The Raptors of Misdirection and Waxing Gibberish - Chapter 8

[likeahurricane7]

Title: The Raptors of Misdirection and Waxing Gibberish

Pairing: Jack/James

Rating: PG-13-ish 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.

Summary: It is the day after the newly ex-naval Norrington and Elizabeth have caught up with Jack Sparrow, and Elizabeth is very curious as to what on earth is going on with and between the two captains. James is in a very good mood. Jack is a bit perturbed by various matters, and is not happy about it.

Chapter Eight

When he was abruptly awoken by the sound of a book falling from his windowsill, James Norrington did not feel the slightest bit weary. Instantly, he was sitting up and ready to get on his feet, with one hand on his sword as the other lifted his pistol and pulled back the hammer to cock it, and the gun was aimed unerringly at...

His open, empty window. The room was empty.

James did not relax, or lower his pistol. Two more times did he let his eyes sweep the room, his gun’s aim following his gaze instinctively.

It was not yet morning, but dawn was close and the world seemed very quiet.

Until the silence was interrupted by the sound of someone politely clearing his throat. It came from just outside and to the left of his window. James raised a brow and got to his feet, his pistol pointed at the window again; although he still could not see anyone. Slowly, he moved until he was looking out the window at an angle, pistol still aimed. He kept moving until he could see the shape of a man pressed flat against the side of the ship.

It was Jack Sparrow, who was looking at James very strangely, even by Jack Sparrow’s usual standards. This was, of course, all James’ fault, for looking quite so wild and predatory and sharp, because he had slept in just his breeches and his hair was loose about his head. Jack eyed the man up and down thoroughly for a moment before grinning. “Morning, James. I thought--rightly, if that gun’s anything to go by--that you might be a bit of a paranoid sort, and that your men would be, too, so I figured on this to be the best way to get aboard and have a word with you without gettin’ meself all killed.”

James considered this, and lowered his pistol accordingly. “I suppose so, all things considered.” Like the fact that his men would probably be rather twitchy about pirates at this hour, especially fresh from dream-land after sharing rum and ghost stories late into the night.

“No lecture, then?”

“Not really, no, but one footnote: I have heard that knocking is all the rage, lately.”

“Would you have still pointed the gun at me?”

“Yes, but it’s nothing personal.”

“Fair enough.” Jack proceeded to climb in through the window. Once he was on his feet and fully upright, he looked back to the ex-commodore and had to muffle an instinctive noise of complaint and disappointment when he realized that James was putting on a shirt, covering up skin that was not so pale and flawless as Jack had expected; Jack wanted to have a bit more time to look at the other man’s battle-scars and how they contrasted against the sailor’s-tan James seemed to have developed over the last month or so, which indicated that at some point the ex-commodore had been up on deck and working without a shirt on. Jack hoped to witness such a sight someday. Preferably soon.

Interrupting Jack’s thoughts, James asked, “What words were you planning to have, exactly?” He also began idly buttoning up the shirt that Jack found so offensive. His voice was droll as usual, but there might have been a hint of amusement visible in his eyes.

Jack cleared his throat slightly, lifting his gaze from James’ bare skin. “Just thought it might be a good idea to have me here to meet yer crew this morning, since your presence on the Pearl certainly helped. Might help ‘em trust me as well.”

Norrington’s fingers hesitated in mid-buttoning as he glanced up at Jack. “I see. And do you plan on making any speeches?” A look of almost warning hesitation was written across his face. He finished buttoning his shirt and began to tuck it into his breeches.

Jack was glad that the man had the sense to leave the top two or three buttons near the collar unbuttoned. Good man--a bloody tease, obviously, but a good man. “Not got any plans at all, really. And your lot tend to be a bit less...combative about executive decisions, as it were. I doubt somehow that I’ll have to defend my honor.”

“Yes. I’m sure that the appearances you regularly maintain of having none keep that sort of conflict to a bare minimum,” James mused as he turned around and picked up his waistcoat from where he had draped it over the back of a chair. His back was to Jack as he buttoned it.

“That’s right, mate. You could learn from my example.” Jack was taking the opportunity to admire the fit of the man’s breeches, reflecting that James had apparently trimmed up since they’d last met, and that ship life had been good to him in a lot of ways.

“I already have, or hadn’t you noticed?” James unfolded his coat and shrugged into it, facing Jack again. “Perhaps not in making myself less honorable, but in other respects.”

“I’d noticed some things. The story of your escape from Port Royal gave me a bit of a start.” Jack’s eyes narrowed. “You stole my bloody trick.”

“Well, there was more to it than just that particular trick, including how I managed to get my crew and various supplies from my office aboard, right under the noses of the less corrupt bits of the Navy, in the way that I did, but yes.” James smirked. “I did steal your trick.”

“Anamaria thought it might be a tribute of some kind. Frightened me, that did.”

James laughed. “I hadn’t even thought of it like that. Funny. Perhaps it was, in a way, but for the most part it was just a good trick.”

“The latter part of that was what I’d thought, but in what way was it a tribute?”

“In an unintentional fashion, but oddly apt: learning from your example was the primary impetus behind my various recent breaches of Naval law before my actual defection, so I suppose it apt that I carried out an inspired escape plan which made use of a number of your tricks, but mostly consisted of my own skills concerning misdirection; however, what made my plans chiefly different from your usual strategies was that I shared them with a large team of men who came through for me. That, I believe, is the chief difference between you and I.” James picked up a comb and begun to untangle his hair and pull it back from his face.

Jack appeared thoughtful. “Aye. There is that, but such as that’s just sheer prudence on your part, so far as I can see, James.”

James tied his hair back neatly. “‘Tribute’ may be the wrong word. Think of it as a silent and perhaps grudging admission of respect on my part, in that I was forced to admit that your mad-looking plans were, in actuality, not only practical but amongst the best available, even when placed in amongst my own arsenal.”

“Ah,” Jack said, his chin tipping up. “I see that, then. And plenty of your men must’ve noticed where you got the tricks, so maybe they’ll be better inclined to trust me if only for that.”

“True enough.” James put his hat on his head. “Let’s step up on deck, shall we?”

Norrington’s men first noticed the stranger on board shortly after dawn. He was sitting on the port side rail, and seated across from him was Norrington himself. The stranger and the captain were in deep discussion about very serious matter, that much was clear, but for all his hushed tones and solemn facial expressions, the stranger’s hand gestures were still wide and animated, in stark contrast to the stillness and formal posture of the captain.

Of course, with not only the gestures, but also the man’s distinct swaying mannerisms, his kohl-smeared eyelids, and the hard-to-forget collection of hair trinkets that jangled quietly with his movements, many of the men recognized the stranger early on, but the calm and almost amused expression that their captain wore--strangely unmarred by annoyance, suspicion, or exasperation--kept the crew from getting restless; they were, however, quite curious.

Providing sources of seemingly endless scuttlebutt where the following snatches of conversation, as overheard by some of the men throughout the morning as they went about their tasks:

“Ninety-nine souls. You can’t be serious.”
“I told you he was a right bastard, didn’t I?”
“Yes, but-”
“No buts about it, mate; you’ll get nowhere arguin’ with cuttlefish.”

“So why was he called ‘Bootstrap’ in the first place? Since it was obviously his name before he was drowned so spectacularly.”
“Well, it’s a funny thing, really, because...”

“How exactly do you plan on getting the key from Mr. Turner?”
“Ah, well, here’s what I know about Jones: he’s paranoid. And with the key gone, as it undoubtedly will be, since Will can be more clever than you’d think, ole squid-face will head straight for where he knows that chest is...”

“Ah, well, that makes sense then, assuming that the man doesn’t simply drown,” James drawled, his voice filled with biting sarcasm once more.
“He’s a good swimmer, as I recall. Like a fish.”

It was then that they were interrupted by Groves clearing his throat pointedly.

The two captains looked up at the dozen shipmen as though surprised to see them. Norrington got to his feet and cleared his throat. “Good morning, men. This is Captain Jack Sparrow of the Black Pearl, and I’ve been discussing a few things with him. It would seem that he rather shares our immediate goal of causing Lord Cutler Beckett as much unrest as possible, and some of his news on that front is, quite frankly, disturbing...”

The speech went well, and both ships were well-supplied before leaving on the tide.

From his helm, Jack watched his own ship’s crew, shouting orders and keeping a sharp eye on the happenings on deck, but he also found himself looking over his ship’s starboard side to watch the ex-naval men moving about and working on the deck of the Gold Hawk. The Hawk had a smaller crew (especially since Jack had picked up more crewmen as well as some souls whilst in Tortuga) working rather harder than Jack’s crew because of it, and they were damned efficient little buggers, too.

There was also the matter of James Nottington, whose voice cut the air like an orator’s whenever he shouted orders in that naval-sounding way of his. He also seemed to shed his coat and hat every hour or two and go find something to do that required more physical effort than standing at the helm. Jack recognized it as a sign of restlessness energy, which was the main reason James seemed to do it, but Jack could also see the effect that it had on James’ men. There was something in the way those men looked at their captain that Jack was damned sure that he’d never seen on any pirate ship in his memory: bone-deep loyalty that said every man on board the Gold Hawk would be willing to die fighting for their ship and her captain. It had to be a military thing. Jack found it uncomfortably humbling, and felt the urge to move about himself, just for the distraction it might provide.

Then, luckily, Elizabeth approached him with a serious ‘we need to discuss this, Jack Sparrow’ look on her face. Jack had never thought he would feel relieved see a woman look at him like that. He called Anamaria to take the helm, and Anamaria promptly forced him to double-check the heading before he was allowed to take Elizabeth aside. He held out a hand in anticipation of Elizabeth handing back his compass.

Instead, she handed him a small leather-bound sheaf of papers and raised her eyebrows expectantly. Jack opened it and started to read. His face darkened. His feeling of relief was gone, he was sure, for good. He scowled.

“What in the name of Hell is this?” he croaked.

“Letters of Marque. To make a legal privateer out of you.”

“From that rat bastard Beckett,” Jack groaned, clutching absently at the brand on his wrist and making a face of mixed disgust and anger.

“He offered it to Will in exchange for your compass, Jack. It comes with a full pardon,” Elizabeth said quietly.

“And so dear William was working for that...that...” Jack made another face. “For Beckett, this whole time.”

“To try and save our lives, Jack: as always, apparently,” Elizabeth grit out.

“How exactly did you get these, then? Because dear William may have bargained for them, but here you stand with the prize.” Jack flourished the papers.

Elizabeth lifted her chin. “Persuasion.”

“Ah.” Jack’s eyes lit up. “Friendly?”

She glared at him. “Decidedly not.”

“Oh really?” His eyebrows waggled.

A wicked smirk crossed her features. “Go on, Jack; you can go ask James. After all, I borrowed his pistol to aim at Beckett’s head. Right about...” She reached up slowly, forcing Jack to lean away as he eyed her hand suspiciously, and with good reason, because she planted her finger firmly between Jack’s eyebrows. “Here.”

The corner of Jack’s mouth twitched. “I see.” He pushed her fingers away slowly, glaring at her when her smirk widened. He fixed his sharp gold-edged grin into place. “Funny, it is, that dear William may have piracy in his blood, but you’ve got a much greater talent for it, ay?” He re-bound the sheaf of papers as he spoke, and then tucked it firmly into his coat.

Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. “Jack...” she warned. “Give them back.”

“No.” He turned away, crossing his arms over his chest. “Persuade me,” he leered.

She glared again, leaning closer to hiss threateningly in his ear, “You do know that Will taught me how to handle a sword?”

And wasn’t that a mental image. Jack smirked and turned to face her again, challenging. “As I said: persuade me.”

Elizabeth seemed about to say something, even jabbing her finger at him, but then her lips closed and pressed together tightly and she left in a huff.

Pity, Jack thought. He hadn’t expected her to give in quite so easily, and now his entertainment was gone. His gaze wandered back toward the Gold Hawk and tried to spot it’s captain. Failing, at first, Jack frowned, but then, thoughtfully, looked up.

And there was James, sans coat, vest, and hat, with some of his hair come loose from where the black ribbon had tied it back. He was perched on the top of the topsail and leaning forward to look at the horizon all around, sometimes through a spyglass and sometimes not, all the while holding himself steady with one arm anchoring him to the mast. Then he collapsed his spyglass, tucked it away into his belt, and slid down a rope, pausing to stand atop the lower mast and exchange words with his first mate about something he’d spotted. Jack’s brows raised as he realized that fine white Naval linen was, amongst other things, semi-transparent in bright sunlight, and what a lovely sight that was. Now if only Jack were close enough to enjoy the sight more properly...

Then he noticed what Elizabeth was doing, as she swung herself from the Black Pearl to the Gold Hawk, almost missing her footing on the landing, which caused enough noise from the gentlemanly crew of the little gold ship to catch James’ attention. James then descended from the mast with very impressive speed, and landed on deck just as Elizabeth was helped to her feet by Groves. Jack frowned; now he would be even more bloody well distracted.

Groves accepted Elizabeth’s thanks and then apologized for rushing off as he returned to his place beside the helm, and by then, James had made his way down to the deck. The captain’s calloused hands stung from rope-burn, but it did not seem to bother him.

“Much as I enjoy your company, Elizabeth, I must admit that your visit has caught me quite by surprise,” James said in his light sardonic manner, but he was smiling quite sincerely.

Elizabeth’s irritation toward Jack was briefly overshadowed by the surprise that she felt as she looked at James, who had apparently trimmed, but not shaved away, his beard at some point today, and it suited him; more than that, however, he was all but glowing from physical exertion and something like predatory anticipation mixed with contentment, and he was the least dressed that Elizabeth had ever seen him, in only his shirt, breeches, and boots. Her love for Will aside, she admitted to herself that the man in front of her was attractive--and more so than she had ever previously realized.

Recovering from her surprise after only a momentary pause and the faintest pink blush on her face, Elizabeth smiled in an exasperated fashion as she glanced back over her shoulder towards the Black Pearl. “I thought that I might enjoy some more civil company, James.” She smiled at him beatifically.

His eyebrows raised a little and he smirked. “I understand exactly what you mean. My crew would doubtless be happy to help, but since we are slightly short-handed, most of them are either resting below-deck or up here working.”

Elizabeth cocked her head to one side. “Well, I have been somewhat bored. Perhaps you can teach me some of the more simple things that I might help with. You put it off long enough on the way to Tortuga, even when I asked.”

James shook his head. “The more simple things all involve swabbing decks, I’m afraid, and I refuse to have a guest aboard my ship serve as a deck-scrubber.”

She laughed. “Well, then, you’ll have to teach me something a little less basic. Repairs, maintenance perhaps?” Seeing his gaze wandering back to his men and the rigging, Elizabeth teased, “Surely you aren’t needed everywhere at once, Captain.”

He smiled at her again. “No. I am not, as my crew likes to remind me at times, but I find the exertion to be good for clearing my head and keeping my mind sharp, even if it rather roughens my hands.” He raised his reddened palms for the sake of display, and was surprised when Elizabeth reached for one to examine. At first she merely tutted over the friction burns before examining his new callouses and old scars and musing that he had been working a lot harder since his recent demotion, but then she abruptly stilled, her gaze fixed on his forearm rather than his hand. James sighed faintly, realizing belatedly that his cuffs had come undone and his shirt-sleeves had slipped down, the fabric gathered at his elbows.

Elizabeth’s touch moved down to his wrist as she held it up to examine the scars. “My God, James, what on earth-” Then she stopped and looked up at him, recognition lighting up her features. “Oh,” she said, suddenly remembering.

“Yes. That ‘missing year’ that we discussed,” James said quietly. “Those are from manacles. The wounds got infected at some point... it’s hard to recall because of the fever I had during that time, due to the infection.”

Biting her lip, Elizabeth looked down at the slightly shiny pale-and-pink flesh, which felt both smoother and more knotted than the skin around it. Her thumbs traced it all the way around his wrist. “I hadn’t thought...I hadn’t fully realized the implications of your words, I suppose,” she said quietly. Then a faint almost-smile. “I suppose it’s kind of useless to be angry at men I’ve never met who are probably dead by now, for causing you this.”

James’ chest felt too tight and he deliberately kept his breathing smooth and regular. “I can assure you with utmost confidence, Elizabeth, that the men in question are quite definitely dead,” he said softly. When she looked up at his eyes again, there was the warmth and solemnity in them that she had always associated with James Norrington, but there was more openness to him, and she could also read a hint of fierceness and warning; the warning was that still waters run deep and that, in all likelihood, Elizabeth would be better off knowing no more than she did.

Regardless, she asked one further question; albeit not explicitly so; all that she said was, “You marked them back.”

He looked down this time, and took her hands in his own, squeezing her fingers gently. “I did rather more than mark them, Elizabeth.”

She caught him by surprise when she squeezed back and said, “Good.” There was something a little darker and fiercer in her gaze than James recalled ever having seen before, except perhaps when she had asked to borrow his pistol.

James shook his head at her, smiling gratefully, but also wistfully as he released her hands and leaned back against the rail of his ship, looking far too much like a big cat when his body relaxed. “Is it any wonder that I thought myself in love with you?” he mused.

Elizabeth flushed brilliantly, but turned around to lean with him, next to him and not moving away, though she did look at the boards of the deck with sudden fascination so that her hair fell about her face to hide how red she was. “I did... I wasn’t...” She sighed. “I had been in love with Will for a long time, James.”

“I worked that out, based on your reaction when he confessed something similar.”

She nodded. “I did not know he felt... I had thought my feelings for him were unrequited. And you have always been one of my more entertaining mentors and trusted friends in Port Royal, James. We could have... If things had been different...” She sighed again, unable to finish, and shot him a pleading, apologetic look.

James met her gaze and silently thanked her with a nod of his head. He was smiling again, very faintly. She smiled back and he reached over to ruffle her hair by twisting her hat about on her head, making her giggle helplessly before swatting his hand away and adjusting her hair and her hat back into order.

“I have observed, however, that you seem happy, James. Out here, at least. I don’t think I’ve seen you smile as much, and with as much sincerity, in the whole of our acquaintance at Port Royal as I have seen you smiling in the brief period time between my tumbling out of that carriage and now.” Her words and her expression were soft and playful, like a cat batting at the beak of a large bird that it is good friends with.

A thoughtful look crossed his features as he glanced at her briefly, then contemplated the horizon for a few long moments. Finally, with a resigned half-smirk, he admitted, “I suppose that I am happy. My life has not gone at all where I had ever expected it to go, but I believe that I have ended up exactly where I need to be, and I am doing the kind of work that I had not realized, until recently of course, was the foremost thing that made me happy.”

“Captaining a ship, playing chase with enemy ships, defeating evil foes, and driving pirates mad--or at least, madder-than-usual: that kind of work?” She looked up at him innocently, her dark eyes bright.

James raised an eyebrow at the ‘pirates’ comment, but nodded. “Yes to all the former, but I think that I can hardly claim to be a danger to the non-existent sanity of certain pirates.” There was, however, a hint of knowing amusement in his sea-green eyes.

Elizabeth smirked at him. “Well, you’re at least distracting him, then.” She glanced from side to side and then at James, whose eyebrows raised, but he obliged her silent command; in perfect unison, they both turned and looked over towards the helm of the Black Pearl and its sole occupant. After half a moment’s hesitation wherein he stared back at them in a scandalized manner, Jack Sparrow sharply looked away. Both Elizabeth and James could tell that the pirate captain was muttering irritably under his breath as he tried to look as though he did not give a damn in the slightest.

James turned away and stifled a laugh, but Elizabeth had no such qualms and tossed back her head to laugh openly and loudly, earning her the pair of them a few odd and amused looks from Norrington’s crew.

“My God, James, what have you done to that man? Or what has he done to you?” she asked finally, wiping at the corners of her eyes as her laughter subsided. “First, you have some sort of argument with him about gibberish, then you make a grand speech to his crew while I’m below deck, he snuck into your cabin this morning to meet your crew--not to mention the fact that you’re somehow sailing with the Black Pearl at all in the first place when you originally wanted so badly to hang the captain and everyone else aboard...”

“It’s a bit of a long story,” James sighed, still chuckling softly now and then.

“How long?” Elizabeth chirped, rampantly curious now.

“You will not believe me. I seriously doubt that you will believe me.”

“James. Don’t make me exploit your manly weaknesses by pouting, because I’m not in the least afraid to do so.” Her grin was both playful and brazen.

For the first time, it occurred to James that Elizabeth possessed a slight similarity of temperament with Jack Sparrow. He chuckled again, and shook his head. “Okay. I shall tell you, but only so that you will understand why this is so amusing.” Clearing his throat, he straightened his posture, regaining his composure; although a hint of laughter lingered in his eyes. “It all started in Tortuga.”

“While I wasn’t looking?” Elizabeth mocked.

“No. You weren’t there. It was not quite six months after Jack had escaped the noose at Port Royal by falling over the fort wall,” James explained, deliberately slowing his words a bit. He grinned wickedly at the look of shock and disbelief on Elizabeth’s face; it was truly priceless.

“You... you...” The shock faded into irritation and then into open suspicion. “Captain James Lawrence Norrington, what in God’s name were you doing in Tortuga? You promised me, as an engagement gift no less, that you weren’t going to hunt Jack down!”

“And I didn’t hunt for him. I was there eavesdropping on everyone else in order to hunt other pirates, to great success as you might have noticed. Jack just happened to spot me in the act, and recognize me shortly thereafter.” He was still smiling.

Elizabeth came to the belated realization that James had been calling the pirate captain ‘Jack’ in a perfectly casual manner; not even ‘Jack Sparrow’ or that slightly-irritated-sounding ‘Sparrow’ that she had come to expect. She then came to another belated realization; her mouth was hanging open slightly and James appeared to be trying very hard not laugh at her.

“Explain yourself, James. Explain now.”

Jack made an effort to stay busy; he really did, and he continued to pay attention to the rigging and sails and the activity on deck. But, he still kept looking over at them whenever there came the slightest lull. James and Elizabeth certainly were getting cozy.

Well. Perhaps not cozy. They weren’t pirates after all, and with the exception of Elizabeth looking at Norrington’s hand and wrist earlier, they had kept a habitually formal distance of just more than eighteen inches between them, even leaning side-by-side against the same section of ship as they talked and occasionally watched James’ crew work.

But James leaned in slightly whenever he turned to look at her as they spoke, and Elizabeth, precocious as ever, instinctively leaned in as well whenever she spoke--rather like Jack’s own habits, but Jack was not thinking about that.

They were not, however, obviously flirting, for all that Jack had caught Elizabeth once or twice giving the ex-commodore a head-to-toe once- or twice-over, and there was little doubt that she was enjoying the scenery, however oddly surprised she seemed when she did so. The question was whether she would do anything about it.

Realistically, Jack knew that she wouldn’t.

Logically, he knew that they were both too-formal and too-well-trained in their reserved manners to let themselves fall into a tawdry little affair.

Jack was, however, also aware that he was not thinking wholly logically.

He blamed the Pearl, who seemed irritated with Elizabeth on the general principle of jealousy; Elizabeth was a pretty girl, and the Pearl didn’t like competition. Why she seemed to get more jealous when Elizabeth moved onto the Hawk was a mystery to Jack.

Then again, maybe it was the same reason that he couldn’t stop himself watching those two pretty sharply. James was far too reserved to give away the subject of their conversation with his hand gestures, but watching Elizabeth’s hands and face gave it away a bit more. She had at first looked shocked and almost irritated, then just surprised, then pleasantly surprised and a bit excited, then teasing again as she made hand gestures to indicate card games and rum. At that point, Jack assumed (quite rightly) that James was explaining about his escapades in Tortuga.

Jack’s assumption was verified when Elizabeth started to tease James and point to aspects of his appearance until James rolled his eyes and sighed in a resigned manner, taking the black ribbon from his hair so that she could see what he looked like with his hair down. The surprised-interested look that she gave him made Jack frown, but then Elizabeth slid back into a more friendship-variety look (as opposed to a possible-sexual-tension-here variety of look, as it had been in the moment before) and said something sharp and teasing in her I-am-Elizabeth-Swann-and-yes-I-can-be-sardonic-even-by-your-impressive-standards-Mister-Norrington sort of way.

Jack shook his head and paid attention to his crew for a while as he felt the winds shift a bit. His shouting orders to his crew was followed by a few sharp bellows from James to his crew as well. It would be dusk in just an hour or so, and they would be sailing into the night, not losing speed and not wasting time.

James and Elizabeth were still talking by the time the sun touched the horizon, and shortly after that, she took Jack by surprise by returning to his ship.

Since Elizabeth’s boarding earlier, the ships had drawn further apart. James quietly urged Groves, at the helm, to once more ease the Hawk closer to the Pearl--namely, so that Elizabeth could swing across without hitting the water. She, of course, advanced immediately upon Jack Sparrow, who had the decency to look very faintly sheepish, if only for half a second before he grinned brazenly, his gold teeth flashing in the dimming light of the sunset in a manner that was so ridiculously over-the-top that it had to be deliberate.

“Welcome back aboard, ‘Lizbeth. Have a nice chat with the ex-commodore?”

“You should know, Jack; you were staring,” she countered.

Jack realized that despite her rather solemn body language, her eyes were narrowed in amusement rather than irritation and one corner of her mouth was curved up in the ghost of an amused and knowing smirk. This did not bode well. “I hid the rum as soon as y’ came aboard y’know, so if it’s thoughts of a fire makin’ you look quite that smug, you can just forget about it right now, love.”

Her smirk only widened.

Jack’s eyes did, too. Not good.

“I don’t think that James is quite fully aware of it, Captain Sparrow, but I think I’ve worked something out. I’m just trying to figure out if you’re in denial of it, or if you just plan on denying it if I actually ask,” Elizabeth mused.

Jack frowned slightly, his brow furrowing. “No idea what you’re talkin’ about, love. You’re gonna have to hint more than that.”

She dragged her teeth across her lower lip, mischief glinting in her dark eyes. “I don’t know if I should, Jack. Maybe I should just have fun watching you squirm.” She took a step closer to him very deliberately.

Unconsciously, Jack leaned away a bit. “Sometimes, ‘Lizbeth, I have got to wonder if dear William has half a clue what he’s getting into with you.”

“Do you know, I considered saying the same thing about you, when Will went off to find you,” Elizabeth mused. When Jack frowned again, she smirked a little, but it faded quickly. “Why are you keeping hold of the Letters of Marque, Jack? It’s not as if you want them.”

“Aye. They’re offensive slander--as though I could be bought for such a low price as them.” He snorted. “And perhaps I’m keepin’ them as collateral so long as you’ve got my compass hidden about your person, since I get the feeling you and the former commodore both would cut me to pieces if I tried to find it all by me onesies.” A hint of a leer.

Elizabeth lifted her chin a bit to look down her nose at him slightly, then nodded twice. “Okay. Fair enough.” Her hand settled next to his on the helm. “Then you wouldn’t be open to any... persuasion.” She fixed her gaze on his as though sussing out her potential prey.

Jack froze, just for a moment, and thought, God save me from predatory British colonists. Then his expression became distinctly thoughtful. “Well, now, I never quite said that, did I, love?” He leered more openly.

Elizabeth leaned in a bit closer. “Really?” Her eyes were partially hooded and her lips seemed to caress the word. Her shoulder was nearly touching his now, and her face was only a hands’ breadth from his.

In a slightly dazed way, Jack realized that he should probably lean back towards her, instead of continuing to lean away quite like he was currently doing, but then, inexplicably, his gaze moved from Elizabeth’s lips to stare across the Black Pearl’s helm at the first lantern being lit aboard the Gold Hawk. The light illuminated the silhouette of the Hawk’s captain standing at the wheel and looking out over the far horizon. Jack mentally shook himself and turned back to Elizabeth; he was about to continue flirting until he could make her uncomfortable, but...

She was smirking at him knowingly, and pulling away. “I thought so. Either you’re more easily distracted than even I ever imagined, or you’ve got a bit of a fancy for the ex-commodore over there.”

Jack scowled. “Or maybe I’ve got a bit of a fancy for not havin’ the ex-commodore cut me open, what with how cozy you two are, an’ how he was once your bloody betrothed after all-” but he stopped there, trying to figure out why on earth she was grinning like that, because it seemed truly ominous.

“If you look at your potential murderer like that, Jack, then you are far more insane than anyone gives you credit for,” she taunted, her voice full of deadpan mockery.

Damn. DamnDamnDamnDamnDamn the woman!

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Looked like wot then?”

“Hungry, but sultry, and with a hint of pure curiosity.” She was grinning like the cheshire cat. “It was quite something to see, Jack.” She bit her lip again, but this time looking less seductive and more utterly impish and evil, through and through.

And Jack had thought Anamaria was as evil as woman-pirates could get.

“I’m sure it was,” Jack bit out, sounding distinctly annoyed.

“Jack,” she said, more gently. “I’ve never seen James this happy before, and I’ve known him for years.” She smiled, a bit nervously. “I think whatever game it is between the two of you... I think that’s part of it. And the ship, of course, is a lot of it, as is his having people to hunt down.” An almost wistful look crossed her features, as she considered that ‘if things were different’ idea again.

“What’re you gettin’ at, love?” Jack asked, the irritation gone, replaced by a low and curious rumble that came unbidden.

“I’m saying thank you,” Elizabeth teased, but her smile was sincere. “Even though I’m sure that it’s all been about your own self-interest from the second you first arrived in Port Royal, it’s also working out well for him. And I think it will continue to be, if I’m not mistaken.” A more uneasy smile touched her features. “Talking with him today allowed me to realize a few things about the effect you’ve had on my life and Will’s--for the better. I suppose I’m just relieved that James has benefitted, too, in his way.”

Jack looked away, glancing furtively at James again, but something else caught his eye: a spot on his hand suddenly turning black--again.

Bugger. Buggerbuggerbugger.

Quickly, he pulled the afflicted hand from the helm and tugged his sleeve down to cover it as he turned to look at Elizabeth again. He cleared his throat and composed an answer more serious and sincere than he would have normally given, had he been less thrown-off-balance by the reappearance of the damned black spot: “I didn’t really do much, there, Elizabeth. He’s put himself up to it all, and I very much doubt he’d react well to my taking any of the credit for all the work he’s put in.” Surreptitiously, he twisted his sleeve-cuff further down his hand so that the mark was better covered, and he once more took on a less solemn air, faking carefree with every bit of dishonesty he had in him--and he had quite a bit. He welcomed Elizabeth’s words as a distraction, for the moment, to keep him from panicking as he had the last time.

Elizabeth shook her head. “You sort of inspired him, Jack. Unintentionally. Just like you did for me and Will.” She tilted her head a little, her face scrunching adorably as she gave it all some thought for a moment. Then her smile returned. “Let’s just say that in all the years I’ve known him--and I’ve known him for twelve years, Jack--even when I was young enough to have appreciated them, he never did any coin tricks. I didn’t know he knew anything about them until I boarded his ship and saw him practicing one while at the helm as we headed from Port Royal to Tortuga.” She shrugged. “You came into Port Royal and... well, you just couldn’t let sleeping wolves lie, could you? And I think it’s done James some good, all things considered, to have been shaken awake like that. Even if he still misses that ship you stole from him; although his current ship seems to be helping him get over that well enough.”

Jack appeared a bit startled. How quietly unhappy could Norrington have been to have inspired this kind of speech? True, the man had lightened up a bit, Jack could see that, but was the difference really so very...

Elizabeth smirked a bit as she looked at his face. “You look disgruntled, Jack.”

“No one’s ever thanked me for ruining someone’s life for the betterment of the ruined man, love. I’m beginnin’ to think you found the rum, anyway. Or some whiskey aboard the Hawk, perhaps, when I wasn’ payin’ attention.”

“So you finally admit to paying attention?”

Damn her again. Jack scowled. “‘Lizabeth...”

She only laughed. “Trust me, on this: James was...” Her lips formed a pout and she paused to get her thoughts in order. “Well, back when I was younger, I remember that he was much happier, and that was when he was a lieutenant. He loved being a captain, of course, but I think...the fact that it was the Royal Navy meant that he couldn’t get his hands dirty and work with his men nearly as much, and that started to bother him, especially as he became more esteemed and got treated less like a captain of the sort he is now, and more like...well like an authoritarian sort of figure, especially because the Navy kept changing his crewman, since men who worked under him seemed to do so well and the new crew were always very intimidated by his reputation. Then he got closer to promotion as commodore and... well, he suddenly had an office on land that he spent as much time (or more) in as he spent on his ships actually seeing the ocean, and that’s never suited him. And I think he thought that a lack of ambition would be somehow an insult to the Navy, and that it would have been less than honorable not to advance if his skills were apparently needed in the higher ranks, so he kept pushing to go higher, even though it wasn’t good for him.”

Elizabeth bit her lip more nervously for a moment. Then she said, “I think that if we hadn’t been exposed to the... insight... provided by your self-centered mischief in our lives, Jack, then none of us would have known quite how to seize what truly makes us happy: not Will, not me, and not James. And in James’ case: yes, you’ve destroyed his rank and his career, but those things were already destroying him before you even swaggered into the picture. So...thank you. It makes me feel better to know that--that he’s the better off for it, even though I still feel bad for breaking his heart.” She said the last bit very quietly, her gaze lowered so that she appeared to be fascinated by the sight of her own boots.

Jack thought about that, sighed heavily, and pulled a shining silver flask from his coat’s inner pocket. He handed it to Elizabeth.

She smirked and rolled her eyes, but still unscrewed the cap and took a careful sip of rum. Jack was proud at how well she suppressed the shudder that went through her, and he offered her a grin when she handed the flask back to him. Jack took his own larger gulp from it.

“And the fact that you want to get in his breeches is kind of funny, too,” Elizabeth added.

Jack made a small choking noise. Glaring at her, he coughed twice, took another gulp, then replaced the cap on his flask and pocketed it.

This only brought a giggle from Elizabeth. “Of course... it helps that I can tell when he’s smirking affectionately and when he’s actually annoyed. Years of experience, et cetera.” She shot Jack a knowing look. “He’s not really much annoyed with you, anymore. I do wonder what went on after that speech he gave last night, because I’ve never seen his Affectionate-and-Curious Look paired with his Evil Smirk in quite that way before, but there they both were as soon as I asked if anything else had happened on deck that night that I might have missed.”

Jack cleared his throat, struggling a great deal not to lick his lips when he involuntarily glanced back in James’ direction. “You didn’t miss a thing, love,” he said with his usual grin. At least, you didn’t miss anything except that wot you’d have had no business gawkin’ at in the first place, ‘Lizabeth.

Elizabeth appeared doubtful, but let it go. “Alright. Fair enough.” She stretched magnificently and started walking away. “I’m off to the galley. Haven’t eaten much today, with all my time spent figuring out the two of you.” She yawned. “Kept my mind of worrying about Will and thus trying to torture you into giving me the real details. Or, more likely, persuading Anamaria to help me torture you into giving me some real answers.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed as she left. There’ll be no living with her after this.

Then he realized that he’d said that before, and still somehow let her aboard his ship.

He cursed under his breath colorfully for a few minutes.

Then he went to scratch his nose, saw the mark on his hand again, and blanched. Well, the distraction had worked. Bugger.

Hiding his hand again, he called Gibbs to the helm and hastily ran below deck to find his jar of dirt.

Previous || Story Index || Next