The Raptors of Misdirection and Waxing Gibberish - Chapter 6
Title: The Raptors of Misdirection and Waxing Gibberish
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean; Sparrington
Rating: PG-13 for now, going up to NC-17 later
Disclaimer: I have no claim on POTC or the lovely characters who populate it, even if it seems that James Norrington is making himself quite at home in my head, the snarky British bastard.
Dedication: This is all Norrington’s fault.
Summary: The newly ex-naval Norrington and Elizabeth catch up. Jack is introduced to James’ ship, and both men exchange gibberish over drinks. Snark and games of wit ensue.
Chapter Six
Jack sat in the corner of his crew’s favorite tavern in Tortuga, shaking his compass irritably, because the damned thing had to be drunk or something, to keep swaying about like it was. At least, that was what Jack was currently willing to claim. He growled at it. Gibbs sat at a nearby table luring souls aboard the Black Pearl.
“Only ninety-nine more,” Jack muttered to himself. “Bloody walking cuttlefish.”
Again, he shook the compass. After muttering a few mantras, closing and reopening the damned thing half a dozen times, he finally gave up and chose to distract himself by asking Gibbs, “How many’ve we got?”
“Countin’ those four?”
Jack looked up at him.
Gibbs did not look happy. “We have four.”
“Ah. Not so well, then?”
Gibbs sighed.
Outside, the winds abruptly changed, and Jack’s spine went stiff as a shudder ran up it. His dark eyes were wide. “The Pearl,” he rumbled suddenly, and leapt from his seat.
Gibbs followed suit. He knew that look all too well. “Cap’n?”
“Somethin’s comin’ into the port, mate.” Jack’s eyes narrowed into a suspicious glare. “I can feel it, but damned if I know what it is,” Jack muttered. “Load up what we’ll need to make sail in the morning. Rustle up a few more souls if ya can.” He gestured vaguely with one hand, flourishing meaninglessly, as his other hand settled on the pommel of his sword thoughtfully. “I’ll just have a look-see, ay?” He tried to smile reassuringly at Gibbs, failed, and sauntered very quickly out the door.
The night was quiet, but a fine wind was coming in, as Jack picked his way down towards the docks. He could still feel the breeze on his face as he stood, waiting near the Black Pearl and glaring suspiciously at both the mouth of the port and the ship that was coming in. It looked inexplicably familiar, and was a quite pretty little thing, smaller than his Pearl, but bigger than another fast little ship Jack had once comandeered.
Behind him, Jack heard footsteps.
“Captain Sparrow,” someone called in a familiar voice, but not familiar enough to inspire Jack’s mind into recalling a name to attach to it.
Jack turned his head enough to listen, but did not actually look at them or turn enough for them to see is face, his gaze still fixed on that little gold ship. There were two people approaching, whoever they were. One was taller, walking with heavier footsteps, casually precise, but walking relatively slow in order to allow the owner of the lighter and more purposeful footsteps to set the pace for their little stroll.
Jack made sure not to turn around. Something was not right here. His ship was humming, humming, eager for something in a way Jack was wholly unfamiliar with; it was unnerving. To keep himself anchored to the world outside his head, he replied to the two people approaching him. “Interested in joining me crew, are you? Gibbs is the one doing the hiring, and he’s back in the tavern, lad. I’m a might busy.”
“I’m here to find the man I love,” the same voice said.
Jack stiffened. “Well, lad, if I was him, I’m sure I’d recognize that voice of yours from havin’ earned that love, but-” He turned on his heel to face the pair of them, and stopped, his eyes widening a little. He swayed back in exaggerated surprise. “Oh,” he said flatly.
“Not you, Jack,” Elizabeth sighed, her eyes sad and her voice exasperated as she shook her head at him. She was dressed in men’s clothing and looked like a very pretty cabin boy in her brown coat, tan breeches, white stockings, and little tricorne hat. “I’m here for Will.”
Then the man beside her spoke, in and equally familiar, albeit far more sardonic and baritone voice, which was all the more recognizable for its authoritative and mordant British drawl. “As I understand it, Captain Sparrow, Mr. Turner had been seeking you out across a wide area, and the word is that he did find you.”
Jack glared at Norrington, who had apparently fixed up his coat and hat, now looking quite fancy: roguish, and yet not piratical. The hawk feathers were a nice touch, but Jack would not let the shiny wardrobe distract him from what Norrington had just said. “Word? What word?”
“There’s a rather heavily inebriated dwarf, a member of your crew of Elizabeth’s acquaintance, who is currently asleep in a nearby pigsty. I believe so, anyway. He passed out shortly after I’d garnered a bit of information from him,” James explained.
“Did you also think to ask him about whether or not dear William had remained on my ship?” Jack inquired politely.
James’ eyes narrowed slightly. “Ah. No. You are saying then that he is not?”
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed and she demanded, “Where is he, Jack?”
Jack glanced warily at Norrington, then sauntered up to Elizabeth and rested a hand on her shoulder as he looked her in the eye with a look of apology and consolation on his face. “Darling, I am truly unhappy to have to tell you this, but--through an unfortunate and entirely unforseeable series of circumstances having nothing at all whatsoever to do with me--dear William has been press-ganged into joining Davy Jones’ crew.” He was all too aware of the utterly suspicious look on Norrington’s face, but did not so much as glance at it, instead focusing all of his intensity upon Elizabeth, making sure to look very apologetic and hard-put-upon.
She shook her head, looking very pretty and sad and confused. “Davy Jones?”
Jack nodded, all but biting his lip in a look of grief.
“Jack,” Norrington warned darkly. “I sense here that you are waxing gibberish again.”
The pirate’s lips twitched in annoyance and he glared at the ex-commodore. “Perhaps I can offer you a translation post-gibberish, ay, Norrington?”
“That would be Captain Norrington,” James deadpanned.
Jack hesitated, at once annoyed and amused. “Ah, yes. I’d heard about that.” An inquisitive look crossed his features and his grin was sharp. “You’ve got quite a ship, they say.”
A wide smirk crossed James’ features, his green eyes lighting up with mixed amusement, mockery, and pride. “Yes. I do. We came in ahead of her in one of the longboats, to get a head start on our business here. She’s just docking now.”
Jack abruptly stopped swaying and jerked his head around to stare at the vicious-looking little vessel coming closer even now, and noted a resemblance of sorts, in the shape and style rather than the coloration, that caused him to glance hesitantly at his Black Pearl, who seemed to be positively thrumming with delight and...
Oh dear God. His Pearl had a sister. And more than that, his Pearl was also pleased to see James Bloody Norrington, which was surely just adding insult to injury. Jack almost blanched, but covered it well as he spun on Norrington with a dark look that smoldered with intense curiosity. “Now where did you get that?” he rumbled.
James merely raised his eyebrows, his countenance a blank and impassive slate: unreadable. “Perhaps, Captain Sparrow, I will tell you the story post-gibberish.”
Jack’s upper lip curled back slightly in irritation, but he admitted a grudging respect for the infuriating green-eyed man, because Norrington was, to Jack’s chagrin, good at this game. “Fine.” He pointed at Norrington with a wagging finger. “I’ll hold you to that.”
“If so, I will hold you to your promise of a translation,” James countered.
Jack hesitated for a moment, wary, but then nodded once. “D’accord, Captain.”
“What on earth are you two talking about?” Elizabeth finally shouted, her fury overcoming the weakness that had gone through her at the thought of something happening to Will. “No. Nevermind you two men and your damned riddles, for now; I haven’t got the patience.” She whirled on Jack and demanded, “Who the bloody Hell is Davy Jones, and why, Captain Jack Sparrow, does he have Will?” With emphasis, she all but lunged at Jack, who was now leaning back away from her, holding up his hands palms-forward in an attempt to look harmless.
“Sorry, love. Got carried away with ol’ Jamie, here.” The pirate attempted a beatific smile that somehow did not appease Elizabeth’s ire.
“As I recall the story from my youth, Davy Jones is the mythical captain of the Flying Dutchman,” James explained. “A great and unstoppable ghost-ship that appears before shipwrecked sailors and others who die at sea.”
Jack flailed an arm in an attempt at a dismissive flourish. “Amongst other things.”
Elizabeth seemed to crumble in some small way, her ire winking out like candle in a strong wind, forcing her to draw on years of British Propriety in order to sound composed as she said, “Jack... all I want is to find Will.”
That helped the pirate pull his act together again, nodding solemnly. Then he got a bit of an idea. He once more rested a hand on her shoulder and looked her in the eye. “Are you certain?” he asked quietly, and leaned in a bit closer. “Is that what you truly want most?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Of course.”
Jack pointedly ignored the way Norrington cleared his throat to communicate a gentle but impatient warning. Jack turned himself and Elizabeth aside and wrapped an arm across her shoulders, leading her forward and away from the intrusive ex-commodore, who decided to be a nuisance and foil the plan by following them closely. Jack continued anyway, “Because I would think, that what you would really want would be to find a way to save Will the most.”
Elizabeth pulled away a little and shot him an incredulous look. “And you would have a way of doing that?”
Sparrow held out his hands wide, palms-open. “Well... there is a chest.”
Norrington’s hand shifted to the grip of his sword, not grasping at it, but resting his palm over the pommel. Jack’s survival instincts were such that his gaze was automatically drawn to the movement and the corner of his mouth twitch downward in a momentary almost-scowl.
Elizabeth noticed and gave James a pleading look. “James, please. Let him explain.”
The ex-commodore held her gaze for a lingering moment.
Jack stared, and then looked away quickly, knowing that Elizabeth probably couldn’t see the faintest lingering flicker resigned and restrained want in those green eyes, focused as she was on thinking of her dear William; and Jack knew very well that James hardly needed any pirate to see it if she couldn’t, but Norrington glanced at him all the same, and Jack knew that he’d been caught. James turned back to Elizabeth calmly and gave a nod, taking his hand from his sword and clasping both hands behind his back in a very commodore-like manner. Behind him, members of the Black Pearl’s crew were approaching with supplies, ready to load them onto the ship. A few of them shot the trio odd looks.
Elizabeth turned back to Jack expectantly, ignoring the approaching whispers.
Captain Jack Sparrow fervently wished that he’d had the forethought to drink a lot more rum before coming out here to see what his ship had been buzzing about; it would have made everything he had to say that much easier. Maybe he could have even fooled the damn ex-commodore. Or not, but he could hope. “Aye. The chest... a chest of unknown size and origin.”
Pintel and Ragetti chose that moment to pass by, carrying livestock and helpfully interjecting, “A chest what contains the still-beatin’ heart of Davy Jones.”
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Complete with illustrative hand gestures. Lovely. Norrington arched an eyebrow at them imperiously, his expression stony. The two pirate crewman paled as recognition set in, and promptly skittered away from the ex-commodore fearfully, taking their livestock with them.
“And whoever possesses that chest,” Jack continued, heedless of his crew’s interruption, “has the leverage to demand of Davy Jones whatever it is that he or she wants.” His hands danced through the air with a further flourish as he leaned closer to Elizabeth. “Including, sparing dear William from an awful fate.”
Elizabeth looked thoughtful, and glanced at Norrington. He gave her a look urging her to be wary, but said nothing. She turned back to Jack and shook her head, but still asked, half-heartedly, “How would we find it?”
Smiling brightly, Jack held up one finger, as the digits of his other hand sought out his compass, which he then held up for display. “With this. My compass-” He snapped it open and shut quickly. “-is unique,” he purred.
Norrington stepped closer at that, but not as a warning this time. He was paying very close attention now, an almost knowingly intent look on his face. Somehow, this made Jack more wary; the intrigue was more dangerous than the outright suspicion that Norrington had displayed before. The pirate captain glanced at him expectantly and inquired, “Still think it to be broken, Jamie?”
Those sea-green eyes were cold and revealed nothing. “I am open to alternative theories.”
“Well, to be fair to you, it does not really point north, as you well noted.” He looked deep into Elizabeth’s eyes and leaned in, holding the compass closer to her. “It points to the thing that you want most in this world,” he said, quiet and perfectly serious.
Elizabeth’s eyes were sad and wide and hopeful as she bit her lip. “Jack... is that true?”
“Every word, love,” he assured. “And what you want most in this world-” he took her hand and lifted it up between them, then placed the compass delicately in her palm. “Is to find the chest of Davy Jones.”
“To save Will,” Elizabeth said firmly.
Jack grinned. “By finding the chest of Davy Jones.” He then looked down nervously at the compass and leapt away just as his fingers flung it open, as though he’d just thrown a match into a cup of black powder.
Elizabeth frowned after him for a moment, then looked down at the spinning arrow on the compass as it wavered, and came to an abrupt halt.
Tentatively, Jack peered over the edge of the compass. “Ah, and now we have our heading.” He grinned up at her.
“Finally,” called an exasperated female voice, which came from the carmel-skinned woman leaning over the edge of the Black Pearl. She lifted the brim of her hat and glared down at them. “Tell me what it is, Jack, ‘fore we lose it.”
Jack called it out to her, then turned to smile at Elizabeth. “Go on and make yourself at home, love. We’ll set sail tomorrow.”
“Jack... thank you.” She hesitated, and handed him back the compass. She did not want to be the one to hold onto it, not when Beckett wanted it so badly.
Jack grinned and once more replaced the compass about his person. “No problem, love. Steppin’ aboard then?”
“Yes.” Elizabeth then smiled softly at James. “I’ll leave you boys alone with your riddles, then.” Her brow furrowed in concern. “Don’t kill each other, or I’ll have to wreak unholy vengeance upon you,” she pouted.
With a faint smirk, James bowed his head to her. “You have my word, Elizabeth.”
Smiling more sincerely, she jabbed a finger at him. “I’ll hold you to it, James.” Then she stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek before turning and walking away.
James chuckled softly, a wistful look momentarily crossing his face as he watched her go, but then he shook his head and muttered under his breath, “That woman is almost as mad as you, Captain Jack Sparrow, and thrice as ambitious when the mood strikes her.” He did not sound like a man enamored, because in truth he no longer was.
“Aye. She’s more pirate than the whelp she’s chasing, that’s for sure,” Jack agreed. “She could probably take over the world. Good thing you didn’t marry her, mate. The last thing she needs is access t’ military power.”
Despite himself, James gave an amused snort. “I doubt she would have become the New World equivalent of Alexander the Great, but I do see your point. Had we wed, she would have been the death of me, I am sure.”
Jack gave a low, thoughtful noise as he turned to watch Elizabeth board the Black Pearl, a rucksack over her shoulder. He bit his lip, seeing the way that the breeches she wore flattered her figure. His initial thoughts on how men’s clothes did not suit her quickly vanished from his mind as he watched the movement of her hips as she walked.
Seeing the look on Jack’s face, the ex-commodore rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh. “Jack,” Norrington said flatly, interrupting the pirate’s warmer thoughts with his cold military tones. “I expect a full translation, now.”
The pirate captain cursed under his breath, turning to glare at the former navy man. “You think you’re so bloody smart, don’t you, mate?”
James did not even have the grace to so much as blink at the statement. “I think that you are dodging discussion of the main issues at hand, here.” He turned and gestured for Jack to follow. “Come on, Jack. You may come aboard my ship, and there we can exchange tales.” Norrington turned on his heel, heading toward the Gold Hawk, which had docked while Jack had so regaled Elizabeth with his promises. It was not far.
Jack wanted to grumble indignantly, but hesitated. “Why not my ship?”
Norrington paused, turning to give Jack a very stolid look. His deep voice was full of lofty derision. “Because my men are marginally less likely to shoot you on sight if you are with me without at least waiting for orders from me, whereas I seem to recall a few members of your crew who would be more than happy to take me out, whether or not I happened to be talking to you at the time. Shall we?”
With a huff, Jack joined him. “Alright, you’ve a point.” He eyed the Gold Hawk as they approached, and shivered as he felt her hum--like the Pearl, but not like her; the Hawk’s voice was more stoic, and somehow both sharper calmer: at least for now. She had an air of contained energy, and uncanny patience, but Jack could tell that she would be quick to strike; Jack had gotten the exact same impression the first time he’d met Commodore Norrington, along with that pretty gold-inlaid sword of his, the tip of which had been hovering very near his piratical throat. The sword’s owner had held himself with the same contained power and controlled ferocity that now radiated from the Gold Hawk: quick to strike, but deadly patient enough to wait for the perfect moment. Jack hesitated to step closer, until he realized that the hum he felt was actually... welcoming him. “Well.” he muttered, “that’s interesting.”
“Indeed. I had initially wondered if I was losing my mind,” James said, acknowledging easily that they were listening to the voices of each other’s ships.
Jack nodded, smirking a bit. “You would, mate.” Slowly, both men climbed up on deck.
There were only two men standing guard, but they were both very alert and carried Navy-regulation bayonets at attention. Norrington nodded at them, and they slipped into ‘at ease.’
“Just the recently ex-Navy boys aboard here, then?” Jack inquired.
“Aside from you? Yes.” James looked over the deck slowly, letting the warm calm of his ship sink into his bones. It softened his expression, but made his eyes seem sharper, more vibrant, and brilliantly alive.
Jack watched curiously, and wondered if he looked the same way when he boarded his Pearl. He decided that, in all likelihood, he probably did. “How did you get her?”
“She was given. Offered, actually, as part of a deal. From Calypso.”
Jack’s spine straightened and his natural sway abruptly turned stiff. “Wot did you say?”
James looked at him, then at his ship’s helm, then back to Jack with a smirk that was almost soft, were it not for the wry amusement dancing in those pale green eyes. “You look like you need a drink, Jack.”
The pirate captain’s shoulders slumped a little. “Damned right I do.”
“Follow me.”
Jack did, letting the ex-commodore lead him into the captain’s cabin. He watched Norrington shrug out of his coat and pull a large bottle of fine Scotch whiskey and two medium-sized glasses from a small cupboard. He held it up as he sat down at a mahogany table the size of a large desk. “It’s not rum, but it was the best alcohol in the possession of the last EITC ship we managed to raid. That, of course, being before half of the Admiral’s fleet decided to chase me through Hell and back... or at least through half of the damned caribbean.” He gestured towards the empty chair across from him. “Sit down, Jack.”
With deliberate laziness, Jack eased into the chair and lounged like a cat, going to far as to put one leg over the armrest in a defiant manner. “Ah. That long chase would be why you’re out of rum, then, I would guess.”
Ignoring the way Jack was seated, James nodded. “Indeed. We shall have to pick up further supply whilst here,” he lamented, and poured the whiskey. As Jack lifted his glass to his lips, James asked, “Now, what exactly is in the chest of Davy Jones that Lord Cutler Beckett wants so very badly to get his vile little hands on?” It was, after all the opportune moment.
Jack stopped just short of actually sputtering, and glared at him, then deliberately drained his entire glass in one swig and set it down, jerking his head toward it to indicate that James should refill it. “You’re too bloody sharp by more’n half, mate.” When James refilled the glass, Jack’s regard softened and he took a slower sip. It was, at least, very good whiskey. It outclassed the rotgut available in most Tortuga taverns by a long shot. “It’s like I told ‘Lizbeth: anyone who has the contents of that chest can demand anything they want of Davy Jones. Since Davy Jones hisself controls the sea, then if Beckett had leverage over him, he could do whatever he might very well like involving the sea. Since it is Beckett we’re talkin’ about, I’m more than willing to bet that he’d wipe out every pirate down to the last useless drunken scallywag, just because he hates us and he could do it, and then he’d bloody well make sure he never saw anyone or anything get in the way of his precious company and its precious business ever again.”
Norrington considered this. “I see. And why do you want the chest? I ask because I firmly believe that the ‘unfortunate and totally unforseeable series of circumstances having nothing at all whatsoever to do with you’ were, in fact, all your fault--whatever they were.” James sipped at his own whiskey and raised his eyebrows pointedly.
Jack scowled. “No point in askin’ for a translation if you already know the bloody code, mate,” he said coldly, but then realized that James was not listening--at least, not to him.
Staring sidelong at nothing, as though hearing a voice across some distance, James had a faraway look in his eye, and the humming of the ship around them seemed almost angry, which made Jack nervous until he realized, with some surprise, that she wasn’t mad at him. “Ah. You made a deal, too, then,” James murmured at last, “for your Pearl.”
Jack’s lips twitched. He was tired of hearing it: in whispers behind his back onboard his own ship, and silently in the way people kept looking at him, trying to see the answer in his face, which wasn’t bloody likely. “Yes. I did, all right? Thirteen years as ‘er captain in exchange for me black and shriveled little piratical soul.” He rhythmically drummed his fingertips on James’ table and drained half of his glass of whiskey in one gulp.
“To Davy Jones?”
“Aye,” Jack muttered. “I always figured I could find meself a way out of it; it’s a bit of a specialty of mine, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, mate.” Again, he emptied his glass and set it down to seek a refill.
James obliged. “Indeed. And William Turner?”
“Press-ganged, mate.”
“By you, or by Davy Jones?”
Jack glared at him. “I’ll get him back. I jus’ needed to buy meself some time, ‘s all. Time without Jones’ beastie tryin’ to drag me to the depths.”
James looked at him archly. “Beastie?”
“Kraken.”
James’ brow furrowed. “A giant squid, you mean?”
Jack grinned bitterly. “Are you askin’ about Jones hisself or his beastie? Because the answer to both of ‘em is yes, but the latter bein’ about three-hundred or so times bigger than the former, which is the size of a big bearded pirate covered in clams and barnacles.”
James’ eyebrows raised further, but then he shook his head and drained his own glass of whiskey. Jack reached over to take the bottle and refill the other man’s glass. James nodded in silent thanks.
“So, Callie gave you this ship, ay? What’d you have to trade if it wasn’ your soul?”
“Oh, you know, nothing much,” James said, dry and sarcastic as always. “Just Beckett’s head on a silver platter and loyalty to Calypso in favor of snakes like Beckett and other creatures who ‘corrupt the sea’ or something. She mentioned something about a little bird telling me exactly what other creatures... my head was not very clear, but my decisions were.” The look on his face as his gaze moved across the ceiling of his cabin showed a look Jack was familiar with: love for his ship, determination, and possessiveness.
“Aye, she has the effect on men o’ the sea.” At first, Jack was simply jealous and enraged that such fortune had come to Norrington that easily. Then... then he thought about it, smug realization creeping into his expression. “Ah. Well. As a little bird-” Jack pointed at himself with a hint of a smug grin at the part-exasperated part-acceptance look crossed James face. “-let me tell you; I don’t know if you know what you’ve gotten yourself into with that promise, mate.” His teeth flashed gold. “Do you know why Calypso can’t step foot off land, these days?”
James’ brow furrowed as he sipped at his whiskey, staring at Jack over the rim of the glass. A little bird indeed, he thought, both bitterly amused and slightly irritated with himself for not thinking of it sooner. Then he slowly shook his head. “I don’t.”
“Because, Davy Jones controls the sea,” Jack said firmly.
“But Calypso is the sea,” James murmured, surprised at how deeply true it felt, for all that he had thought himself a skeptic.
“Aye, ‘tis true; that she is, but she’s contained, now, ‘cause she broke the rules and fell madly in love with a human--a pirate named Davy Jones. That’s how it all started, mate. She installed him as captain of the Flying Dutchman, so he’d be as immortal as she is, only the captain of the Dutchman has to spend all his time, except for one day every ten years, ferryin’ the souls of the dead lost at sea to their proper places. Well, bein’ the sea goddess she is, she’s also inconstant, unpredictable, and generally unreliable, so when Jones came ashore on one of those once-every-ten-years days to meet with his true love and she somehow failed to show, he felt pretty betrayed; thus, he gave a bunch of pirate lords--the original nine of ‘em including the first an’ thusfar only king of the brethren--the secrets they needed to capture and bind Calypso, tamin’ the sea. That’s how my ilk got to be quite as successful as we now are, savvy?”
Norrington nursed his whiskey steadily. “This--sounds absolutely mad...”
Jack sighed and muttered into his glass, “God save me from the British Royal Navy.”
“I wasn’t finished.”
Jack looked up, puzzled.
“It sounds mad, but... I think that I believe it. After seeing her, that is.”
Jack smirked. “Your ship, or Calypso?”
After a few moments’ consideration, James answered, “Both. Respectively.”
That earned a brief but smile from Jack before the knowing, mocking and smug part of his nature reasserted itself. “Now you let me finish.”
James’ eyebrows raised. “There’s more?”
Jack chuckled. “Just that Jones, y’see, started to shirk his duties to the dead after his lady-love hung ‘im out to dry. He also got to be pretty cruel and vicious and generally nasty: Corrupt, you might even call it.” His grin widened a bit at the way James’ eyes narrowed suspiciously. “That’s why him an’ his crew look like a hideous menagerie of the unholy offspring of big hulking men and ugly bits of sea-life that got covered in a lot of barnacles and clams and seaweed.” He shuddered, his lip curling as he absently wiped his formerly-black-spotted hand on his coat, remembering the tentacle that had wrapped around it, and the slime. God, the slime...
Slowly, it sunk in for James, and he drained his glass of whiskey, then set it down firmly. Again, Jack refilled it. “Thank you,” James said, absently. Then, as he met the pirate’s gaze, skepticism warred with a resigned sense of imminent doom in James’ facial expression. “To clarify: I... am meant to help Calypso then. Sworn to, actually.”
“Aye.”
“Which means, probably, somehow fixing the corruption that is Davy Jones.” James pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, doom and resignation winning out at last.
“Aye.”
“And getting rid of Beckett.”
“Aye.”
“And possibly somehow freeing Calypso from...”
“Bein’ bound t’ human form by the pirate lords.”
“Aye,” James mocked dryly. “Oh God, what have I gotten myself into?”
“Welcome to my world, mate.”
James snorted derisively. “Yes, but that is a bit different, Jack; you seek it out on purpose, and deliberately provoke reaction out of everyone you meet along the way. I would never have even thought...” He stopped, his eyes narrowing as he shot an inexplicably grudging look of acknowledgement and gratitude towards Jack. Then the ex-commodore shook his head, his face clearing again behind his usual reserve. “I would not have done any of this, let alone agreed to do any of this, if I had not fought those damned undead pirates, lost Elizabeth, or found this ship floating unattended and completely empty in open waters.” He sounded idly bitter, but there was no trace of regret in his voice. The only real bruises James bore were on some part of his pride, and it was clear that he had already come to terms with those.
“Aye, mate. ‘S unfair that I have to try a Hell of a lot harder an’ you just get things handed over to you like this.”
A harsh chuckle escaped James’ chest. “I suppose so. Of course, you’re in this for your own gain, whereas I have been drafted in to action for the gain of others.”
Jack snorted and gestured toward James as thought it were obvious. “Bloody Navy.”
James shook his head, still smirking faintly. “I suppose so. Even if said navy is currently trying to find a way to put my head on a spike.” He took another sip of whiskey.
“Aye,” Jack muttered. “Maybe you’re not all-Navy. Not brocade all through-and-through like some; one of your Lieutenants was a through-an’-through, the poncy pale one with the French-soundin’ name...”
“Gillette?”
“Aye.”
“Yes, I can see what you mean, there,” James murmured, glancing sidelong at nothing in particular, looking thoughtful and reflective.
Jack wondered about that, but did not ask. “Anyway, you’ve been a Navy pirate-hunter, and a good one, but I think you lean more toward the ‘hunter’ bit than the actual ‘Navy’ parts. And you’re a good hunter, I must admit.”
James hesitated for a moment, then said, “Funny. She called me that, too.”
“Not surprised. Especially considerin’ this ship.” Jack’s eyes wandered around the cabin idly. “She’s pretty.”
“Yes.” James glanced upward as if trying to see the helm by looking up through the ceiling. “It occurred to me, when I fist started... ’listening’ I guess you could say, that I suddenly understood your attachment to your Black Pearl so much better.”
The two men shared a knowing look. James raised his glass. Jack clinked his own against it, and they drank to the unspoken toast. Sometimes, much like their ships, neither of the men needed words.
“So you’ll be followin’ me then? Since we’re both after Jones, an’ you know he’ll soon follow where I lead, once we’ve got the heart.”
“Assuming you actually get it.”
“Jamie-love, look at me.” He spread his arms, hands once more making elegant, drunken flourishes in the air as he spread his arms out to either side and said with conviction, “I’m Captain Jack Sparrow.”
James laughed softly at that, and nodded once. “I suppose that you are.” There was something bright and amused and interesting in his gaze as he looked at Jack, and Jack was thinking very seriously about what he might want to do about it, when there came an urgent knocking on the door of the cabin.
Both captains glanced at the door, both simultaneously reaching for their pistols. Then they looked at each other for a long moment, and slowly relaxed, taking their hands from their weapons.
James looked away first, turning back toward the door and said, “Come in.”
Theodore Groves pushed open the door and said, “Captain I-” and then stopped, staring at Captain Jack Sparrow with wide eyes. “Oh,” he said meekly.
“Captain Jack Sparrow, this is my first mate, Theodore Groves. Theo, this is Captain Jack Sparrow,” Norrington introduced politely, as though this were a perfectly normal meeting between ship captains instead of two men most people considered to be arch-nemeses.
Groves shut the door behind him quietly and stared at the two captains for a moment, shock and worry clouding his expression for a moment along with a hint of absurd humor, but after one particularly long look at his captain, he stepped up and held out his hand. “Captain.”
Jack Sparrow reached out and shook it. “Good to meet you in a manner that has nothin’ to do with my immanent demise, this time, Mr. Groves,” he said, with a smile that glinted gold.
“Likewise, I suppose,” Groves countered.
“Captain Sparrow and I were just discussing our future plans, as relating to Mr. Beckett, amongst some other sundry people who want to harm or hurt him,” Norrington said.
“Ah. I was actually here to mention that the Black Pearl...”
“Is less than fifty yards from us,” Norrington said, and then smiled. “That much I had gathered on my own, Groves, but thank you.”
“Yes, sir.” Groves was still eyeing Sparrow suspiciously.
“Theo,” James said firmly, getting the man’s attention. “For the time being, at least, I trust this man.” One hand gestured toward Jack, but the ex-commodore held Groves’ gaze with a knowing look, reassuring. This allowed both ex-navy men to ignore the look of open shock on the pirate captain’s face, which Jack quickly tried to hide.
Theodore Groves straightened his already impeccable military bearing, but his face softened somewhat, allowing a hint of amusement and curiosity to show. “Sorry, Captain.”
“It’s quite alright. I will need to talk to you later tonight concerning what on earth we’ll be telling the men in the morning.”
“Sir?”
“We’ll be heading out with the tide tomorrow afternoon, mate,” Jack said with a grin.
Groves’ eyes widened. “Ah. And you are not, I presume, merely using the Royal ‘we’ to support your impressive ego, Captain Sparrow?”
Jack’s grin widened. “No I am not, but I appreciate your consideration.”
Groves shot Norrington a rather uncertain look.
“They are headed out to hunt down something of great value to Lord Beckett, and we are going to make sure that no EITC hands come within ten miles of it until we know exactly what to do with it.” There was something grave in James’ expression, almost apologetic.
Groves’ brows knit and he gulped very quietly. “Is this... undead pirate territory again?”
James sighed heavily. “I’m afraid so. More than that, I’m afraid: it goes even deeper.”
Groves nodded. “I’ll go drink for a while, then, if you don’t mind. I will be far more amenable to this conversation afterwards.”
“By all means.”
“Thank you, James.” And then he left.
Jack whistled. “He was one of the boys on your Dauntless for that one, then, Ay?”
“Indeed. He was rather badly wounded. Also, the Dauntless, in retrospect, was probably never really mine.”
“Aye? And what about the Interceptor?”
“Quite different. I was the first and only one to captain her before she was stolen the day that I became a commodore.” He looked pointedly at Jack.
The pirate captain grinned somewhat sheepishly. “Sorry, mate. Not much choice.”
“I know. We are, as you said before, ‘squared away.’”
“Aye,” Jack murmured. “And I appreciate what you told your former Lieutenant, there.”
“Hm?”
“That you trust me.” He looked at James archly, in a dead-on imitation of one of James’ sardonic expressions.
James smirked. “I trust you to the extent that I can decode your gibberish, and to the extent that I can force you to explain it all afterwards. That is, for now, enough.”
The pirate eyed him thoughtfully, once more surprised that the ex-commodore was not, in fact, tricking him. There was no malice or razor-edged ambition in him: I serve others, not only myself, Jack recalled hearing him say. The ex-commodore was interesting... shiny somehow, even in the absence of all that fancy golden naval brocade. Jack found himself grinning brilliantly as he replied, “Better my gibberish than Navy gibberish, in my opinion. You can say an awful lot without really sayin’ anything.” Briefly, he mimicked, “‘Plans as relating to Lord Beckett, amongst some other sundry people who want to harm or hurt him.’” Jack snorted. “Could you get more vague, there, Jamie?”
Arching an eyebrow at the reappearance of that nickname, James shook his head, but acceded, “If I put an effort into it.”
Jack finished his glass of whiskey thoughtfully, but did not set it down this time. “You’ll need to meet me crew. They need to trust you, at least so far as they can throw you, or ye’ll wake up with one of me mates’ blades at yer throat the first time you try to sleep.”
“Mm. They would find that endeavor surprisingly difficult.” After nearly two full decades spent at sea, and some of the more traumatic experiences he had suffered throughout, James Norrington was a very light sleeper, with at least one weapon on hand at all times. “And you, Jack?” he challenged.
The pirate captain eyed him, his face unreadable for a few moments. “I trust you about as much as you do me, mate. It’s all to do with seeing what it is going on behind the gibberish.” He gave a knowing smile that was more sincere than most of his usual ones, and a little more heated.
James tried not to think about the way that those words and that look made his heartbeat speed up a bit with anticipation: just knowing that this man could keep up with his mind, challenge it, and understand it enough to be worth something...
Also, the way that Jack’s voice had all but purred made some of the ex-commodore’s baser interests flare to life, but James contained that reaction with ease that had been garnered through years of practice. “Good,” was all James said. He drained his own glass, stoppered the bottle of whiskey, and got to his feet smoothly. “Is now a good time?”
“Since tonight is more about gettin’ supplies than it is about gettin’ drunk or gettin’ wenches... aye.” He watched the lines of James’ body as the taller man put his coat back on. It was, the pirate admitted, a very fine body, as he could more easily see now that it wasn’t encased in all that brocade. “Now would indeed seem to be an opportune moment.”
At that thought, James smirked in a somewhat enigmatic manner as a particularly interesting idea struck him, but it had mostly faded by the time he turned to look at Jack over his shoulder. He arched an eyebrow when he noted that Jack Sparrow seemed to be ogling him with interest. Schooling his expression into its usual unreadable blank, James replied, “So it would seem.” It was an effort not to leer openly in response, which rather took James by surprise. This was a new level added to the already complex game between himself and Sparrow, and not one he had wholly expected, for all that he had been able to appreciate the other man’s fey beauty in the past. This was slightly different; it was not often that James’ more playful, intellectual, and predatory regards took a flirtatious or lusty turn, and it was even less often that he had ever found any opportunity to do anything more than restrain impulse and maintain propriety when it had.
But in the here and now, ex-commodore James had thrown propriety away along with his cravat, and this time, perhaps for the first time, he also had a truly worthy opponent, a good man, and an intelligent one who was also, for the moment, unsuspecting prey. Tempting indeed. All that remained was to wait for the right moment to start this new game and see if Jack Sparrow could keep up.
Jack was almost unnerved by the brief flicker of something unidentifiable and dark in the ex-commodore’s gaze, and furrowed his brow in confusion for a moment, but then James smirked with a playful edge, no trace of the previous shadow in his expression. “Shall we, then, Captain Sparrow?”
“Aye, Capn’ Jamie.” He took the lead this time, stepping out the door with James following behind until they emerged on deck and there was room for them to stand side-by-side. Watching the other man out of the corner of his eye, Jack had to wonder what exactly the ex-commodore was still smirking about, however subtly.
Previous || Story Index || Next
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean; Sparrington
Rating: PG-13 for now, going up to NC-17 later
Disclaimer: I have no claim on POTC or the lovely characters who populate it, even if it seems that James Norrington is making himself quite at home in my head, the snarky British bastard.
Dedication: This is all Norrington’s fault.
Summary: The newly ex-naval Norrington and Elizabeth catch up. Jack is introduced to James’ ship, and both men exchange gibberish over drinks. Snark and games of wit ensue.
Chapter Six
Jack sat in the corner of his crew’s favorite tavern in Tortuga, shaking his compass irritably, because the damned thing had to be drunk or something, to keep swaying about like it was. At least, that was what Jack was currently willing to claim. He growled at it. Gibbs sat at a nearby table luring souls aboard the Black Pearl.
“Only ninety-nine more,” Jack muttered to himself. “Bloody walking cuttlefish.”
Again, he shook the compass. After muttering a few mantras, closing and reopening the damned thing half a dozen times, he finally gave up and chose to distract himself by asking Gibbs, “How many’ve we got?”
“Countin’ those four?”
Jack looked up at him.
Gibbs did not look happy. “We have four.”
“Ah. Not so well, then?”
Gibbs sighed.
Outside, the winds abruptly changed, and Jack’s spine went stiff as a shudder ran up it. His dark eyes were wide. “The Pearl,” he rumbled suddenly, and leapt from his seat.
Gibbs followed suit. He knew that look all too well. “Cap’n?”
“Somethin’s comin’ into the port, mate.” Jack’s eyes narrowed into a suspicious glare. “I can feel it, but damned if I know what it is,” Jack muttered. “Load up what we’ll need to make sail in the morning. Rustle up a few more souls if ya can.” He gestured vaguely with one hand, flourishing meaninglessly, as his other hand settled on the pommel of his sword thoughtfully. “I’ll just have a look-see, ay?” He tried to smile reassuringly at Gibbs, failed, and sauntered very quickly out the door.
The night was quiet, but a fine wind was coming in, as Jack picked his way down towards the docks. He could still feel the breeze on his face as he stood, waiting near the Black Pearl and glaring suspiciously at both the mouth of the port and the ship that was coming in. It looked inexplicably familiar, and was a quite pretty little thing, smaller than his Pearl, but bigger than another fast little ship Jack had once comandeered.
Behind him, Jack heard footsteps.
“Captain Sparrow,” someone called in a familiar voice, but not familiar enough to inspire Jack’s mind into recalling a name to attach to it.
Jack turned his head enough to listen, but did not actually look at them or turn enough for them to see is face, his gaze still fixed on that little gold ship. There were two people approaching, whoever they were. One was taller, walking with heavier footsteps, casually precise, but walking relatively slow in order to allow the owner of the lighter and more purposeful footsteps to set the pace for their little stroll.
Jack made sure not to turn around. Something was not right here. His ship was humming, humming, eager for something in a way Jack was wholly unfamiliar with; it was unnerving. To keep himself anchored to the world outside his head, he replied to the two people approaching him. “Interested in joining me crew, are you? Gibbs is the one doing the hiring, and he’s back in the tavern, lad. I’m a might busy.”
“I’m here to find the man I love,” the same voice said.
Jack stiffened. “Well, lad, if I was him, I’m sure I’d recognize that voice of yours from havin’ earned that love, but-” He turned on his heel to face the pair of them, and stopped, his eyes widening a little. He swayed back in exaggerated surprise. “Oh,” he said flatly.
“Not you, Jack,” Elizabeth sighed, her eyes sad and her voice exasperated as she shook her head at him. She was dressed in men’s clothing and looked like a very pretty cabin boy in her brown coat, tan breeches, white stockings, and little tricorne hat. “I’m here for Will.”
Then the man beside her spoke, in and equally familiar, albeit far more sardonic and baritone voice, which was all the more recognizable for its authoritative and mordant British drawl. “As I understand it, Captain Sparrow, Mr. Turner had been seeking you out across a wide area, and the word is that he did find you.”
Jack glared at Norrington, who had apparently fixed up his coat and hat, now looking quite fancy: roguish, and yet not piratical. The hawk feathers were a nice touch, but Jack would not let the shiny wardrobe distract him from what Norrington had just said. “Word? What word?”
“There’s a rather heavily inebriated dwarf, a member of your crew of Elizabeth’s acquaintance, who is currently asleep in a nearby pigsty. I believe so, anyway. He passed out shortly after I’d garnered a bit of information from him,” James explained.
“Did you also think to ask him about whether or not dear William had remained on my ship?” Jack inquired politely.
James’ eyes narrowed slightly. “Ah. No. You are saying then that he is not?”
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed and she demanded, “Where is he, Jack?”
Jack glanced warily at Norrington, then sauntered up to Elizabeth and rested a hand on her shoulder as he looked her in the eye with a look of apology and consolation on his face. “Darling, I am truly unhappy to have to tell you this, but--through an unfortunate and entirely unforseeable series of circumstances having nothing at all whatsoever to do with me--dear William has been press-ganged into joining Davy Jones’ crew.” He was all too aware of the utterly suspicious look on Norrington’s face, but did not so much as glance at it, instead focusing all of his intensity upon Elizabeth, making sure to look very apologetic and hard-put-upon.
She shook her head, looking very pretty and sad and confused. “Davy Jones?”
Jack nodded, all but biting his lip in a look of grief.
“Jack,” Norrington warned darkly. “I sense here that you are waxing gibberish again.”
The pirate’s lips twitched in annoyance and he glared at the ex-commodore. “Perhaps I can offer you a translation post-gibberish, ay, Norrington?”
“That would be Captain Norrington,” James deadpanned.
Jack hesitated, at once annoyed and amused. “Ah, yes. I’d heard about that.” An inquisitive look crossed his features and his grin was sharp. “You’ve got quite a ship, they say.”
A wide smirk crossed James’ features, his green eyes lighting up with mixed amusement, mockery, and pride. “Yes. I do. We came in ahead of her in one of the longboats, to get a head start on our business here. She’s just docking now.”
Jack abruptly stopped swaying and jerked his head around to stare at the vicious-looking little vessel coming closer even now, and noted a resemblance of sorts, in the shape and style rather than the coloration, that caused him to glance hesitantly at his Black Pearl, who seemed to be positively thrumming with delight and...
Oh dear God. His Pearl had a sister. And more than that, his Pearl was also pleased to see James Bloody Norrington, which was surely just adding insult to injury. Jack almost blanched, but covered it well as he spun on Norrington with a dark look that smoldered with intense curiosity. “Now where did you get that?” he rumbled.
James merely raised his eyebrows, his countenance a blank and impassive slate: unreadable. “Perhaps, Captain Sparrow, I will tell you the story post-gibberish.”
Jack’s upper lip curled back slightly in irritation, but he admitted a grudging respect for the infuriating green-eyed man, because Norrington was, to Jack’s chagrin, good at this game. “Fine.” He pointed at Norrington with a wagging finger. “I’ll hold you to that.”
“If so, I will hold you to your promise of a translation,” James countered.
Jack hesitated for a moment, wary, but then nodded once. “D’accord, Captain.”
“What on earth are you two talking about?” Elizabeth finally shouted, her fury overcoming the weakness that had gone through her at the thought of something happening to Will. “No. Nevermind you two men and your damned riddles, for now; I haven’t got the patience.” She whirled on Jack and demanded, “Who the bloody Hell is Davy Jones, and why, Captain Jack Sparrow, does he have Will?” With emphasis, she all but lunged at Jack, who was now leaning back away from her, holding up his hands palms-forward in an attempt to look harmless.
“Sorry, love. Got carried away with ol’ Jamie, here.” The pirate attempted a beatific smile that somehow did not appease Elizabeth’s ire.
“As I recall the story from my youth, Davy Jones is the mythical captain of the Flying Dutchman,” James explained. “A great and unstoppable ghost-ship that appears before shipwrecked sailors and others who die at sea.”
Jack flailed an arm in an attempt at a dismissive flourish. “Amongst other things.”
Elizabeth seemed to crumble in some small way, her ire winking out like candle in a strong wind, forcing her to draw on years of British Propriety in order to sound composed as she said, “Jack... all I want is to find Will.”
That helped the pirate pull his act together again, nodding solemnly. Then he got a bit of an idea. He once more rested a hand on her shoulder and looked her in the eye. “Are you certain?” he asked quietly, and leaned in a bit closer. “Is that what you truly want most?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Of course.”
Jack pointedly ignored the way Norrington cleared his throat to communicate a gentle but impatient warning. Jack turned himself and Elizabeth aside and wrapped an arm across her shoulders, leading her forward and away from the intrusive ex-commodore, who decided to be a nuisance and foil the plan by following them closely. Jack continued anyway, “Because I would think, that what you would really want would be to find a way to save Will the most.”
Elizabeth pulled away a little and shot him an incredulous look. “And you would have a way of doing that?”
Sparrow held out his hands wide, palms-open. “Well... there is a chest.”
Norrington’s hand shifted to the grip of his sword, not grasping at it, but resting his palm over the pommel. Jack’s survival instincts were such that his gaze was automatically drawn to the movement and the corner of his mouth twitch downward in a momentary almost-scowl.
Elizabeth noticed and gave James a pleading look. “James, please. Let him explain.”
The ex-commodore held her gaze for a lingering moment.
Jack stared, and then looked away quickly, knowing that Elizabeth probably couldn’t see the faintest lingering flicker resigned and restrained want in those green eyes, focused as she was on thinking of her dear William; and Jack knew very well that James hardly needed any pirate to see it if she couldn’t, but Norrington glanced at him all the same, and Jack knew that he’d been caught. James turned back to Elizabeth calmly and gave a nod, taking his hand from his sword and clasping both hands behind his back in a very commodore-like manner. Behind him, members of the Black Pearl’s crew were approaching with supplies, ready to load them onto the ship. A few of them shot the trio odd looks.
Elizabeth turned back to Jack expectantly, ignoring the approaching whispers.
Captain Jack Sparrow fervently wished that he’d had the forethought to drink a lot more rum before coming out here to see what his ship had been buzzing about; it would have made everything he had to say that much easier. Maybe he could have even fooled the damn ex-commodore. Or not, but he could hope. “Aye. The chest... a chest of unknown size and origin.”
Pintel and Ragetti chose that moment to pass by, carrying livestock and helpfully interjecting, “A chest what contains the still-beatin’ heart of Davy Jones.”
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Complete with illustrative hand gestures. Lovely. Norrington arched an eyebrow at them imperiously, his expression stony. The two pirate crewman paled as recognition set in, and promptly skittered away from the ex-commodore fearfully, taking their livestock with them.
“And whoever possesses that chest,” Jack continued, heedless of his crew’s interruption, “has the leverage to demand of Davy Jones whatever it is that he or she wants.” His hands danced through the air with a further flourish as he leaned closer to Elizabeth. “Including, sparing dear William from an awful fate.”
Elizabeth looked thoughtful, and glanced at Norrington. He gave her a look urging her to be wary, but said nothing. She turned back to Jack and shook her head, but still asked, half-heartedly, “How would we find it?”
Smiling brightly, Jack held up one finger, as the digits of his other hand sought out his compass, which he then held up for display. “With this. My compass-” He snapped it open and shut quickly. “-is unique,” he purred.
Norrington stepped closer at that, but not as a warning this time. He was paying very close attention now, an almost knowingly intent look on his face. Somehow, this made Jack more wary; the intrigue was more dangerous than the outright suspicion that Norrington had displayed before. The pirate captain glanced at him expectantly and inquired, “Still think it to be broken, Jamie?”
Those sea-green eyes were cold and revealed nothing. “I am open to alternative theories.”
“Well, to be fair to you, it does not really point north, as you well noted.” He looked deep into Elizabeth’s eyes and leaned in, holding the compass closer to her. “It points to the thing that you want most in this world,” he said, quiet and perfectly serious.
Elizabeth’s eyes were sad and wide and hopeful as she bit her lip. “Jack... is that true?”
“Every word, love,” he assured. “And what you want most in this world-” he took her hand and lifted it up between them, then placed the compass delicately in her palm. “Is to find the chest of Davy Jones.”
“To save Will,” Elizabeth said firmly.
Jack grinned. “By finding the chest of Davy Jones.” He then looked down nervously at the compass and leapt away just as his fingers flung it open, as though he’d just thrown a match into a cup of black powder.
Elizabeth frowned after him for a moment, then looked down at the spinning arrow on the compass as it wavered, and came to an abrupt halt.
Tentatively, Jack peered over the edge of the compass. “Ah, and now we have our heading.” He grinned up at her.
“Finally,” called an exasperated female voice, which came from the carmel-skinned woman leaning over the edge of the Black Pearl. She lifted the brim of her hat and glared down at them. “Tell me what it is, Jack, ‘fore we lose it.”
Jack called it out to her, then turned to smile at Elizabeth. “Go on and make yourself at home, love. We’ll set sail tomorrow.”
“Jack... thank you.” She hesitated, and handed him back the compass. She did not want to be the one to hold onto it, not when Beckett wanted it so badly.
Jack grinned and once more replaced the compass about his person. “No problem, love. Steppin’ aboard then?”
“Yes.” Elizabeth then smiled softly at James. “I’ll leave you boys alone with your riddles, then.” Her brow furrowed in concern. “Don’t kill each other, or I’ll have to wreak unholy vengeance upon you,” she pouted.
With a faint smirk, James bowed his head to her. “You have my word, Elizabeth.”
Smiling more sincerely, she jabbed a finger at him. “I’ll hold you to it, James.” Then she stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek before turning and walking away.
James chuckled softly, a wistful look momentarily crossing his face as he watched her go, but then he shook his head and muttered under his breath, “That woman is almost as mad as you, Captain Jack Sparrow, and thrice as ambitious when the mood strikes her.” He did not sound like a man enamored, because in truth he no longer was.
“Aye. She’s more pirate than the whelp she’s chasing, that’s for sure,” Jack agreed. “She could probably take over the world. Good thing you didn’t marry her, mate. The last thing she needs is access t’ military power.”
Despite himself, James gave an amused snort. “I doubt she would have become the New World equivalent of Alexander the Great, but I do see your point. Had we wed, she would have been the death of me, I am sure.”
Jack gave a low, thoughtful noise as he turned to watch Elizabeth board the Black Pearl, a rucksack over her shoulder. He bit his lip, seeing the way that the breeches she wore flattered her figure. His initial thoughts on how men’s clothes did not suit her quickly vanished from his mind as he watched the movement of her hips as she walked.
Seeing the look on Jack’s face, the ex-commodore rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh. “Jack,” Norrington said flatly, interrupting the pirate’s warmer thoughts with his cold military tones. “I expect a full translation, now.”
The pirate captain cursed under his breath, turning to glare at the former navy man. “You think you’re so bloody smart, don’t you, mate?”
James did not even have the grace to so much as blink at the statement. “I think that you are dodging discussion of the main issues at hand, here.” He turned and gestured for Jack to follow. “Come on, Jack. You may come aboard my ship, and there we can exchange tales.” Norrington turned on his heel, heading toward the Gold Hawk, which had docked while Jack had so regaled Elizabeth with his promises. It was not far.
Jack wanted to grumble indignantly, but hesitated. “Why not my ship?”
Norrington paused, turning to give Jack a very stolid look. His deep voice was full of lofty derision. “Because my men are marginally less likely to shoot you on sight if you are with me without at least waiting for orders from me, whereas I seem to recall a few members of your crew who would be more than happy to take me out, whether or not I happened to be talking to you at the time. Shall we?”
With a huff, Jack joined him. “Alright, you’ve a point.” He eyed the Gold Hawk as they approached, and shivered as he felt her hum--like the Pearl, but not like her; the Hawk’s voice was more stoic, and somehow both sharper calmer: at least for now. She had an air of contained energy, and uncanny patience, but Jack could tell that she would be quick to strike; Jack had gotten the exact same impression the first time he’d met Commodore Norrington, along with that pretty gold-inlaid sword of his, the tip of which had been hovering very near his piratical throat. The sword’s owner had held himself with the same contained power and controlled ferocity that now radiated from the Gold Hawk: quick to strike, but deadly patient enough to wait for the perfect moment. Jack hesitated to step closer, until he realized that the hum he felt was actually... welcoming him. “Well.” he muttered, “that’s interesting.”
“Indeed. I had initially wondered if I was losing my mind,” James said, acknowledging easily that they were listening to the voices of each other’s ships.
Jack nodded, smirking a bit. “You would, mate.” Slowly, both men climbed up on deck.
There were only two men standing guard, but they were both very alert and carried Navy-regulation bayonets at attention. Norrington nodded at them, and they slipped into ‘at ease.’
“Just the recently ex-Navy boys aboard here, then?” Jack inquired.
“Aside from you? Yes.” James looked over the deck slowly, letting the warm calm of his ship sink into his bones. It softened his expression, but made his eyes seem sharper, more vibrant, and brilliantly alive.
Jack watched curiously, and wondered if he looked the same way when he boarded his Pearl. He decided that, in all likelihood, he probably did. “How did you get her?”
“She was given. Offered, actually, as part of a deal. From Calypso.”
Jack’s spine straightened and his natural sway abruptly turned stiff. “Wot did you say?”
James looked at him, then at his ship’s helm, then back to Jack with a smirk that was almost soft, were it not for the wry amusement dancing in those pale green eyes. “You look like you need a drink, Jack.”
The pirate captain’s shoulders slumped a little. “Damned right I do.”
“Follow me.”
Jack did, letting the ex-commodore lead him into the captain’s cabin. He watched Norrington shrug out of his coat and pull a large bottle of fine Scotch whiskey and two medium-sized glasses from a small cupboard. He held it up as he sat down at a mahogany table the size of a large desk. “It’s not rum, but it was the best alcohol in the possession of the last EITC ship we managed to raid. That, of course, being before half of the Admiral’s fleet decided to chase me through Hell and back... or at least through half of the damned caribbean.” He gestured towards the empty chair across from him. “Sit down, Jack.”
With deliberate laziness, Jack eased into the chair and lounged like a cat, going to far as to put one leg over the armrest in a defiant manner. “Ah. That long chase would be why you’re out of rum, then, I would guess.”
Ignoring the way Jack was seated, James nodded. “Indeed. We shall have to pick up further supply whilst here,” he lamented, and poured the whiskey. As Jack lifted his glass to his lips, James asked, “Now, what exactly is in the chest of Davy Jones that Lord Cutler Beckett wants so very badly to get his vile little hands on?” It was, after all the opportune moment.
Jack stopped just short of actually sputtering, and glared at him, then deliberately drained his entire glass in one swig and set it down, jerking his head toward it to indicate that James should refill it. “You’re too bloody sharp by more’n half, mate.” When James refilled the glass, Jack’s regard softened and he took a slower sip. It was, at least, very good whiskey. It outclassed the rotgut available in most Tortuga taverns by a long shot. “It’s like I told ‘Lizbeth: anyone who has the contents of that chest can demand anything they want of Davy Jones. Since Davy Jones hisself controls the sea, then if Beckett had leverage over him, he could do whatever he might very well like involving the sea. Since it is Beckett we’re talkin’ about, I’m more than willing to bet that he’d wipe out every pirate down to the last useless drunken scallywag, just because he hates us and he could do it, and then he’d bloody well make sure he never saw anyone or anything get in the way of his precious company and its precious business ever again.”
Norrington considered this. “I see. And why do you want the chest? I ask because I firmly believe that the ‘unfortunate and totally unforseeable series of circumstances having nothing at all whatsoever to do with you’ were, in fact, all your fault--whatever they were.” James sipped at his own whiskey and raised his eyebrows pointedly.
Jack scowled. “No point in askin’ for a translation if you already know the bloody code, mate,” he said coldly, but then realized that James was not listening--at least, not to him.
Staring sidelong at nothing, as though hearing a voice across some distance, James had a faraway look in his eye, and the humming of the ship around them seemed almost angry, which made Jack nervous until he realized, with some surprise, that she wasn’t mad at him. “Ah. You made a deal, too, then,” James murmured at last, “for your Pearl.”
Jack’s lips twitched. He was tired of hearing it: in whispers behind his back onboard his own ship, and silently in the way people kept looking at him, trying to see the answer in his face, which wasn’t bloody likely. “Yes. I did, all right? Thirteen years as ‘er captain in exchange for me black and shriveled little piratical soul.” He rhythmically drummed his fingertips on James’ table and drained half of his glass of whiskey in one gulp.
“To Davy Jones?”
“Aye,” Jack muttered. “I always figured I could find meself a way out of it; it’s a bit of a specialty of mine, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, mate.” Again, he emptied his glass and set it down to seek a refill.
James obliged. “Indeed. And William Turner?”
“Press-ganged, mate.”
“By you, or by Davy Jones?”
Jack glared at him. “I’ll get him back. I jus’ needed to buy meself some time, ‘s all. Time without Jones’ beastie tryin’ to drag me to the depths.”
James looked at him archly. “Beastie?”
“Kraken.”
James’ brow furrowed. “A giant squid, you mean?”
Jack grinned bitterly. “Are you askin’ about Jones hisself or his beastie? Because the answer to both of ‘em is yes, but the latter bein’ about three-hundred or so times bigger than the former, which is the size of a big bearded pirate covered in clams and barnacles.”
James’ eyebrows raised further, but then he shook his head and drained his own glass of whiskey. Jack reached over to take the bottle and refill the other man’s glass. James nodded in silent thanks.
“So, Callie gave you this ship, ay? What’d you have to trade if it wasn’ your soul?”
“Oh, you know, nothing much,” James said, dry and sarcastic as always. “Just Beckett’s head on a silver platter and loyalty to Calypso in favor of snakes like Beckett and other creatures who ‘corrupt the sea’ or something. She mentioned something about a little bird telling me exactly what other creatures... my head was not very clear, but my decisions were.” The look on his face as his gaze moved across the ceiling of his cabin showed a look Jack was familiar with: love for his ship, determination, and possessiveness.
“Aye, she has the effect on men o’ the sea.” At first, Jack was simply jealous and enraged that such fortune had come to Norrington that easily. Then... then he thought about it, smug realization creeping into his expression. “Ah. Well. As a little bird-” Jack pointed at himself with a hint of a smug grin at the part-exasperated part-acceptance look crossed James face. “-let me tell you; I don’t know if you know what you’ve gotten yourself into with that promise, mate.” His teeth flashed gold. “Do you know why Calypso can’t step foot off land, these days?”
James’ brow furrowed as he sipped at his whiskey, staring at Jack over the rim of the glass. A little bird indeed, he thought, both bitterly amused and slightly irritated with himself for not thinking of it sooner. Then he slowly shook his head. “I don’t.”
“Because, Davy Jones controls the sea,” Jack said firmly.
“But Calypso is the sea,” James murmured, surprised at how deeply true it felt, for all that he had thought himself a skeptic.
“Aye, ‘tis true; that she is, but she’s contained, now, ‘cause she broke the rules and fell madly in love with a human--a pirate named Davy Jones. That’s how it all started, mate. She installed him as captain of the Flying Dutchman, so he’d be as immortal as she is, only the captain of the Dutchman has to spend all his time, except for one day every ten years, ferryin’ the souls of the dead lost at sea to their proper places. Well, bein’ the sea goddess she is, she’s also inconstant, unpredictable, and generally unreliable, so when Jones came ashore on one of those once-every-ten-years days to meet with his true love and she somehow failed to show, he felt pretty betrayed; thus, he gave a bunch of pirate lords--the original nine of ‘em including the first an’ thusfar only king of the brethren--the secrets they needed to capture and bind Calypso, tamin’ the sea. That’s how my ilk got to be quite as successful as we now are, savvy?”
Norrington nursed his whiskey steadily. “This--sounds absolutely mad...”
Jack sighed and muttered into his glass, “God save me from the British Royal Navy.”
“I wasn’t finished.”
Jack looked up, puzzled.
“It sounds mad, but... I think that I believe it. After seeing her, that is.”
Jack smirked. “Your ship, or Calypso?”
After a few moments’ consideration, James answered, “Both. Respectively.”
That earned a brief but smile from Jack before the knowing, mocking and smug part of his nature reasserted itself. “Now you let me finish.”
James’ eyebrows raised. “There’s more?”
Jack chuckled. “Just that Jones, y’see, started to shirk his duties to the dead after his lady-love hung ‘im out to dry. He also got to be pretty cruel and vicious and generally nasty: Corrupt, you might even call it.” His grin widened a bit at the way James’ eyes narrowed suspiciously. “That’s why him an’ his crew look like a hideous menagerie of the unholy offspring of big hulking men and ugly bits of sea-life that got covered in a lot of barnacles and clams and seaweed.” He shuddered, his lip curling as he absently wiped his formerly-black-spotted hand on his coat, remembering the tentacle that had wrapped around it, and the slime. God, the slime...
Slowly, it sunk in for James, and he drained his glass of whiskey, then set it down firmly. Again, Jack refilled it. “Thank you,” James said, absently. Then, as he met the pirate’s gaze, skepticism warred with a resigned sense of imminent doom in James’ facial expression. “To clarify: I... am meant to help Calypso then. Sworn to, actually.”
“Aye.”
“Which means, probably, somehow fixing the corruption that is Davy Jones.” James pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, doom and resignation winning out at last.
“Aye.”
“And getting rid of Beckett.”
“Aye.”
“And possibly somehow freeing Calypso from...”
“Bein’ bound t’ human form by the pirate lords.”
“Aye,” James mocked dryly. “Oh God, what have I gotten myself into?”
“Welcome to my world, mate.”
James snorted derisively. “Yes, but that is a bit different, Jack; you seek it out on purpose, and deliberately provoke reaction out of everyone you meet along the way. I would never have even thought...” He stopped, his eyes narrowing as he shot an inexplicably grudging look of acknowledgement and gratitude towards Jack. Then the ex-commodore shook his head, his face clearing again behind his usual reserve. “I would not have done any of this, let alone agreed to do any of this, if I had not fought those damned undead pirates, lost Elizabeth, or found this ship floating unattended and completely empty in open waters.” He sounded idly bitter, but there was no trace of regret in his voice. The only real bruises James bore were on some part of his pride, and it was clear that he had already come to terms with those.
“Aye, mate. ‘S unfair that I have to try a Hell of a lot harder an’ you just get things handed over to you like this.”
A harsh chuckle escaped James’ chest. “I suppose so. Of course, you’re in this for your own gain, whereas I have been drafted in to action for the gain of others.”
Jack snorted and gestured toward James as thought it were obvious. “Bloody Navy.”
James shook his head, still smirking faintly. “I suppose so. Even if said navy is currently trying to find a way to put my head on a spike.” He took another sip of whiskey.
“Aye,” Jack muttered. “Maybe you’re not all-Navy. Not brocade all through-and-through like some; one of your Lieutenants was a through-an’-through, the poncy pale one with the French-soundin’ name...”
“Gillette?”
“Aye.”
“Yes, I can see what you mean, there,” James murmured, glancing sidelong at nothing in particular, looking thoughtful and reflective.
Jack wondered about that, but did not ask. “Anyway, you’ve been a Navy pirate-hunter, and a good one, but I think you lean more toward the ‘hunter’ bit than the actual ‘Navy’ parts. And you’re a good hunter, I must admit.”
James hesitated for a moment, then said, “Funny. She called me that, too.”
“Not surprised. Especially considerin’ this ship.” Jack’s eyes wandered around the cabin idly. “She’s pretty.”
“Yes.” James glanced upward as if trying to see the helm by looking up through the ceiling. “It occurred to me, when I fist started... ’listening’ I guess you could say, that I suddenly understood your attachment to your Black Pearl so much better.”
The two men shared a knowing look. James raised his glass. Jack clinked his own against it, and they drank to the unspoken toast. Sometimes, much like their ships, neither of the men needed words.
“So you’ll be followin’ me then? Since we’re both after Jones, an’ you know he’ll soon follow where I lead, once we’ve got the heart.”
“Assuming you actually get it.”
“Jamie-love, look at me.” He spread his arms, hands once more making elegant, drunken flourishes in the air as he spread his arms out to either side and said with conviction, “I’m Captain Jack Sparrow.”
James laughed softly at that, and nodded once. “I suppose that you are.” There was something bright and amused and interesting in his gaze as he looked at Jack, and Jack was thinking very seriously about what he might want to do about it, when there came an urgent knocking on the door of the cabin.
Both captains glanced at the door, both simultaneously reaching for their pistols. Then they looked at each other for a long moment, and slowly relaxed, taking their hands from their weapons.
James looked away first, turning back toward the door and said, “Come in.”
Theodore Groves pushed open the door and said, “Captain I-” and then stopped, staring at Captain Jack Sparrow with wide eyes. “Oh,” he said meekly.
“Captain Jack Sparrow, this is my first mate, Theodore Groves. Theo, this is Captain Jack Sparrow,” Norrington introduced politely, as though this were a perfectly normal meeting between ship captains instead of two men most people considered to be arch-nemeses.
Groves shut the door behind him quietly and stared at the two captains for a moment, shock and worry clouding his expression for a moment along with a hint of absurd humor, but after one particularly long look at his captain, he stepped up and held out his hand. “Captain.”
Jack Sparrow reached out and shook it. “Good to meet you in a manner that has nothin’ to do with my immanent demise, this time, Mr. Groves,” he said, with a smile that glinted gold.
“Likewise, I suppose,” Groves countered.
“Captain Sparrow and I were just discussing our future plans, as relating to Mr. Beckett, amongst some other sundry people who want to harm or hurt him,” Norrington said.
“Ah. I was actually here to mention that the Black Pearl...”
“Is less than fifty yards from us,” Norrington said, and then smiled. “That much I had gathered on my own, Groves, but thank you.”
“Yes, sir.” Groves was still eyeing Sparrow suspiciously.
“Theo,” James said firmly, getting the man’s attention. “For the time being, at least, I trust this man.” One hand gestured toward Jack, but the ex-commodore held Groves’ gaze with a knowing look, reassuring. This allowed both ex-navy men to ignore the look of open shock on the pirate captain’s face, which Jack quickly tried to hide.
Theodore Groves straightened his already impeccable military bearing, but his face softened somewhat, allowing a hint of amusement and curiosity to show. “Sorry, Captain.”
“It’s quite alright. I will need to talk to you later tonight concerning what on earth we’ll be telling the men in the morning.”
“Sir?”
“We’ll be heading out with the tide tomorrow afternoon, mate,” Jack said with a grin.
Groves’ eyes widened. “Ah. And you are not, I presume, merely using the Royal ‘we’ to support your impressive ego, Captain Sparrow?”
Jack’s grin widened. “No I am not, but I appreciate your consideration.”
Groves shot Norrington a rather uncertain look.
“They are headed out to hunt down something of great value to Lord Beckett, and we are going to make sure that no EITC hands come within ten miles of it until we know exactly what to do with it.” There was something grave in James’ expression, almost apologetic.
Groves’ brows knit and he gulped very quietly. “Is this... undead pirate territory again?”
James sighed heavily. “I’m afraid so. More than that, I’m afraid: it goes even deeper.”
Groves nodded. “I’ll go drink for a while, then, if you don’t mind. I will be far more amenable to this conversation afterwards.”
“By all means.”
“Thank you, James.” And then he left.
Jack whistled. “He was one of the boys on your Dauntless for that one, then, Ay?”
“Indeed. He was rather badly wounded. Also, the Dauntless, in retrospect, was probably never really mine.”
“Aye? And what about the Interceptor?”
“Quite different. I was the first and only one to captain her before she was stolen the day that I became a commodore.” He looked pointedly at Jack.
The pirate captain grinned somewhat sheepishly. “Sorry, mate. Not much choice.”
“I know. We are, as you said before, ‘squared away.’”
“Aye,” Jack murmured. “And I appreciate what you told your former Lieutenant, there.”
“Hm?”
“That you trust me.” He looked at James archly, in a dead-on imitation of one of James’ sardonic expressions.
James smirked. “I trust you to the extent that I can decode your gibberish, and to the extent that I can force you to explain it all afterwards. That is, for now, enough.”
The pirate eyed him thoughtfully, once more surprised that the ex-commodore was not, in fact, tricking him. There was no malice or razor-edged ambition in him: I serve others, not only myself, Jack recalled hearing him say. The ex-commodore was interesting... shiny somehow, even in the absence of all that fancy golden naval brocade. Jack found himself grinning brilliantly as he replied, “Better my gibberish than Navy gibberish, in my opinion. You can say an awful lot without really sayin’ anything.” Briefly, he mimicked, “‘Plans as relating to Lord Beckett, amongst some other sundry people who want to harm or hurt him.’” Jack snorted. “Could you get more vague, there, Jamie?”
Arching an eyebrow at the reappearance of that nickname, James shook his head, but acceded, “If I put an effort into it.”
Jack finished his glass of whiskey thoughtfully, but did not set it down this time. “You’ll need to meet me crew. They need to trust you, at least so far as they can throw you, or ye’ll wake up with one of me mates’ blades at yer throat the first time you try to sleep.”
“Mm. They would find that endeavor surprisingly difficult.” After nearly two full decades spent at sea, and some of the more traumatic experiences he had suffered throughout, James Norrington was a very light sleeper, with at least one weapon on hand at all times. “And you, Jack?” he challenged.
The pirate captain eyed him, his face unreadable for a few moments. “I trust you about as much as you do me, mate. It’s all to do with seeing what it is going on behind the gibberish.” He gave a knowing smile that was more sincere than most of his usual ones, and a little more heated.
James tried not to think about the way that those words and that look made his heartbeat speed up a bit with anticipation: just knowing that this man could keep up with his mind, challenge it, and understand it enough to be worth something...
Also, the way that Jack’s voice had all but purred made some of the ex-commodore’s baser interests flare to life, but James contained that reaction with ease that had been garnered through years of practice. “Good,” was all James said. He drained his own glass, stoppered the bottle of whiskey, and got to his feet smoothly. “Is now a good time?”
“Since tonight is more about gettin’ supplies than it is about gettin’ drunk or gettin’ wenches... aye.” He watched the lines of James’ body as the taller man put his coat back on. It was, the pirate admitted, a very fine body, as he could more easily see now that it wasn’t encased in all that brocade. “Now would indeed seem to be an opportune moment.”
At that thought, James smirked in a somewhat enigmatic manner as a particularly interesting idea struck him, but it had mostly faded by the time he turned to look at Jack over his shoulder. He arched an eyebrow when he noted that Jack Sparrow seemed to be ogling him with interest. Schooling his expression into its usual unreadable blank, James replied, “So it would seem.” It was an effort not to leer openly in response, which rather took James by surprise. This was a new level added to the already complex game between himself and Sparrow, and not one he had wholly expected, for all that he had been able to appreciate the other man’s fey beauty in the past. This was slightly different; it was not often that James’ more playful, intellectual, and predatory regards took a flirtatious or lusty turn, and it was even less often that he had ever found any opportunity to do anything more than restrain impulse and maintain propriety when it had.
But in the here and now, ex-commodore James had thrown propriety away along with his cravat, and this time, perhaps for the first time, he also had a truly worthy opponent, a good man, and an intelligent one who was also, for the moment, unsuspecting prey. Tempting indeed. All that remained was to wait for the right moment to start this new game and see if Jack Sparrow could keep up.
Jack was almost unnerved by the brief flicker of something unidentifiable and dark in the ex-commodore’s gaze, and furrowed his brow in confusion for a moment, but then James smirked with a playful edge, no trace of the previous shadow in his expression. “Shall we, then, Captain Sparrow?”
“Aye, Capn’ Jamie.” He took the lead this time, stepping out the door with James following behind until they emerged on deck and there was room for them to stand side-by-side. Watching the other man out of the corner of his eye, Jack had to wonder what exactly the ex-commodore was still smirking about, however subtly.
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