The World Behind the World: Part II
Title: The World Behind the World: Part II
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean; Sparrington
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I have no claim on POTC or the lovely characters who populate it, even if it seems that James Norrington has, somewhat disconcertingly, made himself quite at home in my head with no apparent plans to leave. Jack Sparrow's habit dropping by regularly, as he has for years now, probably doesn't help.
Summary: Consider this to be shamelessly fabricated backstory and subtext for the end of COTBP, with a way to bring in Davy Jones and the others without actually having to go through the other two films. James' worldview has been shaken and the only person he can really discuss it with is a certain pirate. Said pirate persuades him to expand his career options. Bantering abounds.
Sequel to: The World Behind the World: Part I
Warnings: I chose a slightly evil stopping point.
Note: I promised cattiness. I'm also firmly denying an obsession with tigers, and have no idea why they keep showing up when I write this pairing. No idea at all.
When, several months after Jack Sparrow’s second spectacular escape, it was declared that the commodore had gone missing and his house appeared lightly ransacked, nearly everyone in Port Royal was shocked and seemingly fearful over the whole matter, buzzing about the commodore being kidnapped by pirates or the French or some mysterious murderer.
Will Turner, however, was not. He was, in fact, a little bit irritated. This was likely due to the fact that the previous night he had once more found Jack Sparrow in his smithy.
“Jack! What are you-”
“Shh! Quiet, whelp! I won’t be here long.”
“Why are you here at all?” Will hissed.
“Followin’ up on a bit of correspondence, alright? I’m pickin’ up a new first mate since Anamaria took the little Spanish vessel we caught a while back as her own.” He smiled in a manner meant to be reassuring--and perhaps it was, but only to people who had never met him before. “Savvy?”
“In Port Royal? You’re picking up a first mate here?” Will was furious. “Do you not recall how close you came to being hanged last time?”
“Relax, lad. As I said-”
Someone knocked on the door three times, in a distinct rhythm.
In direct contradiction of his previous protestations of innocence, Jack grinned like the very devil himself. “That’ll be him, then.”
There was something almost sultry in Jack’s voice that Will found greatly disturbing, which was probably how the pirate managed to slip away from him so easily, shrugging into his coat as he swaggered to the door.
Will hesitated. “Jack?”
“Don’t worry, mate. We’ll be fine.” He opened the door and Will took note of a tall figure in civilian garb standing outside, with a large bag over one shoulder and a tricorne pulled low in front to partially hide his face.
Will still thought the man familiar, but felt no urge to inquire as to why. “Oh, just get out, you damned piratical bastard.”
“Goodnight to you, as well, young William.” Jack folded his hands palm-to-palm and gave a small oriental-looking bow.
The man outside dipped his head in a nod and, in salutation, said only, “Mr. Turner,” before Jack stepped out and shut the door behind them, leaving Will alone in the dark with his mouth hanging open because he would recognize that voice anywhere, and so now his world made no sense whatsoever.
The next day, as news spread, Will tried to forget what had happened. He even tried to forget that Jack seemed to have pilfered a sword from him at some point before leaving the smithy.
He almost succeeded, until he saw the worried and slightly guilty look on the face of his betrothed. Elizabeth hid it well under years of polished manners and deeply-ingrained reserve, but Will noted the faraway look in her eyes when she became lost in thought, and the way her hands shook.
“He’s fine,” Will said softly, taking her hand. “I’m sure of it.”
“Will...”
“Listen to me, please,” Will said softly, scarcely above a whisper, raising his eyebrows significantly. His dark eyes were serious.
She leaned in closer, her brow furrowed with concern. “What is it?”
He explained to her who he had discovered in his smithy, and all that the pirate had said, and the “new first-mate.”
Elizabeth’s mouth was slightly open by the end of the tale. “You must be joking.”
“I wish I was. It would be less of a headache for me if I were joking,” Will sighed.
“But James would never...” She looked away, a crease between her brows belying how troubling she found her thoughts. “But I suppose, after the Isle de Muerta, he did seem different.”
“I know. I just would never have guessed...” Again, he thought of the look on Jack’s face and the low, almost seductive tone that the pirate’s voice had taken, and blushed. He had not been able to describe that to Elizabeth. “I know his voice, however, and that was definitely the commodore out there.”
Elizabeth shook her head, smiling a little. “You think that you know someone, and then...” She shrugged, trailing off.
“And the pirate took one of my swords.”
“He what?”
“You are truly shameless,” James muttered, as Jack grinned to himself.
“Quiet, mate, and keep rowing if you don’t mind.”
Rolling his eyes, James obeyed, watching Jack draw his stolen Turner blade to examine it with apparent glee in the dim lantern-light.
“I’ve been wanting one of these since I first landed in that smithy. Lovely things.”
Again, James rolled his eyes, but he wore a faint, smug smile this time.
Jack spotted it and frowned a little. “Aye. Yours is still prettier, mate, but mine’s the better story behind it.”
“How so? You merely stole it.”
“Ah, but I stole it on my trip into Port Royal to commandeer the commodore to take aboard me own ship, savvy?” He sheathed the sword and returned his hand to the tiller, keeping them on course. “Good thing, as well, having you about. You’ll scare the bejeesus out of the new crewmen I had to pick up after Anamaria took half the old ones with her on her first venture into captaincy.”
“Scare them?” James raised his eyebrows. “When my name alone could bring them to mutiny?”
“Didn’t say anything about yer name, love. Yer tall, and you’ve got that voice of yours to shout at them with, along with sarcasm that can peel paint. That’ll do just fine.”
“I am not sure whether to take that as flattery or not.”
“No, James: flattery would be me admitting that your height, voice and sarcasm have a completely different effect on me,” Jack offered.
James met his gaze sharply and felt, to his chagrin, his ears burning: a sure indication that they had just turned red. “I see,” he said, his voice determinedly calm.
Jack grinned brilliantly. “Of course, that does bring up the matter of sleeping arrangements.”
James felt on more familiar grounds now: mild exasperation and amusement. The man really was a fool; a clever one, but a fool nonetheless. “Yes?”
Seeing that the now-ex-commodore was silently laughing at him, Jack frowned a little. “Yer not takin’ me seriously.”
James’ lips quirked into a challenging smirk. “And?” As soon as they left shore, he had let his usual mask drop almost entirely, which seemed to throw Jack off somewhat: now, for instance, he seemed to be staring wide-eyed, with a hint of pure lust. Satisfied, James made a mental note of this for future reference.
“And once we’re aboard the Pearl, James,” Jack rumbled, in low and solemn tones, “it is my most serious plan to ravish you as soon as possible.”
Amused by the banter and able to prevent himself blushing again, James merely met Jack’s gaze and let the pirate see the flare of lust he felt. Smirking again at the way Jack’s lips parted in anticipation, James said, “Good. And I suppose that also solves the matter of the sleeping arrangements, then.”
“Aye,” Jack growled, and wondered if he might be in just a bit over his head, here. And if he was, could he really consider it a problem rather than a benefit? Not for the first time that evening, Jack eyed the ex-commodore from head to foot, his eyes especially lingering at the laces at James’ shirt-collar, which were loose enough to show the skin just below his collarbone and the very edge of what looked suspiciously like a tattoo in the middle of his chest. Jack had been distracted by it half the night.
Finally, able to take it no longer, Jack inquired. “Is that a tattoo?”
“Hmm? Oh. This?” James paused rowing to tug at his collar, pulling it down so that Jack could see more of the ink. “Yes.”
Jack leaned closer, moving the lantern a bit for better light. “What is it?”
“A hawk. My mother’s family crest had a hawk on it, and she died shortly before I left England. I got this in her memory,” James explained lightly.
Nodding slightly, Jack reached up to tug the collar a little lower. He saw a flicker in James’ eyes and knew that the other man proceeded to continue rowing mostly to distract himself from the light touch of Jack’s fingers across the inked skin. “Suits you,” Jack said quietly.
A soft laugh. “I’ve been told.”
“Only thing that might suit you more would be a tiger. I know a place in Singapore that you could get a marvelous one.” Reluctantly, Jack let go and leaned back. His other hand had never left the tiller.
“A tiger?” James’ eyebrows raised. “That is, I must admit, a new one.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Perhaps it is the uniform, but people tend to lean toward the ferocious creatures associated with nobility and civilized persons when describing me, even in mockery.” He hummed thoughtfully. “Hawk. Eagle. Lion. I think the most creative had to be when a Scottish officer called me a ‘wolfhound’ which I rather liked at the time; I was, however, drunk.”
Jack laughed a little, trying to imagine this man intoxicated; his imagination failed him utterly. “So ‘tiger’ was too uncivilized a title for you, then?”
“I think most people thought so. Personally, I think it more apt for me than a lion.” James’ lips quirked a little. “As I recall, however, I have heard you described as a tiger once. Then again, Mr. Turner was a bit inebriated at the time, but considering that he was attempting to explain to me all of the events leading up to and culminating in the Isle de Muerta, inebriation was, it seems more than likely, the only reason he was able to speak with me at all.”
“Will called me that?”
“In describing the look on your face after you had shot Barbossa,” James explained.
Jack’s look darkened at the memory. “Ah. Makes sense, then.”
“Yes. Such times in our lives, I believe, show us at our most honest, often despite ourselves.”
“True enough. I’d not thought of you as like a tiger until I saw you on the deck of the Dauntless shortly after that.”
Solemnly, James nodded. “At that time, I think, you were the only one looking at me as myself.” He looked out over the water, back towards Port Royal. “Everyone else was comforted by the fact that I was handling things, and getting everything done. If they looked at me, it was with almost-blind respect. You looked at me as though I were a dangerous man covered in other people’s blood, who just happened to be in command.” He smiled coldly, almost bitterly. “It was strangely refreshing.”
“Aye. And you looked at me like you could rip out my throat with yer teeth if I made things any worse.”
“Yes, but at that point, I looked at nearly everyone that way: pirate and navy alike. I believe that I even startled the governor with that look.”
“But not Elizabeth.”
James hesitated, then shook his head. “No. Not Elizabeth.”
Jack recalled the look of profound relief and the flicker of pain that he had seen cross the commodore’s face as soon as dear Lizzy had climbed over the side. It had been like watching a glacier melt with incredible speed, but then James had put his mask back in place before anyone else, even Elizabeth, could see it, until only James’ eyes showed a hint of what he was feeling.
“She’s well, then?” Jack inquired.
“Yes.” A faint, half-sad half-amused smile. “Her profuse apologies to me, the same evening as your escape, were somewhat unexpected.”
“And how are you then?”
James shot him an almost wary look. “I am no longer in love with her as I was. And I am here,” he said softly. “In both cases, without regret--so far.”
Jack had to chew on that one for a bit, steering the longboat into an isolated little cove. Within several minutes, he could see the few lanterns that belied the Pearl’s presence. She was otherwise invisible in the dark. He saw James take note of the camouflage with interest.
“Clever,” James said quietly.
Jack beamed. “Aye.”
A strangely companionable silence passed between them.
“I’ll have to introduce you to Tia Dalma, of course, first chance we get.”
“Who?”
“Davy’s lady-love. Don’t call her Calypso, or she’ll carve our yet eyes an’ use ‘em for something truly unkind.”
“I will keep that in mind. Why exactly do I need to meet her?”
“When you begin yer new career, she’ll be, as it were, yer commandin’ officer.”
“I see. Now, I suppose, would be the time to ask about all the other little things that you have thusfar failed to mention. I am sure that they are numerous.”
“Well...can you remind me the bits I have mentioned, so I can remember all the ones I’ve left out?”
“Spending only one day ashore every ten years, turning into some kind of sea-monster if I do not honor the promise to care for souls lost at sea, taking on crewmen on the basis that they fear death and will swear to work before the mast, possibly having my heart carved out of my chest and put into a box...”
“I’m pretty sure that last one is technically optional, it’s just that the ship needs a heart, which needs to be in a chest, and I’m sure we can explain that your chest is a safe enough place for it.”
“Of course. Did I miss anything, Jack?”
For just a moment, Jack was thrown off by James actually using his name for the first time. “Mm. Well. There’s the kracken, but that’s...” He tried to gesture dismissively.
“A mythical giant cephalopod. What about it?”
“Well...Jones sort of has one at his beck and call, and has been known to use it to sink ships.”
James paused, staring at Jack cooly. “As in, he might use it to destroy you, your ship, and everyone on it?” he extrapolated.
Jack cleared his throat, suddenly fascinated with the stars overhead. “Mayhap.”
“And is there any way to possibly prevent this?”
“Another good reason to have a bit of a chat with Tia Dalma.” He smiled brightly.
James reminded himself that it was his own fault for stepping out of his relatively clear and rational world into...into the world of Jack Sparrow and undead pirates and now, apparently, giant squid. Well, actually, Sparrow’s arrival in Port Royal and the presence of a cursed coin in the possession of Elizabeth Swann had dragged him into it and his rational nature had not been enough to get him back out, but the decision to dive headlong into it instead of letting denial and cowardice hold him somewhere safe and warm like his house back in Port Royal: that had been James’ doing, and the responsibility for it was James’ alone.
“Your world,” he informed Jack Sparrow placidly, “makes no sense at all.”
“Neither did yours, mate; you were just more used to the ways in which yours was mad.”
“I suppose that is true,” James murmured, sounding surprised.
And by then they had reached the Pearl.
“Toss a line down here, you shiftless swine!” Jack barked.
From above, Gibbs’ voice (only slightly drunk) called, “That’s the captain, shift about or he’ll have yer kidneys for breakfast!”
James raised his eyebrows. “I know that man’s voice.”
“Ex-navy, formerly press-ganged I believe. He’s a good man.”
“More importantly for the sake of your authority, Jack, he will know me.” He shot the captain a significant look.
Jack hesitated. “Oh. Don’t suppose you could just...pretend to be mute or-”
“On sight as well as sound, he will know me. He was, at one point, under my command.”
“Ah. Well. I’ll have to have a word with him. I’ll climb first then, shall I?” He seized the line as soon as it was tossed down and climbed it with all the speed of a certain monkey who shared his namesake.
James rolled his eyes, lifted his bag over his shoulder, and began his own climb with considerably more patience.
Jack found Gibbs quickly and seized him by the front of his collar. Seeing the man still sober enough to be capable of restraint, he sighed in relief. “Gibbs, I need ye to trust me, and do me a great favor, savvy?”
“Aye, cap’n. What is it?”
“Well, I’ve got our new first mate.”
“Aye?” Gibbs started to try and peer past his captain toward the rail, where one pale hand was handing up a large sack of possessions.
Jack tugged his attention away. “Gibbs. Trust me. Pretend you’ve never seen him before in yer life, because if there is another mutiny on this ship, everyone will see a side of me they’ve not seen before an’ a number of ‘em won’t survive it.”
“Jack, what-”
Then Gibbs heard a deadpan baritone voice from over the side, its familiarity not concealed by the well-mimicked Dutch accent it currently spoke in, saying, “No, thank you, I am more than capable.”
The quartermaster’s eyes went very wide. “Cap’n?” he squeaked. “Tell me that’s not the man I’m thinkin’ it is.”
“I’ll not lie to you, mate. He’s goin’ to help me settle a debt with someone, alright? I know what you’re thinking about bad luck, but trust me, the debt is owed to someone who’s even more bad luck than James over there.” He jabbed his thumb in the commodore’s direction.
“Who could be more bad luck than the Com-”
Jack pressed a hand over Gibbs’ mouth. “Gibbs. Name him, and you know what will happen.” He glanced significantly at a few of the newer additions to the crew. “I don’t need to have them gettin’ confused enough to get certain mutinous ideas, savvy?”
Gibbs swallowed and nodded.
Jack pulled his hand away and took a half-step back. “We have an accord?”
“Aye.”
They shook hands.
From behind Jack came the low sound of someone politely clearing his throat. “Am I interrupting something?”
Jack turned with a hint of a grin, even as he wondered vaguely where and how the commodore had picked up that crisp Dutch-trader’s accent. “James, this is Joshamee Gibbs, quartermaster.”
James nodded lightly, giving Gibbs a look that indicated recognition, but his voice was reassuringly casual as he reached out to shake the quartermaster’s hand. “James Stuart, at your service.”
“Better than ‘Smith’ I suppose,” Jack muttered, scarcely audible.
“He seems awful polished, Cap’n Jack, where’d you get him?” Gibbs asked, careful not to let his voice betray him, even as he openly eyed Norrington with a mixture of wariness and confusion.
“Old friend of mine, Gibbs. We’ve seen a few hangman’s nooses together.” Jack grinned playfully at the taller man, openly challenging him to keep up with the lies and insinuations. They both ignored the look of pained near-horror on Gibbs’ face.
James winced a little, but covered it by rolling his eyes in apparent exasperation. James was careful to play up the character he had invented: a Dutch version of himself without the positive experiences relating to matters military, but still polished, scathing, and with a great deal of self-discipline. “Oh, how I wish we could forget that,” he opined. “And it was your fault, Jack.”
“Just a bit of theft. I might’ve even brought her back eventually-”
“Yes, and I’m the pope,” James countered, smooth and droll as usual.
Jack frowned at him. “That’s hardly kind. I might’ve. After all, you know what I was really after.”
Most of the crew was watching, by now, fascinated.
“Yes, but how would you have proposed to go about returning her? As I understand it, you promised her to a violent young woman.” James was enjoying the game now.
Jack’s fingers fluttered dismissively. “That’s not...I could’ve...Damn that whelp for bloody well telling you.”
James grinned wickedly. “What was it you said? You cannot trust an honest man?”
“I’d use that as reason to question why I’ve brought you here, but you’re one of the best liars I’ve ever seen, when it comes right down to it. Last performance I witnessed was quite grand. How you kept a straight face, James, I’ll never know.”
Now it was James’ turn to falter. “That was not lying, that was...” He searched for words. “Careful omission,” he concluded weakly.
“Twas deception, love, and naught else. Well, most of it was, and the whole performance altogether was impressive. Even I wondered if you might actually cut the whelp’s throat.”
“You, as I recall, were in on it.”
“Yes, and I thank you for that, but I trust dishonest men to be dishonest, so I still had to wonder.” He waggled his eyebrows.
“At least I did not fall off a cliff,” James countered.
“Jumped.” Jack frowned. “I jumped. All planned. I knew exactly what I was doing.”
“I saw you bite your own tongue when you tripped. Was that, too, intentional?”
“Lookin’ real intently at my tongue were you?”
“That and the way your eyes grew wide as saucers just before you completely lost balance.”
A nervous bit of laughter from the audience.
Jack fluttered his eyelashes. “Mayhap I was just surprised to see you look so afraid for me, Jamie.” He put a hand over his heart, looking mock-smitten. “Charmed me, it did, to think ye worried for me.”
James snorted. “I did no such thing.”
“You did. It was pretty.”
His ears turning slightly pink, James glared at him. “This from the man wearing paint around his eyes.”
“Not all of us have eyes nice as yours love. Takes a bit more effort to catch people’s attention.”
“Yes, you do tend to try for attention-catching, don’t you?”
“Has it worked?” Jack added a leer for good measure.
James gave a low, contemplative hum. “Mayhap it has,” he mused, his voice a rumbling tiger-purr.
Jack shivered almost imperceptibly, then pretended to only just now notice the small crowd around them. “Lads, this here’s James Stuart, our new first mate.”
James doffed his hat and bowed slightly, but did not take his eyes off of Jack.
The rest of the crew noticed, and shot each other knowing looks, making no attempt to give the man a proper greeting just yet, since he seemed ever so busy.
At first, Jack tried to ignore the intense stare, but then he glanced down and saw that, at some point, probably shortly after climbing aboard, James had removed the thread that had held his collar teasingly half-unlaced before. The same collar was now bare and open, and Jack found the view rather distracting. He cleared his throat and met James’ gaze.
James smirked slowly and it was as much warning as invitation.
Few were surprised when Jack proposed to show the new first-mate around the ship, and apparently chose the captain’s cabin as their starting point. No one at all was surprised when the cabin door audibly locked shut, but Gibbs was still gaping slightly, shell-shocked by the whole of the situation.
“Something wrong, Gibbs?”
“Can’t say,” he croaked, and reached for his flask with a trembling hand. “Just a feelin’ that Jack’s up to somethin’ again.” God only knows what.
Jack watched hungrily as James stepped into the middle of the cabin and set down his bag on the floor. He let James get a good look at his surroundings, then stalked toward the ex-commodore with a heated look.
“You’re a damned tease, James,” he growled, pleased when James took a step back instinctively, and another, and another, until his back met the wall.
“And you are not?” James countered, his look a silent warning, full of promise: I am letting you do this, letting you corner me, because you know that if I wanted to I could do this and more to you. In fact, I plan to.
Jack shivered in anticipation and came to a halt, his body a mere inch from James’. “Aye, but from me, love, it’s expected.”
“You’ve made a point of surprising me with the unexpected from the very beginning of our acquaintance; it seems only fair for me to return the favor.” James cupped Jack’s chin in one hand, tilting the pirate’s face up toward his.
Jack hesitated. Sex, he expected, but the suggestion of kissing seemed almost embarrassingly intimate; yet, as soon as he thought about it, he realized quite how badly he wanted to know what an English commodore tasted like. “And you just don’t stop, do you?” he whispered, his voice almost sounding hoarse.
“Not in the least,” James replied, and finally caught the pirate’s tempting mouth under his own. Jack’s lips were chapped, rough from exposure to the elements, but James’ were not exactly soft either. James’ tongue, however, was far smoother, as Jack found out when James began to thoroughly and luxuriantly explore his mouth. Unable to recall when he had last kissed another man, and equally incapable of recalling any man he’d kissed being quite this good, Jack melted into this one with exultant abandon.
James’s lips curled into a faint smirk at the pirate’s distraction, and took the opportunity to work on the man’s collection of belts and other inconvenient accessories. James got rid of Jack’s belts, sash, weapons and pushed the pirate’s coat to the floor before Jack seemed to remember how to properly multitask and began attacking the buttons of James’ waistcoat with haste.
So distracted was the pirate, however, that when the kiss actually broke, Jack seemed a bit surprised to find them both stripped to their breeches and sprawled across his bed. James, looming over him with a predatory look, looked quite smugly amused by this, until Jack did something with his hips that nearly melted his poor ex-naval brain.
After cursing a bit in Gaelic, James groaned, “Where on earth did you learn to do that?”
“Singapore.” Then Jack did it again and James grew distinctly incoherent, tugging at Jack’s breeches with determination, holding the pirate pinned down with his body. “For a navy man, Jamie, you’ve no sense of chain of command. No respect for my authority at all,” Jack mocked.
“Well, Captain.” He tugged Jack’s breeches away deftly, letting the pirate kick them away. “I have agreed to be your first mate, but in our accord we are as equals, especially given that one of our primary conditions is that I will be a captain myself in the end.” He lowered his head, his lips not quite brushing Jack’s as he added, “I’ll not be tame, Jack, not even aboard your ship.” He grinned with particular amusement, perfectly mimicking Jack’s parting phrase from the top of the fort long ago. “Know that.” And then he set about proving it, extensively, and Jack had neither words nor desire to stop him.
Previous || Story Index || Next
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean; Sparrington
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I have no claim on POTC or the lovely characters who populate it, even if it seems that James Norrington has, somewhat disconcertingly, made himself quite at home in my head with no apparent plans to leave. Jack Sparrow's habit dropping by regularly, as he has for years now, probably doesn't help.
Summary: Consider this to be shamelessly fabricated backstory and subtext for the end of COTBP, with a way to bring in Davy Jones and the others without actually having to go through the other two films. James' worldview has been shaken and the only person he can really discuss it with is a certain pirate. Said pirate persuades him to expand his career options. Bantering abounds.
Sequel to: The World Behind the World: Part I
Warnings: I chose a slightly evil stopping point.
Note: I promised cattiness. I'm also firmly denying an obsession with tigers, and have no idea why they keep showing up when I write this pairing. No idea at all.
When, several months after Jack Sparrow’s second spectacular escape, it was declared that the commodore had gone missing and his house appeared lightly ransacked, nearly everyone in Port Royal was shocked and seemingly fearful over the whole matter, buzzing about the commodore being kidnapped by pirates or the French or some mysterious murderer.
Will Turner, however, was not. He was, in fact, a little bit irritated. This was likely due to the fact that the previous night he had once more found Jack Sparrow in his smithy.
“Jack! What are you-”
“Shh! Quiet, whelp! I won’t be here long.”
“Why are you here at all?” Will hissed.
“Followin’ up on a bit of correspondence, alright? I’m pickin’ up a new first mate since Anamaria took the little Spanish vessel we caught a while back as her own.” He smiled in a manner meant to be reassuring--and perhaps it was, but only to people who had never met him before. “Savvy?”
“In Port Royal? You’re picking up a first mate here?” Will was furious. “Do you not recall how close you came to being hanged last time?”
“Relax, lad. As I said-”
Someone knocked on the door three times, in a distinct rhythm.
In direct contradiction of his previous protestations of innocence, Jack grinned like the very devil himself. “That’ll be him, then.”
There was something almost sultry in Jack’s voice that Will found greatly disturbing, which was probably how the pirate managed to slip away from him so easily, shrugging into his coat as he swaggered to the door.
Will hesitated. “Jack?”
“Don’t worry, mate. We’ll be fine.” He opened the door and Will took note of a tall figure in civilian garb standing outside, with a large bag over one shoulder and a tricorne pulled low in front to partially hide his face.
Will still thought the man familiar, but felt no urge to inquire as to why. “Oh, just get out, you damned piratical bastard.”
“Goodnight to you, as well, young William.” Jack folded his hands palm-to-palm and gave a small oriental-looking bow.
The man outside dipped his head in a nod and, in salutation, said only, “Mr. Turner,” before Jack stepped out and shut the door behind them, leaving Will alone in the dark with his mouth hanging open because he would recognize that voice anywhere, and so now his world made no sense whatsoever.
The next day, as news spread, Will tried to forget what had happened. He even tried to forget that Jack seemed to have pilfered a sword from him at some point before leaving the smithy.
He almost succeeded, until he saw the worried and slightly guilty look on the face of his betrothed. Elizabeth hid it well under years of polished manners and deeply-ingrained reserve, but Will noted the faraway look in her eyes when she became lost in thought, and the way her hands shook.
“He’s fine,” Will said softly, taking her hand. “I’m sure of it.”
“Will...”
“Listen to me, please,” Will said softly, scarcely above a whisper, raising his eyebrows significantly. His dark eyes were serious.
She leaned in closer, her brow furrowed with concern. “What is it?”
He explained to her who he had discovered in his smithy, and all that the pirate had said, and the “new first-mate.”
Elizabeth’s mouth was slightly open by the end of the tale. “You must be joking.”
“I wish I was. It would be less of a headache for me if I were joking,” Will sighed.
“But James would never...” She looked away, a crease between her brows belying how troubling she found her thoughts. “But I suppose, after the Isle de Muerta, he did seem different.”
“I know. I just would never have guessed...” Again, he thought of the look on Jack’s face and the low, almost seductive tone that the pirate’s voice had taken, and blushed. He had not been able to describe that to Elizabeth. “I know his voice, however, and that was definitely the commodore out there.”
Elizabeth shook her head, smiling a little. “You think that you know someone, and then...” She shrugged, trailing off.
“And the pirate took one of my swords.”
“He what?”
“You are truly shameless,” James muttered, as Jack grinned to himself.
“Quiet, mate, and keep rowing if you don’t mind.”
Rolling his eyes, James obeyed, watching Jack draw his stolen Turner blade to examine it with apparent glee in the dim lantern-light.
“I’ve been wanting one of these since I first landed in that smithy. Lovely things.”
Again, James rolled his eyes, but he wore a faint, smug smile this time.
Jack spotted it and frowned a little. “Aye. Yours is still prettier, mate, but mine’s the better story behind it.”
“How so? You merely stole it.”
“Ah, but I stole it on my trip into Port Royal to commandeer the commodore to take aboard me own ship, savvy?” He sheathed the sword and returned his hand to the tiller, keeping them on course. “Good thing, as well, having you about. You’ll scare the bejeesus out of the new crewmen I had to pick up after Anamaria took half the old ones with her on her first venture into captaincy.”
“Scare them?” James raised his eyebrows. “When my name alone could bring them to mutiny?”
“Didn’t say anything about yer name, love. Yer tall, and you’ve got that voice of yours to shout at them with, along with sarcasm that can peel paint. That’ll do just fine.”
“I am not sure whether to take that as flattery or not.”
“No, James: flattery would be me admitting that your height, voice and sarcasm have a completely different effect on me,” Jack offered.
James met his gaze sharply and felt, to his chagrin, his ears burning: a sure indication that they had just turned red. “I see,” he said, his voice determinedly calm.
Jack grinned brilliantly. “Of course, that does bring up the matter of sleeping arrangements.”
James felt on more familiar grounds now: mild exasperation and amusement. The man really was a fool; a clever one, but a fool nonetheless. “Yes?”
Seeing that the now-ex-commodore was silently laughing at him, Jack frowned a little. “Yer not takin’ me seriously.”
James’ lips quirked into a challenging smirk. “And?” As soon as they left shore, he had let his usual mask drop almost entirely, which seemed to throw Jack off somewhat: now, for instance, he seemed to be staring wide-eyed, with a hint of pure lust. Satisfied, James made a mental note of this for future reference.
“And once we’re aboard the Pearl, James,” Jack rumbled, in low and solemn tones, “it is my most serious plan to ravish you as soon as possible.”
Amused by the banter and able to prevent himself blushing again, James merely met Jack’s gaze and let the pirate see the flare of lust he felt. Smirking again at the way Jack’s lips parted in anticipation, James said, “Good. And I suppose that also solves the matter of the sleeping arrangements, then.”
“Aye,” Jack growled, and wondered if he might be in just a bit over his head, here. And if he was, could he really consider it a problem rather than a benefit? Not for the first time that evening, Jack eyed the ex-commodore from head to foot, his eyes especially lingering at the laces at James’ shirt-collar, which were loose enough to show the skin just below his collarbone and the very edge of what looked suspiciously like a tattoo in the middle of his chest. Jack had been distracted by it half the night.
Finally, able to take it no longer, Jack inquired. “Is that a tattoo?”
“Hmm? Oh. This?” James paused rowing to tug at his collar, pulling it down so that Jack could see more of the ink. “Yes.”
Jack leaned closer, moving the lantern a bit for better light. “What is it?”
“A hawk. My mother’s family crest had a hawk on it, and she died shortly before I left England. I got this in her memory,” James explained lightly.
Nodding slightly, Jack reached up to tug the collar a little lower. He saw a flicker in James’ eyes and knew that the other man proceeded to continue rowing mostly to distract himself from the light touch of Jack’s fingers across the inked skin. “Suits you,” Jack said quietly.
A soft laugh. “I’ve been told.”
“Only thing that might suit you more would be a tiger. I know a place in Singapore that you could get a marvelous one.” Reluctantly, Jack let go and leaned back. His other hand had never left the tiller.
“A tiger?” James’ eyebrows raised. “That is, I must admit, a new one.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Perhaps it is the uniform, but people tend to lean toward the ferocious creatures associated with nobility and civilized persons when describing me, even in mockery.” He hummed thoughtfully. “Hawk. Eagle. Lion. I think the most creative had to be when a Scottish officer called me a ‘wolfhound’ which I rather liked at the time; I was, however, drunk.”
Jack laughed a little, trying to imagine this man intoxicated; his imagination failed him utterly. “So ‘tiger’ was too uncivilized a title for you, then?”
“I think most people thought so. Personally, I think it more apt for me than a lion.” James’ lips quirked a little. “As I recall, however, I have heard you described as a tiger once. Then again, Mr. Turner was a bit inebriated at the time, but considering that he was attempting to explain to me all of the events leading up to and culminating in the Isle de Muerta, inebriation was, it seems more than likely, the only reason he was able to speak with me at all.”
“Will called me that?”
“In describing the look on your face after you had shot Barbossa,” James explained.
Jack’s look darkened at the memory. “Ah. Makes sense, then.”
“Yes. Such times in our lives, I believe, show us at our most honest, often despite ourselves.”
“True enough. I’d not thought of you as like a tiger until I saw you on the deck of the Dauntless shortly after that.”
Solemnly, James nodded. “At that time, I think, you were the only one looking at me as myself.” He looked out over the water, back towards Port Royal. “Everyone else was comforted by the fact that I was handling things, and getting everything done. If they looked at me, it was with almost-blind respect. You looked at me as though I were a dangerous man covered in other people’s blood, who just happened to be in command.” He smiled coldly, almost bitterly. “It was strangely refreshing.”
“Aye. And you looked at me like you could rip out my throat with yer teeth if I made things any worse.”
“Yes, but at that point, I looked at nearly everyone that way: pirate and navy alike. I believe that I even startled the governor with that look.”
“But not Elizabeth.”
James hesitated, then shook his head. “No. Not Elizabeth.”
Jack recalled the look of profound relief and the flicker of pain that he had seen cross the commodore’s face as soon as dear Lizzy had climbed over the side. It had been like watching a glacier melt with incredible speed, but then James had put his mask back in place before anyone else, even Elizabeth, could see it, until only James’ eyes showed a hint of what he was feeling.
“She’s well, then?” Jack inquired.
“Yes.” A faint, half-sad half-amused smile. “Her profuse apologies to me, the same evening as your escape, were somewhat unexpected.”
“And how are you then?”
James shot him an almost wary look. “I am no longer in love with her as I was. And I am here,” he said softly. “In both cases, without regret--so far.”
Jack had to chew on that one for a bit, steering the longboat into an isolated little cove. Within several minutes, he could see the few lanterns that belied the Pearl’s presence. She was otherwise invisible in the dark. He saw James take note of the camouflage with interest.
“Clever,” James said quietly.
Jack beamed. “Aye.”
A strangely companionable silence passed between them.
“I’ll have to introduce you to Tia Dalma, of course, first chance we get.”
“Who?”
“Davy’s lady-love. Don’t call her Calypso, or she’ll carve our yet eyes an’ use ‘em for something truly unkind.”
“I will keep that in mind. Why exactly do I need to meet her?”
“When you begin yer new career, she’ll be, as it were, yer commandin’ officer.”
“I see. Now, I suppose, would be the time to ask about all the other little things that you have thusfar failed to mention. I am sure that they are numerous.”
“Well...can you remind me the bits I have mentioned, so I can remember all the ones I’ve left out?”
“Spending only one day ashore every ten years, turning into some kind of sea-monster if I do not honor the promise to care for souls lost at sea, taking on crewmen on the basis that they fear death and will swear to work before the mast, possibly having my heart carved out of my chest and put into a box...”
“I’m pretty sure that last one is technically optional, it’s just that the ship needs a heart, which needs to be in a chest, and I’m sure we can explain that your chest is a safe enough place for it.”
“Of course. Did I miss anything, Jack?”
For just a moment, Jack was thrown off by James actually using his name for the first time. “Mm. Well. There’s the kracken, but that’s...” He tried to gesture dismissively.
“A mythical giant cephalopod. What about it?”
“Well...Jones sort of has one at his beck and call, and has been known to use it to sink ships.”
James paused, staring at Jack cooly. “As in, he might use it to destroy you, your ship, and everyone on it?” he extrapolated.
Jack cleared his throat, suddenly fascinated with the stars overhead. “Mayhap.”
“And is there any way to possibly prevent this?”
“Another good reason to have a bit of a chat with Tia Dalma.” He smiled brightly.
James reminded himself that it was his own fault for stepping out of his relatively clear and rational world into...into the world of Jack Sparrow and undead pirates and now, apparently, giant squid. Well, actually, Sparrow’s arrival in Port Royal and the presence of a cursed coin in the possession of Elizabeth Swann had dragged him into it and his rational nature had not been enough to get him back out, but the decision to dive headlong into it instead of letting denial and cowardice hold him somewhere safe and warm like his house back in Port Royal: that had been James’ doing, and the responsibility for it was James’ alone.
“Your world,” he informed Jack Sparrow placidly, “makes no sense at all.”
“Neither did yours, mate; you were just more used to the ways in which yours was mad.”
“I suppose that is true,” James murmured, sounding surprised.
And by then they had reached the Pearl.
“Toss a line down here, you shiftless swine!” Jack barked.
From above, Gibbs’ voice (only slightly drunk) called, “That’s the captain, shift about or he’ll have yer kidneys for breakfast!”
James raised his eyebrows. “I know that man’s voice.”
“Ex-navy, formerly press-ganged I believe. He’s a good man.”
“More importantly for the sake of your authority, Jack, he will know me.” He shot the captain a significant look.
Jack hesitated. “Oh. Don’t suppose you could just...pretend to be mute or-”
“On sight as well as sound, he will know me. He was, at one point, under my command.”
“Ah. Well. I’ll have to have a word with him. I’ll climb first then, shall I?” He seized the line as soon as it was tossed down and climbed it with all the speed of a certain monkey who shared his namesake.
James rolled his eyes, lifted his bag over his shoulder, and began his own climb with considerably more patience.
Jack found Gibbs quickly and seized him by the front of his collar. Seeing the man still sober enough to be capable of restraint, he sighed in relief. “Gibbs, I need ye to trust me, and do me a great favor, savvy?”
“Aye, cap’n. What is it?”
“Well, I’ve got our new first mate.”
“Aye?” Gibbs started to try and peer past his captain toward the rail, where one pale hand was handing up a large sack of possessions.
Jack tugged his attention away. “Gibbs. Trust me. Pretend you’ve never seen him before in yer life, because if there is another mutiny on this ship, everyone will see a side of me they’ve not seen before an’ a number of ‘em won’t survive it.”
“Jack, what-”
Then Gibbs heard a deadpan baritone voice from over the side, its familiarity not concealed by the well-mimicked Dutch accent it currently spoke in, saying, “No, thank you, I am more than capable.”
The quartermaster’s eyes went very wide. “Cap’n?” he squeaked. “Tell me that’s not the man I’m thinkin’ it is.”
“I’ll not lie to you, mate. He’s goin’ to help me settle a debt with someone, alright? I know what you’re thinking about bad luck, but trust me, the debt is owed to someone who’s even more bad luck than James over there.” He jabbed his thumb in the commodore’s direction.
“Who could be more bad luck than the Com-”
Jack pressed a hand over Gibbs’ mouth. “Gibbs. Name him, and you know what will happen.” He glanced significantly at a few of the newer additions to the crew. “I don’t need to have them gettin’ confused enough to get certain mutinous ideas, savvy?”
Gibbs swallowed and nodded.
Jack pulled his hand away and took a half-step back. “We have an accord?”
“Aye.”
They shook hands.
From behind Jack came the low sound of someone politely clearing his throat. “Am I interrupting something?”
Jack turned with a hint of a grin, even as he wondered vaguely where and how the commodore had picked up that crisp Dutch-trader’s accent. “James, this is Joshamee Gibbs, quartermaster.”
James nodded lightly, giving Gibbs a look that indicated recognition, but his voice was reassuringly casual as he reached out to shake the quartermaster’s hand. “James Stuart, at your service.”
“Better than ‘Smith’ I suppose,” Jack muttered, scarcely audible.
“He seems awful polished, Cap’n Jack, where’d you get him?” Gibbs asked, careful not to let his voice betray him, even as he openly eyed Norrington with a mixture of wariness and confusion.
“Old friend of mine, Gibbs. We’ve seen a few hangman’s nooses together.” Jack grinned playfully at the taller man, openly challenging him to keep up with the lies and insinuations. They both ignored the look of pained near-horror on Gibbs’ face.
James winced a little, but covered it by rolling his eyes in apparent exasperation. James was careful to play up the character he had invented: a Dutch version of himself without the positive experiences relating to matters military, but still polished, scathing, and with a great deal of self-discipline. “Oh, how I wish we could forget that,” he opined. “And it was your fault, Jack.”
“Just a bit of theft. I might’ve even brought her back eventually-”
“Yes, and I’m the pope,” James countered, smooth and droll as usual.
Jack frowned at him. “That’s hardly kind. I might’ve. After all, you know what I was really after.”
Most of the crew was watching, by now, fascinated.
“Yes, but how would you have proposed to go about returning her? As I understand it, you promised her to a violent young woman.” James was enjoying the game now.
Jack’s fingers fluttered dismissively. “That’s not...I could’ve...Damn that whelp for bloody well telling you.”
James grinned wickedly. “What was it you said? You cannot trust an honest man?”
“I’d use that as reason to question why I’ve brought you here, but you’re one of the best liars I’ve ever seen, when it comes right down to it. Last performance I witnessed was quite grand. How you kept a straight face, James, I’ll never know.”
Now it was James’ turn to falter. “That was not lying, that was...” He searched for words. “Careful omission,” he concluded weakly.
“Twas deception, love, and naught else. Well, most of it was, and the whole performance altogether was impressive. Even I wondered if you might actually cut the whelp’s throat.”
“You, as I recall, were in on it.”
“Yes, and I thank you for that, but I trust dishonest men to be dishonest, so I still had to wonder.” He waggled his eyebrows.
“At least I did not fall off a cliff,” James countered.
“Jumped.” Jack frowned. “I jumped. All planned. I knew exactly what I was doing.”
“I saw you bite your own tongue when you tripped. Was that, too, intentional?”
“Lookin’ real intently at my tongue were you?”
“That and the way your eyes grew wide as saucers just before you completely lost balance.”
A nervous bit of laughter from the audience.
Jack fluttered his eyelashes. “Mayhap I was just surprised to see you look so afraid for me, Jamie.” He put a hand over his heart, looking mock-smitten. “Charmed me, it did, to think ye worried for me.”
James snorted. “I did no such thing.”
“You did. It was pretty.”
His ears turning slightly pink, James glared at him. “This from the man wearing paint around his eyes.”
“Not all of us have eyes nice as yours love. Takes a bit more effort to catch people’s attention.”
“Yes, you do tend to try for attention-catching, don’t you?”
“Has it worked?” Jack added a leer for good measure.
James gave a low, contemplative hum. “Mayhap it has,” he mused, his voice a rumbling tiger-purr.
Jack shivered almost imperceptibly, then pretended to only just now notice the small crowd around them. “Lads, this here’s James Stuart, our new first mate.”
James doffed his hat and bowed slightly, but did not take his eyes off of Jack.
The rest of the crew noticed, and shot each other knowing looks, making no attempt to give the man a proper greeting just yet, since he seemed ever so busy.
At first, Jack tried to ignore the intense stare, but then he glanced down and saw that, at some point, probably shortly after climbing aboard, James had removed the thread that had held his collar teasingly half-unlaced before. The same collar was now bare and open, and Jack found the view rather distracting. He cleared his throat and met James’ gaze.
James smirked slowly and it was as much warning as invitation.
Few were surprised when Jack proposed to show the new first-mate around the ship, and apparently chose the captain’s cabin as their starting point. No one at all was surprised when the cabin door audibly locked shut, but Gibbs was still gaping slightly, shell-shocked by the whole of the situation.
“Something wrong, Gibbs?”
“Can’t say,” he croaked, and reached for his flask with a trembling hand. “Just a feelin’ that Jack’s up to somethin’ again.” God only knows what.
Jack watched hungrily as James stepped into the middle of the cabin and set down his bag on the floor. He let James get a good look at his surroundings, then stalked toward the ex-commodore with a heated look.
“You’re a damned tease, James,” he growled, pleased when James took a step back instinctively, and another, and another, until his back met the wall.
“And you are not?” James countered, his look a silent warning, full of promise: I am letting you do this, letting you corner me, because you know that if I wanted to I could do this and more to you. In fact, I plan to.
Jack shivered in anticipation and came to a halt, his body a mere inch from James’. “Aye, but from me, love, it’s expected.”
“You’ve made a point of surprising me with the unexpected from the very beginning of our acquaintance; it seems only fair for me to return the favor.” James cupped Jack’s chin in one hand, tilting the pirate’s face up toward his.
Jack hesitated. Sex, he expected, but the suggestion of kissing seemed almost embarrassingly intimate; yet, as soon as he thought about it, he realized quite how badly he wanted to know what an English commodore tasted like. “And you just don’t stop, do you?” he whispered, his voice almost sounding hoarse.
“Not in the least,” James replied, and finally caught the pirate’s tempting mouth under his own. Jack’s lips were chapped, rough from exposure to the elements, but James’ were not exactly soft either. James’ tongue, however, was far smoother, as Jack found out when James began to thoroughly and luxuriantly explore his mouth. Unable to recall when he had last kissed another man, and equally incapable of recalling any man he’d kissed being quite this good, Jack melted into this one with exultant abandon.
James’s lips curled into a faint smirk at the pirate’s distraction, and took the opportunity to work on the man’s collection of belts and other inconvenient accessories. James got rid of Jack’s belts, sash, weapons and pushed the pirate’s coat to the floor before Jack seemed to remember how to properly multitask and began attacking the buttons of James’ waistcoat with haste.
So distracted was the pirate, however, that when the kiss actually broke, Jack seemed a bit surprised to find them both stripped to their breeches and sprawled across his bed. James, looming over him with a predatory look, looked quite smugly amused by this, until Jack did something with his hips that nearly melted his poor ex-naval brain.
After cursing a bit in Gaelic, James groaned, “Where on earth did you learn to do that?”
“Singapore.” Then Jack did it again and James grew distinctly incoherent, tugging at Jack’s breeches with determination, holding the pirate pinned down with his body. “For a navy man, Jamie, you’ve no sense of chain of command. No respect for my authority at all,” Jack mocked.
“Well, Captain.” He tugged Jack’s breeches away deftly, letting the pirate kick them away. “I have agreed to be your first mate, but in our accord we are as equals, especially given that one of our primary conditions is that I will be a captain myself in the end.” He lowered his head, his lips not quite brushing Jack’s as he added, “I’ll not be tame, Jack, not even aboard your ship.” He grinned with particular amusement, perfectly mimicking Jack’s parting phrase from the top of the fort long ago. “Know that.” And then he set about proving it, extensively, and Jack had neither words nor desire to stop him.
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