it. I recognize that distinct, stricken pause of absolute disbelief in the sudden stillness of captain and crew.”
“Bastard.”
Then they fell abruptly silent again as Jones turned and seemed to stare right at them. As both men lowered their spyglasses, they winced upon seeing Captain Jones in all his irate, tentacled glory standing immediately in front of them--or, at least, in front of Jack. James quietly folded his spyglass and put it away, not taking his eyes off of Jones, and already preparing to draw his sword at a moment’s notice.
Quietly, Jack said, “Oh.”
“Of all men to try and repay their debt early, I’d not expect it of you, Jack Sparrow.”
“Captain,” Jack corrected tentatively, “still captain.”
“Aye. Fer now,” Jones sneered. “But not within two more moons, when you belong to me.”
James’ eyes narrowed and he straightened his shoulders, his stance unconsciously bristling with naval-bred authority and cold anger.
Jones took notice of him for the first time, looking him over shrewdly and then focusing intently on his face. “You look familiar, sailor.” His grin was unpleasant. “Have I nearly missed you in the past, on your way to the grave?”
“Not that I was aware of, although I’ve had my share of near-misses,” James said quietly, his Dutch persona abandoned and steely, precise English drawl in use to full effect. “You may have met men I have left for your collection, however; I am the other man in these waters, aside from you, who is called by pirates ‘the Devil Himself’.”
Jack glanced around with a slightly panicked look, but noted that his crew was busy making noise as Jones’ crew materialized aboard the Pearl in a most unsettling fashion.
“Are ye now?” Throwing his head back, Jones laughed. “I’m surprised then that Jack didn’t offer you instead of the boy, to ‘settle his debt’--a devil for a devil.” He rounded on Jack again, who grinned reflexively. “One soul is not equal in worth to another.”
“Ah, so we’ve established that my proposal is sound in principal and now we’re just haggling over price.” Jack’s grin brightened but his eyes remained cold, with a flicker of ire as he leaned a bit toward James. “I decided to offer you a bargain. You’ve plenty of devils, albeit none so fine as my own.” He rested a hand on James’ chest absently, then raised it again in a fluttering gesture. “But the whelp currently aboard your ship outshines us both.”
Jones hesitated, momentarily glancing back and forth between the two men warily. “Price?” A low pop accentuated the statement.
“Just how many souls do you think my soul is worth?” Jack challenged, low and with every bit of dramatic air he could muster up.
This gave Davy Jones pause for a few moments, then he smirked very smugly and said, “One hundred souls.” He stepped around Jack’s side: the one not occupied by James. “Or the devil at your side. Either one to be delivered within three days, or not at all, in which case you’re to repay as previously agreed.”
Both men tensed visibly, not looking at each other as they turned to keep track of Jones. One of Jack’s hands, formerly frozen mid-gesture as Jones spoke, began fidgeting: Jack adjusting his rings, looking as though he were fondling an invisible coin as his brain began whirling, scheming and calculating. James was more still, his gaze level and clear, one hand resting on the grip of his sword, his thumb tracing the familiar gold inlay in a slow, seemingly absent-minded manner.
“Alright then,” Jack said finally, starting to turn, apparently headed for the helm, heedless of how James remained unmoving. “Just bring the whelp back and we’ll be on our way-”
“The boy stays.”
Jack froze mid-step, spun on his heel and swayed to a stop, facing Jones again and looking a bit stricken and frazzled for good measure. “Wot?”
“Consider him a good faith payment,” Jones explained, maliciously amused. “Either one, or ninety-nine more to go.”
Jones’ grotesque crew laughed.
Jack swayed closer. “Have you not met Will Turner?” With the air of a man selling religious relics, or juicy gossip, or perhaps some sort of questionable cure-all, he described, “Noble, heroic, a terrific soprano--worth at least four, maybe four and a half. And did I happen to mention: he’s in love.” He leaned in a little closer and widened his eyes, reassuring, “Wiv a girl.” Jack took on a more contemplative air, circling behind Jones. “Due to be married--betrothed. Dividing him from her and her from him, would only be half as cruel as actually allowing them to be joined in holy matrimony.” Jack’s grin was darkly wheedling. “Ay?”
For a moment, Jones’ eyes seemed distant, a hint of longing in their gaze, but then he snapped out of it, positively bristling. “I keep the boy. Either ninety-nine souls, or that of the other Devil Himself,” Jones growled. Then he turned, mocking again. “But I wonder, Sparrow: either way, can ye live with this? Can ye condemn an innocent man, a friend, to a lifetime of servitude in your name while you roam free?”
Over Jones’ shoulder, Jack saw James roll his eyes and resisted, just for the briefest of moments, the urge to laugh hysterically. Instead he looked momentarily thoughtful and then quickly, brusquely replied, “Yep. I’m good wiv it.” He appeared outright cheerful about it. “Shall we seal it in blood--er--ink?” He held out his hand.
Davy Jones took hold of it with his own, which consisted mostly of tentacle, Jack made a noise of wordless, shocked disgust.
“Three days,” Jones growled, and tugged away firmly.
His crew echoed the promise and vanished with him.
Gibbs appeared at Jack’s side. “Cap’n.” He cleared his throat, and got rid of the lingering squeakiness of unease in his voice. “T’was a bit hard to hear all that, what with bein’ threatened by a man part puffer-fish hissin’ in my ear, but it sounded like the devil just asked you to bring him the devil.” He glanced tentatively at James, who had moved to the railing and was staring after the retreating Dutchman as he had once watched the escaping Interceptor one day long ago.
“I feel sullied and unusual,” Jack murmured, sounding lost, then he shook his head to clear it, causing Gibbs to take a half-step back to avoid losing an eye to one of his captain’s ornaments. “That he did, mate, or else we go about collecting ourselves ninety-nine souls.”
“And where exactly would ye be harvestin’ those, Jack?” Gibbs asked, sarcastic.
“Fortunately, he was mum as to the condition in which these souls need be,” Jack said solemnly.
Gibbs gave a tired, pained sort of smile of relief. “Tortuga?”
Jack wiped his slime-covered hand across Gibbs’ shirt. “Tortuga,” he agreed, and stepped away as Gibbs began shouting orders. He finished wiping his hand on the end of his sash and leaned against the railing beside James, waiting for the taller man to speak first.
“He is not, sad to say, actually stupid,” James said quietly.
“Not as much as we might’ve hoped for,” Jack concurred. He stared out across the water as the Dutchman vanished into the fog. After a long moment he added in firm, unyielding tones, “He can’t have you.”
His eyes downcast for a thoughtful moment and his brow knit in slight bemusement, James took a breath, then met Jack’s gaze searchingly, and was surprised to see a burning hint of anger (not aimed at him) in the depths of Jack’s pitch-black eyes. He nodded, not quite able to find words, and reached out to lose his hand in Jack’s hair, until he wrapped it loosely around the pirate’s nape, his long fingers gently massaging the stiff muscles there.
Jack gave a near-silent sigh of relief and leaned back into the touch like a cat, his head drooping forward just a little and his eyelids fluttering, then falling shut as the tension in his neck muscles began to melt away.
“That said, I believe that--all things considered--my presence aboard his ship could be a boon to us,” James said softly.
Tension returned abruptly. “No.”
“It would hardly be permanent. And you expressed sincere belief that William could manage it-”
“No, Jamie.” Jack reached out without looking and seized the collar of James’ coat, tugging sharply to bring him closer. Then Jack half-opened his eyes and looked at James sidelong. “Will has his father to help him escape.”
“And I have this,” James murmured, lifting his left wrist, displaying the small charm on the chain wrapped around it.
Jack inhaled slowly. “Do you know one thing he’s particularly infamous for, love?” Before James could guess or comment, Jack shook his head a little and held up his free hand in a silencing gesture. “He’s known for killing one’s lover in front of one. Alright? He enjoys freeing people of that certain ‘dreadful bond’ inspired by affection and--and-” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “Even if I was to give you over, or you offering yourself would be worse, there’s a very good chance that you’d not even get so far as to make it aboard that great grave ship of his, savvy?”
James relaxed, his regard softening visibly. “I see.” His hand still on Jack’s nape loosened, his fingertips stroking up and down. “My apologies, then.” He looked as though he wanted to lean in closer, but glanced sidelong toward the crew.
“‘S not like they’ve not worked it out yet,” Jack muttered.
A slightly sheepish, lopsided little smile graced James’ lips as he turned his attention to Jack again. “I do suppose that ‘obvious’ would be something of an understatement.”
Jack turned to face James, whilst pulling the ex-commodore’s collar so that James in turn also turned to face him. Then the pirate stepped closer and grinned wickedly. “Liberatin’, innit?”
James’ smile became a smirk, but his gaze remained warm. “I gather that you are insinuating your ship’s superiority to many a naval vessel in that regard.”
“Aye. Unless you’ve been running things very differently indeed.”
The ex-commodore could not help but chuckle. “You know I did not. As I recall, you had the opportunity to witness me at work very early in our acquaintance.”
“And which do you prefer?”
Hesitating slightly, James let his hand drift from the nape of Jack’s neck to trail his fingers along the underside of Jack’s jaw. “My life before you entered it, and my life after, cannot be compared.” He looked down at the deck, through the narrow gap between their bodies, and smiled a very small, not-quite-shy smile. “Different worlds.”
“Aye. Both still open to you,” Jack murmured.
“No. Not both.” James again looked out over the water, in the general direction of the Flying Dutchman. His voice was soft, philosophical and calm. “I believe that I reached a point of no return at some point between meeting your goddess sea-witch and tonight.”
“You want the ship.” Jack’s voice was both satisfied and slightly taunting.
“I am less than fond of those who use cruelty to manage their crew and maintain their position. That he should be responsible for collecting the souls of the dead for transport from the other side...” James shook his head slowly. “That is not how the world should be.” And it is within my power, this time, to change it.
“He didn’t get into his position for the sake of that task, but for another,” Jack pointed out. “And he lost that.”
“And how did that happen?” James murmured.
“He fell in love with Calypso, and she’s the sea.”
James considered this. “She was not waiting for him.”
“Aye. Time an’ tide never do. And he’s not forgiven her.”
“Then he does not deserve her,” James said softly. “As a sailor he should know that to love the sea is impossible if one seeks to conquer it.”
Jack felt a distinct tingle down his spine. It was dangerous, he knew, that James could cause it; yet Jack could not complain, even if he wanted to. “He’s conquered the both of them.” He mimicked Jones’ accent briefly, adding, “Fer now.”
“Then he must be miserable.”
“Aye.” He pulled James still closer, until their hips met. “So you thus wish to put him out of his misery, noble man that you are... and you want his ship.”
James took on a solemnly thoughtful expression, channeling his naval self, and all of its inherent sarcastic airs, once more. “She is a fine ship,” he mused airily.
“Mine’s better,” Jack muttered.
“I do believe that the Black Pearl’s current captain is far better suited to her than I would ever be.”
“Good to hear, love.” Still using his hold on James’ collar to steer, Jack pulled James’ head down closer to his.
“For all that you still owe me a ship,” James reminded, his lips a breath away from Jack’s.
Jack gave a low, quiet laugh and kissed him.
James’ shoulders stiffened a bit when a few members of the crew behind them offered wolf-whistles and catcalls, but still responded to the kiss without hesitation, his mouth pliant and eager against Jack’s. His lips curling for a moment into a smirk, Jack slipped one hand down to cup James’ arse and squeezed firmly, earning a small startled noise from the ex-commodore. Then, however, James decided to get even, taking hold of Jack’s hips, pressing a knee between Jack’s legs and giving a single maddeningly slow grind. Jack shuddered a little.
The whistling increased threefold, and Jack finally broke away. “Evil man.”
“Yes.” James kept his voice low so as not to have to try and recall how to put on an accent. “Which is why I shall now commandeer you, take you to your cabin, and show you exactly how evil.”
Jack’s only reply was a growl before dragging James across the deck.
James let him, his smile wide and smugly pleased. “Or you can commandeer the ex-commodore, that works too.” The sound of the door slamming behind him cut off the sounds of their increasingly enthusiastic audience.
Elizabeth was feeling quite proud of herself, having finally persuaded the merchant ship upon she had stowed away that the vengeful spirit in her wedding dress wanted them to dock in Tortuga.
And now, just three days after her arrival, the Black Pearl had docked for supplies.
She immediately began hunting for Jack Sparrow, or other familiar faces from his crew; however, because she was in disguise, she had not in the least expected any people of interest to spot her before she spotted them.
Therefore, she jumped nearly three feet in the air upon hearing a loud, baritone drawl immediately behind her call, “Elizabeth Swann,” in oh-so-superior tones.
She spun with sword half-drawn, then stopped, her eyes becoming very wide.
Leaning against the tavern wall, looking tall and lean and piratical--in fine clothes made less fine by time spent at sea, with long brown hair tied in a sailor’s queue, wearing both a day’s stubble and a rather amused smirk on his face--was none other than James the Bloody Devil Himself Norrington. “You look well,” he mused.
“And you do not look surprised to see me.” She reluctantly re-sheathed her sword. “James.”
“I know you too well.” He straightened from his most undignified slouch and shed his more roguish airs as he took one of her hands in both of his. “I am pleased to see you in one piece,” he said solemnly, concern showing on his lightly creased brow.
Elizabeth opened her mouth to ask one of the many questions spinning through her mind, but his civility was enough to send a pang of homesickness and despair through her for a moment. Her voice faltered and she looked at the ground. “My God, James, it’s gone all wrong.” She covered her eyes with her free hand. Perhaps she should have gotten more sleep, in her days waiting for word of Jack Sparrow, but she had not been able to find any place sufficiently safe for any suitable amount of time. It was wearing on her.
James hesitated, squeezing her hand. “I am sorry.”
She only shook her head, taking a deep breath to try and get herself back under control. “Is Will with you?”
A distinctly uneasy, apologetic look crossed James’ features. “I...” He gulped, looking away. “Not at the moment, but we have a plan.”
Elizabeth’s brow furrowed. “You’re really with the Black Pearl.” She sounded disbelieving, but not shocked, and gave a low, bitter laugh. “Has Hell frozen over? Is this a month of blue moons?”
“I have not noticed any lunar irregularities, nor have I met anyone from Hell recently who might have offered me a weather report,” James drawled.
Elizabeth giggled, helplessly, inching her just a little further away from a potential nervous breakdown. She looked up at him as she wiped her eyes. “You look...” She glanced over his clothes for a moment and her lips quirked in a bemused half-smile. “Disreputable, but otherwise well, James. Are you really first mate?”
“I am. For now.” James released her hand and bowed theatrically, slipping into his Dutch accent once more. “The rest of the Pearl’s crew, however, knows me as a Dutchman called James Stuart.”
Her eyes widening, Elizabeth shook her head in further disbelief. “Who are you and what have you done with the naval man I once knew, James Norrington?”
James stood up straight again, his eyes downcast and the cynical ghost of a smile on his lips. “I am still him, but I have adapted to a different world.” When he saw her confusion, he gave her a more reassuring smile. “Cursed pirates. Skeletons by moonlight. It altered my perspective.” He glanced sidelong down the alley toward the tavern door. “As did discussing the matter with a certain pirate.”
Elizabeth stepped toward him, taking his arm and tugging him toward the door. “One day soon, James, you must tell me how it all happened. I have been most dreadfully curious ever since Will explained to me what happened in his smithy the night that you vanished.”
He followed, instinctively the gentleman once more, leading her into the tavern. “And what have you theorized, without any way to satiate your curiosity until now?”
“That you are far more devious than I could have ever expected, and that you must be after something. I admit, however, that I’ve no idea what you might be hunting that Jack Sparrow could potentially lead you to.”
James’ smile was enigmatic. “I am trying to find a place for myself in a world with more magic and heathen gods in it than I could have ever expected, and I want to prevent men like Hector Barbossa and Lord Cutler Beckett from getting their hands on certain items of incredible power. The former of the two men may be dead, but the latter...” He gestured toward Elizabeth’s garb as if to illustrate. “He still tends to cause problems. And now, he is after something that both I and Jack Sparrow plan on preventing him from reaching.”
“He only had the audacity to go after it, however, once you left Port Royal,” Elizabeth said softly.
James hesitated visibly. “I never intended-”
“I know,” she interrupted. “I know, James. My father has explained that you’ve been keeping Beckett at bay as long as you could.”
James nodded slowly. “Yes.” Then he looked up, and met Jack Sparrow’s gaze from across the room.
Jack had noticed them both as soon as they had walked in: Elizabeth hanging off of his arm like a fine aristocratic young woman, despite her masculine costume, and James moving with similar nobility, smiling in a soft and gentlemanly manner as she visibly half-teased and half-pried answers out of him. Jack was unsettled by the flare of jealousy that flashed through his brain momentarily, but blinked it away and ordered two more tankards of rum from a passing bar wench.
He watched James’ face fall slightly as Elizabeth said something apparently guilt-inducing, and watched James take on a reassured look when Elizabeth stopped him explaining. Then Jack’s breath caught as James looked up and met his gaze from across the room: the ex-commodore’s angular features lighting up with a sincere, involuntary bit of a smile. Jack shot the pair of them a thoroughly unwholesome grin as they approached.
“Elizabeth,” Jack greeted, with smug lack of surprise, taking one of her hands and pulling her away from James. He looked her up and down in a measuring fashion. “Strange, is it not, how often you seem to wind up in men’s clothes whilst in the company of both I an’ James. I personally think it should be a dress or nothing.” He leered a little. “I happen to have no dress aboard the Pearl...”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes.
“Jack,” James warned, but there was not actual scolding in it.
“Jealous, love?” Jack leered at James with a bit more heat.
The tips of James’ ears turned a light shade of pink, but he then raised his eyebrows and perfectly deadpanned, “As though you, my dearest, can talk of jealousy.”
Jack’s eyes widened and for a brief moment he was utterly stunned.
And so, it seemed, was Elizabeth, who was looking between the two men with her mouth slightly open. “Excuse me?” she squeaked, very quietly.
Smirking just a little, James did not so much as glance away from Jack’s eyes. “I believe I have just rendered Jack Sparrow temporarily speechless. Enjoy this brief respite.”
Elizabeth blinked, then held up a hand. “Yes, but you...you were joking?”
“No, I was not, which is precisely why he is still gaping,” James explained.
At this point, Elizabeth was speechless, too.
After a few moments, Jack slowly began to regain the ability to think. He had never considered, even for a moment, that James would so unhesitatingly reveal that little fact, especially to Elizabeth of all people, and in such a casual, challenging fashion. Jack felt very warm all of a sudden. “James Norrington, what has this world behind the world done to you?” the pirate mused at last, a brilliant smile breaking across his features.
James merely chuckled and glanced at Elizabeth curiously, smiling to see her still stunned and wide-eyed. He passed her a tankard of rum.
She took it absently. “I think that I need to sit down for a moment,” she murmured, pulling out a chair at Jack’s table and dropping into it. She stared at James blankly when he sat down across from her, at Jack’s right hand. “So you...the two of you...” She glanced between them, unable to complete the sentence.
“Yes,” James said simply.
Considering this, she glanced at Jack again, her brow contracting. “This is not...somehow a distraction of an elaborate sort to try and distract me from inquiring about the whereabouts of my betrothed?”
Jack and James exchanged looks.
“I suppose it might be that as well,” Jack mused. “Very nice, James.”
“Not altogether intentionally,” James assured.
“What has happened to Will?” Elizabeth asked, her eyes narrowing shrewdly as she held Jack’s gaze.
James kept his eyes downcast as Jack took on a lamenting air and said, “Darling, I am truly unhappy to have to tell you this, but--through an unfortunate and entirely unforeseeable series of circumstances having nothing at all whatsoever to do with me--dear William has been press-ganged into joining Davy Jones’ crew.”
Elizabeth’s brow furrowed. “Davy Jones?”
“Captain of the Flying Dutchman,” James added quietly.
Her eyes widened slightly. “The myth.”
“I have seen the ship myself, Elizabeth.” His upper lip curled slightly. “And spoken to her captain.”
“He wants Jamie’s soul,” Jack added.
“What?” Elizabeth’s eyes were wide in alarm.
“Either that or another ninety-nine souls from any given port of call,” James pointed out.
“Unless,” Jack contended, “of course, we can get our hands on something of such great value and importance to him that we could then get from dear Jones any deal what we might wish.”
James made a production of looking skeptical. “Yes, of course there’s that. Assuming, of course, that one might happen to know where the mad Scotsman keeps the living heart that he carved out of his own chest.”
“I don’t need to know, love. All I need is to want it.” He drew up his compass with a grin. Both men ignored the way Elizabeth’s eyes fixed on the little black box, her gaze shrewd and scrutinizing. Then Jack opened it and raised his hand as though to point out their heading with smug satisfaction, but then hesitated. After a moment, he drew his hand back down and said simply, “Ah. Well...”
James leaned over and peered at the compass needle. “It would seem, then, to be all around us, for the needle appears to be staggering about like a drunkard.” He eyed the rum bottle in Jack’s hand pointedly.
“Well, mate, it’s harder than you’d think to want something what might kill ye or worse,” Jack muttered. “Shall you try it, then?” He proffered the compass.
James took it. For a moment, disconcertingly, it swung about and pointed directly at Jack Sparrow. The pirate’s eyebrows raised sharply. Glad that Elizabeth could not see the compass needle, James felt his ears turn pink again, and he forced himself to focus on his memory of Jones’ ship and his own deep distrust of Jones. James also reminded himself of what he would need, in order to do what he wanted to do, and felt a faint tug from within his chest; James’ breath caught as he recognized that feeling: a sense of purpose. The compass-needle swiveled, and pointed in a different direction. James exhaled a silent, relieved sigh. “So I shall be navigating, then?” James inquired lightly.
Jack seemed to be very still, his gaze fixed on the compass with hint of confusion. “Aye. So it’d seem, James.”
“The compass, then, points at whatever someone wants?” Elizabeth asked.
“Specifically, it’s meant to point at whatever one might happen to want most in this world,” Jack said, and glanced up to meet James’ gaze for a moment before quickly looking away, smiling at Elizabeth.
James swallowed quietly, looking back down at the compass. The needle drifted, pointed at Jack again, then swiveled back toward its previous position. Stifling an undignified noise of surprise and perturbation, James snapped the compass shut gently and proffered it to Jack without looking.
Jack returned the little box to its proper place, hanging from his belt.
“To possess the heart is to have the ability to control Davy Jones, who in turn controls the sea itself,” James explained, upon seeing Elizabeth’s questioning look. “Which is precisely why Lord Cutler Beckett wants to possess it.”
Realization dawned on Elizabeth’s features. “I see.” She narrowed her eyes at both of them. “And why then do the both of you want it?” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “I know it is not merely to save Will. Especially in your case, Jack.” She glared directly at the pirate.
Jack’s lips thinned. “Well...”
“Davy Jones wants Jack’s soul more than mine, or the other ninety-nine,” James explained succinctly. “Apparently he owes the man something of a debt.”
In exasperation, Elizabeth exhaled through her lightly clenched teeth. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Because he’s Captain Jack Sparrow?” James offered.
“Yer ruining my title,” Jack grumbled.
Elizabeth half-smiled despite herself. “True enough, James,” She mused, ignoring Jack’s protest. She eyed them with a mixture of confusion and amusement. “Strange as it is to say... I suppose that the two of you make quite a smart match.”
Jack choked on his rum. James cleared his throat, trying and failing to control his blush, which seemed to creeping down from his cheekbones to a point somewhere beneath his collar. Elizabeth only smiled smugly and took a seemingly demure and lady-like sip from her tankard.
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Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean; Sparrington
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I have no claim on POTC or the lovely characters who populate it, even if it seems that James Norrington has, somewhat disconcertingly, made himself quite at home in my head with no apparent plans to leave. Jack Sparrow's habit dropping by regularly, as he has for years now, probably doesn't help.
Summary: Consider this to be shamelessly fabricated backstory and subtext for the end of COTBP, with a way to bring in Davy Jones and the others without actually having to go through the other two films. James' worldview has been shaken and the only person he can really discuss it with is a certain pirate. Said pirate persuades him to expand his career options. Bantering abounds.
Beta: The right honorable Porridgebird.
“Douse the lamps.”
Slowly, every light on the Black Pearl was snuffed out.
James’ composure lasted for approximately five minutes (thankfully long enough for Will and his boat to be just out of earshot) before a burst of not-quite-stifled laughter escaped him. It escalated quickly despite his attempts to contain it.
Jack lowered his spyglass and turned to glare at him. “What?”
For a moment, James could only wave a hand in a vague sort of gesture as he laughed further, trying desperately to catch his breath.
If it didn’t bring such fetching color and brightness to the ex-commodore’s face, Jack might have been more offended.
At last, James managed to pull himself together a bit. “The mere idea--hah---the mere idea of the phrase ‘Jack Sparrow sent me to settle his debt’ being potentially life-saving...” He laughed again, a bit helplessly.
Jack scowled, but as James was forced to lean against the mast to keep from falling over, the dark expression faltered quickly. “Damn it, James,” he muttered, with a hint of reluctant affection, then added in a louder and more official voice, “As your captain, I am frankly ashamed of your lack of composure.”
James pulled himself fully upright, shooting him a charming, challenging, lop-sided smile that made the pirate want to take him below deck immediately. Then, in that oh-so-perfect Dutch accent and with utterly unconvincing contrition, James said, “My sincerest apologies, Captain.” He then stepped closer, standing just behind Jack’s left shoulder, pulled a spyglass from his coat and aimed it at the ship Will Turner was rowing toward.
Jack raised his own glass again, and they both watched in silence; although Jack heard the James’ sharp intake of breath when the Flying Dutchman erupted from the depths and halted alongside the wrecked vessel. The Dutchman was a decadent horror awash in green: the very picture of corruption. And yet...
James found himself seeing past the grotesque decorations, ignoring the ship’s manifestation of its captain’s warped soul and seeing the ship herself, and her potential: the lines of her, the balance of power and speed in her design.
Sparing James a glance, Jack was mildly disconcerted to see the intense look of anticipation and awe on the ex-commodore’s face. “See something you like, love?”
“Mayhap.” James lowered his spyglass slowly. “That is quite a remarkable ship.”
“Goes well with your eyes. The sails anyway. The rest of it isn’t exactly your usual preference, I suspect.”
James hesitated. “The decor, I admit, is not to my tastes, but that is something to do with her captain, is it not?”
“Most likely. I don’t recall her having half so many protrusions growing off of her the first time we met.” Jack squinted a bit through his spyglass as some fire caught his eye. “Will’s found lamp oil. It seems Jones’ fishy fiends are not wholly fire-proof.”
James lifted his own glass again, struggling for a moment to see what on earth Jack was talking about. Catching sight of the beastly crewmen of the Dutchman, James grimaced, feeling a sensation of cold rush down his spine. “Dreadful. Is that one a shark?”
“Partially,” Jack murmured.
They both winced in unison when Will was clouted and knocked out.
In silence, they watched him taken aboard with the other ‘survivors’ as he slowly regained consciousness.
After a few minutes, James chuckled. “He just said it. I recognize that distinct, stricken pause of absolute disbelief in the sudden stillness of captain and crew.”
“Bastard.”
Then they fell abruptly silent again as Jones turned and seemed to stare right at them. As both men lowered their spyglasses, they winced upon seeing Captain Jones in all his irate, tentacled glory standing immediately in front of them--or, at least, in front of Jack. James quietly folded his spyglass and put it away, not taking his eyes off of Jones, and already preparing to draw his sword at a moment’s notice.
Quietly, Jack said, “Oh.”
“Of all men to try and repay their debt early, I’d not expect it of you, Jack Sparrow.”
“Captain,” Jack corrected tentatively, “still captain.”
“Aye. Fer now,” Jones sneered. “But not within two more moons, when you belong to me.”
James’ eyes narrowed and he straightened his shoulders, his stance unconsciously bristling with naval-bred authority and cold anger.
Jones took notice of him for the first time, looking him over shrewdly and then focusing intently on his face. “You look familiar, sailor.” His grin was unpleasant. “Have I nearly missed you in the past, on your way to the grave?”
“Not that I was aware of, although I’ve had my share of near-misses,” James said quietly, his Dutch persona abandoned and steely, precise English drawl in use to full effect. “You may have met men I have left for your collection, however; I am the other man in these waters, aside from you, who is called by pirates ‘the Devil Himself’.”
Jack glanced around with a slightly panicked look, but noted that his crew was busy making noise as Jones’ crew materialized aboard the Pearl in a most unsettling fashion.
“Are ye now?” Throwing his head back, Jones laughed. “I’m surprised then that Jack didn’t offer you instead of the boy, to ‘settle his debt’--a devil for a devil.” He rounded on Jack again, who grinned reflexively. “One soul is not equal in worth to another.”
“Ah, so we’ve established that my proposal is sound in principal and now we’re just haggling over price.” Jack’s grin brightened but his eyes remained cold, with a flicker of ire as he leaned a bit toward James. “I decided to offer you a bargain. You’ve plenty of devils, albeit none so fine as my own.” He rested a hand on James’ chest absently, then raised it again in a fluttering gesture. “But the whelp currently aboard your ship outshines us both.”
Jones hesitated, momentarily glancing back and forth between the two men warily. “Price?” A low pop accentuated the statement.
“Just how many souls do you think my soul is worth?” Jack challenged, low and with every bit of dramatic air he could muster up.
This gave Davy Jones pause for a few moments, then he smirked very smugly and said, “One hundred souls.” He stepped around Jack’s side: the one not occupied by James. “Or the devil at your side. Either one to be delivered within three days, or not at all, in which case you’re to repay as previously agreed.”
Both men tensed visibly, not looking at each other as they turned to keep track of Jones. One of Jack’s hands, formerly frozen mid-gesture as Jones spoke, began fidgeting: Jack adjusting his rings, looking as though he were fondling an invisible coin as his brain began whirling, scheming and calculating. James was more still, his gaze level and clear, one hand resting on the grip of his sword, his thumb tracing the familiar gold inlay in a slow, seemingly absent-minded manner.
“Alright then,” Jack said finally, starting to turn, apparently headed for the helm, heedless of how James remained unmoving. “Just bring the whelp back and we’ll be on our way-”
“The boy stays.”
Jack froze mid-step, spun on his heel and swayed to a stop, facing Jones again and looking a bit stricken and frazzled for good measure. “Wot?”
“Consider him a good faith payment,” Jones explained, maliciously amused. “Either one, or ninety-nine more to go.”
Jones’ grotesque crew laughed.
Jack swayed closer. “Have you not met Will Turner?” With the air of a man selling religious relics, or juicy gossip, or perhaps some sort of questionable cure-all, he described, “Noble, heroic, a terrific soprano--worth at least four, maybe four and a half. And did I happen to mention: he’s in love.” He leaned in a little closer and widened his eyes, reassuring, “Wiv a girl.” Jack took on a more contemplative air, circling behind Jones. “Due to be married--betrothed. Dividing him from her and her from him, would only be half as cruel as actually allowing them to be joined in holy matrimony.” Jack’s grin was darkly wheedling. “Ay?”
For a moment, Jones’ eyes seemed distant, a hint of longing in their gaze, but then he snapped out of it, positively bristling. “I keep the boy. Either ninety-nine souls, or that of the other Devil Himself,” Jones growled. Then he turned, mocking again. “But I wonder, Sparrow: either way, can ye live with this? Can ye condemn an innocent man, a friend, to a lifetime of servitude in your name while you roam free?”
Over Jones’ shoulder, Jack saw James roll his eyes and resisted, just for the briefest of moments, the urge to laugh hysterically. Instead he looked momentarily thoughtful and then quickly, brusquely replied, “Yep. I’m good wiv it.” He appeared outright cheerful about it. “Shall we seal it in blood--er--ink?” He held out his hand.
Davy Jones took hold of it with his own, which consisted mostly of tentacle, Jack made a noise of wordless, shocked disgust.
“Three days,” Jones growled, and tugged away firmly.
His crew echoed the promise and vanished with him.
Gibbs appeared at Jack’s side. “Cap’n.” He cleared his throat, and got rid of the lingering squeakiness of unease in his voice. “T’was a bit hard to hear all that, what with bein’ threatened by a man part puffer-fish hissin’ in my ear, but it sounded like the devil just asked you to bring him the devil.” He glanced tentatively at James, who had moved to the railing and was staring after the retreating Dutchman as he had once watched the escaping Interceptor one day long ago.
“I feel sullied and unusual,” Jack murmured, sounding lost, then he shook his head to clear it, causing Gibbs to take a half-step back to avoid losing an eye to one of his captain’s ornaments. “That he did, mate, or else we go about collecting ourselves ninety-nine souls.”
“And where exactly would ye be harvestin’ those, Jack?” Gibbs asked, sarcastic.
“Fortunately, he was mum as to the condition in which these souls need be,” Jack said solemnly.
Gibbs gave a tired, pained sort of smile of relief. “Tortuga?”
Jack wiped his slime-covered hand across Gibbs’ shirt. “Tortuga,” he agreed, and stepped away as Gibbs began shouting orders. He finished wiping his hand on the end of his sash and leaned against the railing beside James, waiting for the taller man to speak first.
“He is not, sad to say, actually stupid,” James said quietly.
“Not as much as we might’ve hoped for,” Jack concurred. He stared out across the water as the Dutchman vanished into the fog. After a long moment he added in firm, unyielding tones, “He can’t have you.”
His eyes downcast for a thoughtful moment and his brow knit in slight bemusement, James took a breath, then met Jack’s gaze searchingly, and was surprised to see a burning hint of anger (not aimed at him) in the depths of Jack’s pitch-black eyes. He nodded, not quite able to find words, and reached out to lose his hand in Jack’s hair, until he wrapped it loosely around the pirate’s nape, his long fingers gently massaging the stiff muscles there.
Jack gave a near-silent sigh of relief and leaned back into the touch like a cat, his head drooping forward just a little and his eyelids fluttering, then falling shut as the tension in his neck muscles began to melt away.
“That said, I believe that--all things considered--my presence aboard his ship could be a boon to us,” James said softly.
Tension returned abruptly. “No.”
“It would hardly be permanent. And you expressed sincere belief that William could manage it-”
“No, Jamie.” Jack reached out without looking and seized the collar of James’ coat, tugging sharply to bring him closer. Then Jack half-opened his eyes and looked at James sidelong. “Will has his father to help him escape.”
“And I have this,” James murmured, lifting his left wrist, displaying the small charm on the chain wrapped around it.
Jack inhaled slowly. “Do you know one thing he’s particularly infamous for, love?” Before James could guess or comment, Jack shook his head a little and held up his free hand in a silencing gesture. “He’s known for killing one’s lover in front of one. Alright? He enjoys freeing people of that certain ‘dreadful bond’ inspired by affection and--and-” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “Even if I was to give you over, or you offering yourself would be worse, there’s a very good chance that you’d not even get so far as to make it aboard that great grave ship of his, savvy?”
James relaxed, his regard softening visibly. “I see.” His hand still on Jack’s nape loosened, his fingertips stroking up and down. “My apologies, then.” He looked as though he wanted to lean in closer, but glanced sidelong toward the crew.
“‘S not like they’ve not worked it out yet,” Jack muttered.
A slightly sheepish, lopsided little smile graced James’ lips as he turned his attention to Jack again. “I do suppose that ‘obvious’ would be something of an understatement.”
Jack turned to face James, whilst pulling the ex-commodore’s collar so that James in turn also turned to face him. Then the pirate stepped closer and grinned wickedly. “Liberatin’, innit?”
James’ smile became a smirk, but his gaze remained warm. “I gather that you are insinuating your ship’s superiority to many a naval vessel in that regard.”
“Aye. Unless you’ve been running things very differently indeed.”
The ex-commodore could not help but chuckle. “You know I did not. As I recall, you had the opportunity to witness me at work very early in our acquaintance.”
“And which do you prefer?”
Hesitating slightly, James let his hand drift from the nape of Jack’s neck to trail his fingers along the underside of Jack’s jaw. “My life before you entered it, and my life after, cannot be compared.” He looked down at the deck, through the narrow gap between their bodies, and smiled a very small, not-quite-shy smile. “Different worlds.”
“Aye. Both still open to you,” Jack murmured.
“No. Not both.” James again looked out over the water, in the general direction of the Flying Dutchman. His voice was soft, philosophical and calm. “I believe that I reached a point of no return at some point between meeting your goddess sea-witch and tonight.”
“You want the ship.” Jack’s voice was both satisfied and slightly taunting.
“I am less than fond of those who use cruelty to manage their crew and maintain their position. That he should be responsible for collecting the souls of the dead for transport from the other side...” James shook his head slowly. “That is not how the world should be.” And it is within my power, this time, to change it.
“He didn’t get into his position for the sake of that task, but for another,” Jack pointed out. “And he lost that.”
“And how did that happen?” James murmured.
“He fell in love with Calypso, and she’s the sea.”
James considered this. “She was not waiting for him.”
“Aye. Time an’ tide never do. And he’s not forgiven her.”
“Then he does not deserve her,” James said softly. “As a sailor he should know that to love the sea is impossible if one seeks to conquer it.”
Jack felt a distinct tingle down his spine. It was dangerous, he knew, that James could cause it; yet Jack could not complain, even if he wanted to. “He’s conquered the both of them.” He mimicked Jones’ accent briefly, adding, “Fer now.”
“Then he must be miserable.”
“Aye.” He pulled James still closer, until their hips met. “So you thus wish to put him out of his misery, noble man that you are... and you want his ship.”
James took on a solemnly thoughtful expression, channeling his naval self, and all of its inherent sarcastic airs, once more. “She is a fine ship,” he mused airily.
“Mine’s better,” Jack muttered.
“I do believe that the Black Pearl’s current captain is far better suited to her than I would ever be.”
“Good to hear, love.” Still using his hold on James’ collar to steer, Jack pulled James’ head down closer to his.
“For all that you still owe me a ship,” James reminded, his lips a breath away from Jack’s.
Jack gave a low, quiet laugh and kissed him.
James’ shoulders stiffened a bit when a few members of the crew behind them offered wolf-whistles and catcalls, but still responded to the kiss without hesitation, his mouth pliant and eager against Jack’s. His lips curling for a moment into a smirk, Jack slipped one hand down to cup James’ arse and squeezed firmly, earning a small startled noise from the ex-commodore. Then, however, James decided to get even, taking hold of Jack’s hips, pressing a knee between Jack’s legs and giving a single maddeningly slow grind. Jack shuddered a little.
The whistling increased threefold, and Jack finally broke away. “Evil man.”
“Yes.” James kept his voice low so as not to have to try and recall how to put on an accent. “Which is why I shall now commandeer you, take you to your cabin, and show you exactly how evil.”
Jack’s only reply was a growl before dragging James across the deck.
James let him, his smile wide and smugly pleased. “Or you can commandeer the ex-commodore, that works too.” The sound of the door slamming behind him cut off the sounds of their increasingly enthusiastic audience.
Elizabeth was feeling quite proud of herself, having finally persuaded the merchant ship upon she had stowed away that the vengeful spirit in her wedding dress wanted them to dock in Tortuga.
And now, just three days after her arrival, the Black Pearl had docked for supplies.
She immediately began hunting for Jack Sparrow, or other familiar faces from his crew; however, because she was in disguise, she had not in the least expected any people of interest to spot her before she spotted them.
Therefore, she jumped nearly three feet in the air upon hearing a loud, baritone drawl immediately behind her call, “Elizabeth Swann,” in oh-so-superior tones.
She spun with sword half-drawn, then stopped, her eyes becoming very wide.
Leaning against the tavern wall, looking tall and lean and piratical--in fine clothes made less fine by time spent at sea, with long brown hair tied in a sailor’s queue, wearing both a day’s stubble and a rather amused smirk on his face--was none other than James the Bloody Devil Himself Norrington. “You look well,” he mused.
“And you do not look surprised to see me.” She reluctantly re-sheathed her sword. “James.”
“I know you too well.” He straightened from his most undignified slouch and shed his more roguish airs as he took one of her hands in both of his. “I am pleased to see you in one piece,” he said solemnly, concern showing on his lightly creased brow.
Elizabeth opened her mouth to ask one of the many questions spinning through her mind, but his civility was enough to send a pang of homesickness and despair through her for a moment. Her voice faltered and she looked at the ground. “My God, James, it’s gone all wrong.” She covered her eyes with her free hand. Perhaps she should have gotten more sleep, in her days waiting for word of Jack Sparrow, but she had not been able to find any place sufficiently safe for any suitable amount of time. It was wearing on her.
James hesitated, squeezing her hand. “I am sorry.”
She only shook her head, taking a deep breath to try and get herself back under control. “Is Will with you?”
A distinctly uneasy, apologetic look crossed James’ features. “I...” He gulped, looking away. “Not at the moment, but we have a plan.”
Elizabeth’s brow furrowed. “You’re really with the Black Pearl.” She sounded disbelieving, but not shocked, and gave a low, bitter laugh. “Has Hell frozen over? Is this a month of blue moons?”
“I have not noticed any lunar irregularities, nor have I met anyone from Hell recently who might have offered me a weather report,” James drawled.
Elizabeth giggled, helplessly, inching her just a little further away from a potential nervous breakdown. She looked up at him as she wiped her eyes. “You look...” She glanced over his clothes for a moment and her lips quirked in a bemused half-smile. “Disreputable, but otherwise well, James. Are you really first mate?”
“I am. For now.” James released her hand and bowed theatrically, slipping into his Dutch accent once more. “The rest of the Pearl’s crew, however, knows me as a Dutchman called James Stuart.”
Her eyes widening, Elizabeth shook her head in further disbelief. “Who are you and what have you done with the naval man I once knew, James Norrington?”
James stood up straight again, his eyes downcast and the cynical ghost of a smile on his lips. “I am still him, but I have adapted to a different world.” When he saw her confusion, he gave her a more reassuring smile. “Cursed pirates. Skeletons by moonlight. It altered my perspective.” He glanced sidelong down the alley toward the tavern door. “As did discussing the matter with a certain pirate.”
Elizabeth stepped toward him, taking his arm and tugging him toward the door. “One day soon, James, you must tell me how it all happened. I have been most dreadfully curious ever since Will explained to me what happened in his smithy the night that you vanished.”
He followed, instinctively the gentleman once more, leading her into the tavern. “And what have you theorized, without any way to satiate your curiosity until now?”
“That you are far more devious than I could have ever expected, and that you must be after something. I admit, however, that I’ve no idea what you might be hunting that Jack Sparrow could potentially lead you to.”
James’ smile was enigmatic. “I am trying to find a place for myself in a world with more magic and heathen gods in it than I could have ever expected, and I want to prevent men like Hector Barbossa and Lord Cutler Beckett from getting their hands on certain items of incredible power. The former of the two men may be dead, but the latter...” He gestured toward Elizabeth’s garb as if to illustrate. “He still tends to cause problems. And now, he is after something that both I and Jack Sparrow plan on preventing him from reaching.”
“He only had the audacity to go after it, however, once you left Port Royal,” Elizabeth said softly.
James hesitated visibly. “I never intended-”
“I know,” she interrupted. “I know, James. My father has explained that you’ve been keeping Beckett at bay as long as you could.”
James nodded slowly. “Yes.” Then he looked up, and met Jack Sparrow’s gaze from across the room.
Jack had noticed them both as soon as they had walked in: Elizabeth hanging off of his arm like a fine aristocratic young woman, despite her masculine costume, and James moving with similar nobility, smiling in a soft and gentlemanly manner as she visibly half-teased and half-pried answers out of him. Jack was unsettled by the flare of jealousy that flashed through his brain momentarily, but blinked it away and ordered two more tankards of rum from a passing bar wench.
He watched James’ face fall slightly as Elizabeth said something apparently guilt-inducing, and watched James take on a reassured look when Elizabeth stopped him explaining. Then Jack’s breath caught as James looked up and met his gaze from across the room: the ex-commodore’s angular features lighting up with a sincere, involuntary bit of a smile. Jack shot the pair of them a thoroughly unwholesome grin as they approached.
“Elizabeth,” Jack greeted, with smug lack of surprise, taking one of her hands and pulling her away from James. He looked her up and down in a measuring fashion. “Strange, is it not, how often you seem to wind up in men’s clothes whilst in the company of both I an’ James. I personally think it should be a dress or nothing.” He leered a little. “I happen to have no dress aboard the Pearl...”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes.
“Jack,” James warned, but there was not actual scolding in it.
“Jealous, love?” Jack leered at James with a bit more heat.
The tips of James’ ears turned a light shade of pink, but he then raised his eyebrows and perfectly deadpanned, “As though you, my dearest, can talk of jealousy.”
Jack’s eyes widened and for a brief moment he was utterly stunned.
And so, it seemed, was Elizabeth, who was looking between the two men with her mouth slightly open. “Excuse me?” she squeaked, very quietly.
Smirking just a little, James did not so much as glance away from Jack’s eyes. “I believe I have just rendered Jack Sparrow temporarily speechless. Enjoy this brief respite.”
Elizabeth blinked, then held up a hand. “Yes, but you...you were joking?”
“No, I was not, which is precisely why he is still gaping,” James explained.
At this point, Elizabeth was speechless, too.
After a few moments, Jack slowly began to regain the ability to think. He had never considered, even for a moment, that James would so unhesitatingly reveal that little fact, especially to Elizabeth of all people, and in such a casual, challenging fashion. Jack felt very warm all of a sudden. “James Norrington, what has this world behind the world done to you?” the pirate mused at last, a brilliant smile breaking across his features.
James merely chuckled and glanced at Elizabeth curiously, smiling to see her still stunned and wide-eyed. He passed her a tankard of rum.
She took it absently. “I think that I need to sit down for a moment,” she murmured, pulling out a chair at Jack’s table and dropping into it. She stared at James blankly when he sat down across from her, at Jack’s right hand. “So you...the two of you...” She glanced between them, unable to complete the sentence.
“Yes,” James said simply.
Considering this, she glanced at Jack again, her brow contracting. “This is not...somehow a distraction of an elaborate sort to try and distract me from inquiring about the whereabouts of my betrothed?”
Jack and James exchanged looks.
“I suppose it might be that as well,” Jack mused. “Very nice, James.”
“Not altogether intentionally,” James assured.
“What has happened to Will?” Elizabeth asked, her eyes narrowing shrewdly as she held Jack’s gaze.
James kept his eyes downcast as Jack took on a lamenting air and said, “Darling, I am truly unhappy to have to tell you this, but--through an unfortunate and entirely unforeseeable series of circumstances having nothing at all whatsoever to do with me--dear William has been press-ganged into joining Davy Jones’ crew.”
Elizabeth’s brow furrowed. “Davy Jones?”
“Captain of the Flying Dutchman,” James added quietly.
Her eyes widened slightly. “The myth.”
“I have seen the ship myself, Elizabeth.” His upper lip curled slightly. “And spoken to her captain.”
“He wants Jamie’s soul,” Jack added.
“What?” Elizabeth’s eyes were wide in alarm.
“Either that or another ninety-nine souls from any given port of call,” James pointed out.
“Unless,” Jack contended, “of course, we can get our hands on something of such great value and importance to him that we could then get from dear Jones any deal what we might wish.”
James made a production of looking skeptical. “Yes, of course there’s that. Assuming, of course, that one might happen to know where the mad Scotsman keeps the living heart that he carved out of his own chest.”
“I don’t need to know, love. All I need is to want it.” He drew up his compass with a grin. Both men ignored the way Elizabeth’s eyes fixed on the little black box, her gaze shrewd and scrutinizing. Then Jack opened it and raised his hand as though to point out their heading with smug satisfaction, but then hesitated. After a moment, he drew his hand back down and said simply, “Ah. Well...”
James leaned over and peered at the compass needle. “It would seem, then, to be all around us, for the needle appears to be staggering about like a drunkard.” He eyed the rum bottle in Jack’s hand pointedly.
“Well, mate, it’s harder than you’d think to want something what might kill ye or worse,” Jack muttered. “Shall you try it, then?” He proffered the compass.
James took it. For a moment, disconcertingly, it swung about and pointed directly at Jack Sparrow. The pirate’s eyebrows raised sharply. Glad that Elizabeth could not see the compass needle, James felt his ears turn pink again, and he forced himself to focus on his memory of Jones’ ship and his own deep distrust of Jones. James also reminded himself of what he would need, in order to do what he wanted to do, and felt a faint tug from within his chest; James’ breath caught as he recognized that feeling: a sense of purpose. The compass-needle swiveled, and pointed in a different direction. James exhaled a silent, relieved sigh. “So I shall be navigating, then?” James inquired lightly.
Jack seemed to be very still, his gaze fixed on the compass with hint of confusion. “Aye. So it’d seem, James.”
“The compass, then, points at whatever someone wants?” Elizabeth asked.
“Specifically, it’s meant to point at whatever one might happen to want most in this world,” Jack said, and glanced up to meet James’ gaze for a moment before quickly looking away, smiling at Elizabeth.
James swallowed quietly, looking back down at the compass. The needle drifted, pointed at Jack again, then swiveled back toward its previous position. Stifling an undignified noise of surprise and perturbation, James snapped the compass shut gently and proffered it to Jack without looking.
Jack returned the little box to its proper place, hanging from his belt.
“To possess the heart is to have the ability to control Davy Jones, who in turn controls the sea itself,” James explained, upon seeing Elizabeth’s questioning look. “Which is precisely why Lord Cutler Beckett wants to possess it.”
Realization dawned on Elizabeth’s features. “I see.” She narrowed her eyes at both of them. “And why then do the both of you want it?” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “I know it is not merely to save Will. Especially in your case, Jack.” She glared directly at the pirate.
Jack’s lips thinned. “Well...”
“Davy Jones wants Jack’s soul more than mine, or the other ninety-nine,” James explained succinctly. “Apparently he owes the man something of a debt.”
In exasperation, Elizabeth exhaled through her lightly clenched teeth. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Because he’s Captain Jack Sparrow?” James offered.
“Yer ruining my title,” Jack grumbled.
Elizabeth half-smiled despite herself. “True enough, James,” She mused, ignoring Jack’s protest. She eyed them with a mixture of confusion and amusement. “Strange as it is to say... I suppose that the two of you make quite a smart match.”
Jack choked on his rum. James cleared his throat, trying and failing to control his blush, which seemed to creeping down from his cheekbones to a point somewhere beneath his collar. Elizabeth only smiled smugly and took a seemingly demure and lady-like sip from her tankard.
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