(no subject)
Title: A Peculiar Nuisance
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean
Pairing: Jack Sparrow x James Norrington (Sparrington)
Length: 8,565 words. Split into two parts due to restriction policies on LJ.
Rating: NC-17 for lemon.
Status: Complete
Warning: Spoilers for At World's End. Now crossposted to AO3 here.
James Norrington woke up, which is always a pleasant surprise, especially seeing as he was supposed to be dead. His head seemed to agree with the facts; it throbbed painfully, and his tongue was heavy and covered with gunk. “I’d lay still if I were you,” an unknown face advised from a nearby chair. “I expect the captain’ll want to be having a word, and it wouldn’t be doing you much good to knock yourself back out again.” James stopped struggling and sighed; the pirate spoke sense.
“May I enquire to the name of the captain?” he muttered hoarsely, rubbing his eyes as he levered himself into a sensible, slightly more vertical position.
The pirate grinned. “I’m disinclined to acquiesce your request,” he sneered. Clearly this was some private joke; the two by the door jeered in what was supposed to be a snigger. After a few moments of sniggering they stopped, smiles still in place. “Means no,” one of the men by the door explained helpfully; James had known the sort, he had appeared a tad dimwitted. Sure enough, Door Pirate number 1 smacked him on the arm with a scowl.
“Yes, I’m perfectly aware of that,” James said with a long, drawn-out sigh. Pirates. He had forgotten.
A larger head was stuck round the door; James knew enough about pirates to know he was in a position of command. The pirates themselves seemed to find size an indeterminable measure of how piratey one was; brains over brawn appeared to have never reached their shrivelled ears. Then again, if he were to mention the phrase to them, they would have probably thought he was speaking about seafood. “The captain will see him now.” His tone was unquestionable, and James shunned chair-pirate’s hand and stood; he cast an eye about, vaguely recognising the ship, but not quite enough to cause him to be able to identify it. It was really quite infuriating. He made his way across and out of the door on surprisingly steady feet; this was evidently the captain’s quarters, as there were few crew members around. Half-forgotten memories preyed on his consciousness, as if he knew the place, but didn’t… it was all driving him quite mad, and he was quite glad when he finally followed the large pirate into a dining room he definitely did not recognise, set with as much of a meal as can be expected on board a pirate ship. His captain appeared to be sitting across the table; he spread his arms, and James took the invitation, sitting down.
“I know you,” James said slowly. “I heard the crew talking. You’re Barbossa. Sparrow shot you.”
Barbossa grinned. “And Bootstrap stabbed you.”
James nodded. “Fair point.” He reached over and took a bite out of a hunk of bread, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand in a genteel motion that seemed quite out of place in front of a Pirate Lord. Barbossa narrowed his eyes, avoiding the food altogether; James, having spent quite enough time with pirates not to feel rude, continued to eat.
“I expect you’ll be wanting to know how you got here,” Barbossa finally said as he watched James eat.
“I must admit, the question has crossed my mind,” James admitted between mouthfuls, smiling slightly.
Barbossa was used to sarcasm. He was a pirate. “Have you ever heard of Tia Dalma?” James shook his head, mouth full, and muttered as much as he could.
“The crew very significantly did not speak about her,” he said, and took another bite. If possible, Barbossa’s eyes narrowed slightly more.
“Calypso, then?” James’ snort of displeasure was enough of a response. “Ah. I take it the name rings a bell?”
James sighed, finishing his mouthful and deigning it of more use not to replace it with another. “Sparrow’s prattle about Jones’ chest was at least viable and provable, but sea goddesses? Please.”
His hand paused over the grapes, before setting on an apple. Barbossa watched him eat it with ravenous eyes; a suspicion seemed to be confirmed, though James had no idea what he had done to do so. “It was by her power you came back to this world, Admiral, so I’d keep that tongue of yours in check.”
James’ eyebrow rose. “And where is my rescuer, in order for me to bestow my cries of thanks?”
“Sitting in front of you,” Barbossa said smugly, leaning back in his chair and spreading his arms. James simply kept his eyebrow raised. “No, I’m not Calypso,” Barbossa huffed, rolling his eyes. “But it was by her power I came back and so I know the ways myself.”
James couldn’t help his cynical nature. It was part of his charm. “And out of all the people you could have raised you chose me?”
“Nice to know you’re so grateful,” Barbossa replied, sounding a tad petulant. “Let’s just say… my current target always had a fondness for you. Was rooting for you, as it were.”
James sighed. “It had been too much to hope for that you brought me back out of the kindness of your heart. What do you want me to do?”
Barbossa nodded to someone behind him. “I don’t suppose he’s recognisable?” James turned and saw a large, tanned man holding a small boy, six or seven by the looks of him. He had a vaguely recognisable face, but James couldn’t place it. He turned back and shook his head; Barbossa nodded. “It was a long shot,” he admitted, and looked to his left. “Her?”
A woman was shoved into view, her hair wild and her arms restrained but her face and voice he instantly knew. “Where is he?” she yelled to Barbossa, struggling furiously. “Where is my son?!”
James sprang to his feet. “Elizabeth!” he cried, only to find cold steel press against his throat and another blade to slide across Elizabeth’s. Their eyes met, both wide with astonishment.
“James?” she whispered, dumbstruck. A hand was clamped across her mouth and she was dragged, kicking and shrieking from the room. A quiet noise behind him noted the removal of what now appeared to be Elizabeth’s son, which explained his vague recognition; he looked so very much like his father…
“What was that?!” James snarled, voice clipped with anger but body restrained by the blade at his throat. Elizabeth was Barbossa’s current target?! And what had he meant by having a certain fondness? Previously-destroyed hope bubbled up in his chest, and he quashed it - though, sadly, as ever, not completely.
Barbossa frowned slightly. “Call it… motive.” He stood up and tickled a small monkey behind the ear. “I have a need to locate Jack Sparrow. He has something that I want.”
James shifted in his chair, mind exploding. Sparrow was his target? The elusive words from earlier, having a certain fondness, preyed on his thoughts. “You already have the Pearl, what more is there?”
Barbossa’s smile spread. “So you do recognise her?” James said nothing; he had as soon as he saw the boy, a door behind him throwing a tantalising glimpse of the deck beyond. “It’s true, I managed to wrestle back my ship from him, but there’s something else I’d like. I believe you’ve been asked to find it before?”
James frowned. “The compass?”
Barbossa’s teeth glittered in the candlelight. “Aye. The compass.”
“But he keeps it on him at all times, how - ”
“The means I am not interested in, Admiral, merely that they lead to the end product,” Barbossa snapped abruptly. James closed his mouth, eyes blazing.
“The deal?” he said finally, when he was able to steady his voice.
“You get me the compass,” Barbossa replied, enunciating each word as if speaking to a small child.
James ignored the patronising tone. “And in return?”
“I keep you alive, and Mrs Turner and her son get their freedom.”
“At Tortuga. As soon as I hand over the compass.” Barbossa’s eyes narrowed; James had known enough of pirate trickery to know he had to specify every detail.
“Done,” he said finally, and shook James’ hand. A noise behind him announced the return of the man who had escorted him before; the same who had kept hold of Elizabeth’s son. Had she called him Will, he wondered, and where was the father now? “Anything else you require?”
James closed his eyes, focusing his mind on the present. “I have two requests, if I may?”
Barbossa regarded him closely. “Speak them.”
“The first is that you drop me at a port of my choosing.”
Barbossa nodded. “’Tis fair. What port do you choose?”
“I can tell you after you fulfil my second request. I want to speak to Elizabeth.” Barbossa nodded, more to the man behind him than in agreement. The sword at his neck was dropped and James stood, Barbossa addressing his earlier escort. “McAvinger, take the Admiral to the brig. And not into it, I believe our previous conversation would suffice in how to correctly fulfil your orders, but I can never tell with you.” James’ arm was seized and he was brought rather than lead to the door. “And gently, please, we don’t want any harm done to him.” McAvinger seemed to disagree, but let James’ arm drop, and he clutched at it protectively, glaring. He was lead to the brig, keeping his eyes down; any altercation may result in him being unable to speak to Elizabeth, his heart burning in fear for her, and pirates took any gesture as a means to initiate altercations. He was roughly pushed down the steps, before McAvinger moved off to the main cell to address what appeared to be a writhing heap in short, angry, Scottish barks. Elizabeth was separate with her son, in a cell to the side. He hurried over and crouched beside her, wrapping his fingers around the bars. “Elizabeth?” he whispered. McAvinger’s shouts grew louder as the mound separated out to reveal three men, who were brawling about who should stay closer to the second cell.
Elizabeth quickly moved across, gripping the bars below his hands. She smiled and his heart swelled. “James, it is you, oh it’s so good - ”
James waved his hand, eyeing McAvinger nervously. “There isn’t time,” he murmured softly. “Does Sparrow know I’m dead?” he said quickly.
Elizabeth seemed flustered by the question, but responded urgently at the look in his eyes. “I don’t think so, not specifically, a lot of Navy men died that day and I never told him, but it’s been so long, someone could have easily told him - ”
“How long has it been?” James interrupted neatly, bracing himself.
“Six and a half years,” she said quietly, and James grimaced.
“Barbossa must want this compass very badly to bring me back after all this time,” James muttered to himself, spurring another horde of questions from Elizabeth he silenced with a second wave. “I need to know where to find him, will Tortuga still be safe?” Elizabeth nodded slightly, biting her lip, trying to keep in the millions of questions and apologies. “Listen, I’ve made a deal with Barbossa. He promises you and your son’s freedom. I will return for you,” he whispered. McAvinger placed a hand on his shoulder and James stood, keeping his eyes locked with Elizabeth’s. He smiled sadly. “He looks just like his father,” he said softly and was lead back to the captain.
“Where’ll it be, Admiral?” Barbossa drawled.
“Tortuga,” James replied, and turned to face the sea.
There was a certain knack to being noticed. Not being noticed was very easy, especially in a place such as Tortuga; being noticed, on the other hand, was much more difficult, especially if you were trying not to seem like you were trying to be noticed. James couldn’t afford to simply go up to any of Jack’s painstakingly rebuilt crew, as they’d not look at him twice before stabbing him for betrayal or just for the fun of it. But he had to be seen; no, much safer to let them come to him. He situated himself in a place which was noticeable, unthreatening, and yet unmistakeably tantalising. Eventually his efforts paid out, and it was Gibbs who staggered over. “I know you,” he said slowly, peering at James through rum-fogged eyes.
“Yes, I expect so,” James replied calmly, and sipped on his glass again before standing up and turning to leave.
“Wai’, wai’, I do know you! It’s C-C-omm. Comma, communications, no, comm-o-.” He seemed to struggle with the word, and James sighed, long and slow.
“It’s Admiral now, actually, but I do think that if you’ve found me here then I’m rather past all that, hmm?” He had to orchestrate it delicately; give Gibbs enough to keep him talking, whilst not making him suspicious.
“Ent many Navy folk left heer,” he said with another swig.
“None at all, I shouldn’t wonder,” James replied, nose wrinkling in distaste.
“I expect Jack’ll w-w-want to have a word with you,” he managed to stutter out, patting him clumsily on the chest.
“I thought as much,” James sighed dramatically. “Where is he?” Gibbs just about managed to gesture in one direction before collapsing in a happy heap at James’ feet. James wrinkled his nose again before stepping over his figure. He squinted into the early-morning sun and noticed Sparrow by the boats; he walked over and patted him on the shoulder.
“Eh?” Sparrow turned around and then just stared.
“Gibbs said you wanted a word.” In a manner of speaking. “Do you?” “Ahh,” Sparrow said, articulate as always, before pulling out his sword, pressing the tip against James’ chest as he stared at him for a long, long while. “You’re not dead.”
“Neither are you, it would seem. That seems to be a good start to the conversation.” James raised an eyebrow. “So which one of these sorry lumps of wood is yours, then?” he continued after a while of more, rather lengthy stares.
“What interest is it to you?” Sparrow said hurriedly, his eyes narrowed in a suspicious manner.
“Technically I’m still a member of your sad crew, as much as it may depress me. That is, if you still want me.” He raised a fine eyebrow questioningly.
Sparrow stared. “Technically, you betrayed us all and nicked the heart for your lonesome.”
James grinned. “Technically, I took the chest and ran off to help your escape. It wasn’t my fault if the heart was poorly hidden.”
Sparrow regarded him for a slow moment. “Let’s not bother with trivialities,” he said finally, waving his hands and smiling.
“My thoughts exactly,” James replied with a half-smile. “So am I to go aboard or not?”
Sparrow seemed to consult his compass for a moment; James could barely keep his eyes off it, knowing if he just reached out and snatched it now Elizabeth would be free… It was removed from temptation into innumerable shirts, the pirate’s face a grimace, not liking what he had seen. “It appears you are,” he snapped, and went up a nearby ladder to what turned out to be his ship. James sighed, picked up a nearby barrel and ascended himself.
Aboard, he was treated with a similar amount of distaste, contempt and admiration, but generally he was ignored. Half of the crew knew him from before; they were suspicious at first, but grudges didn’t settle in their hearts, not when James was such a dab hand at… well, everything, really, and could occasionally make the captain see sense and take aboard something shiny. The other half had no idea of his naval background, which was fortunate, as they would have probably skinned him alive if they did. He spent a considerable amount of the voyage in the rigging, staring off into the horizon; he even had a brief stint in the crow’s nest, as Sparrow seemed to think that it was something he enjoyed. When questioned, he replied he didn’t, and wasn’t placed there any more. He decided he’d have to stop avoiding Sparrow in the rigging someday; he needed that compass.
Much to his dismay, there was very rarely a time when Sparrow disrobed enough to remove the compass from his belt. The man didn’t bathe, and he rarely changed his clothes; any time he did see fit to remove the stinking garments he’d always do it alone, and after which he’d come out with the compass firmly strapped in again. He waited painstaking weeks of staring at the doors to Sparrow’s cabin, knowing what would set Elizabeth free lay behind the doors, but knowing there was no way he could take it. However, his patience paid off, and he eventually made a discovery; once, when they made port, the crew went off whoring. He’d half expected Sparrow to stay with the boat, but Sparrow ordered Gibbs and him to stay and went off in search of pleasurable company himself. James had followed him, only to find to his frustration Sparrow knew more back alleys than he could ever imagine and lost him within moments. He returned to the ship and waited till the next time they made port, determined not to lose him, but yet again he seemed frustratingly hard to follow. James ended up getting hopelessly lost and only just making it back to the ship as they set off, the other crew members jeering, asking which pretty ankle had turned his eye.
Sparrow was at the helm. He looked distinctly unimpressed when James moved beside him, casting him a long, penetrating look before moving off again. James sighed, leant on the rail and forced himself to remember why he was doing all this.
It was the sixth, maybe seventh time Sparrow slipped into the shadows before James managed not to lose him. It was a smaller town, perhaps, or the pirate was distracted, but in any rate he tailed him until he entered the small brothel. He stood outside for a long while, wondering whether he would emerge and move on, before deciding that if he was to try and steal this compass he’d have to do it quickly to get away before daybreak. He moved inside, ignoring the jeers from the doormen, and the ladies who brushed up to him as he entered. He heard a familiar laugh from upstairs, and made to go up. “You sure, love?” an unnamed lady with questionable morals whispered in his ear. “There’s a lot to be had down here without having to go up there.” James thanked her quietly for her consideration before moving upstairs, padding through the corridors.
Upstairs, there were no ladies, at least. It was worse. The men looked up at him, peered from shadows; more boys than men, each with either dull or fresh, frightened eyes. He felt slightly sick as he moved between them, trying to keep his eyes away. Only one room was occupied, and it was clear from the dull, rhythmic thumping what was occurring inside; nevertheless, James bent down and pressed an eye to the keyhole.
Almost immediately he twisted away and pushed his back into the wall, staring at the ceiling, nails digging into his palm as he tried to forget the sight of a very naked, very sweaty Jack up against an equally disrobed unnamed individual. Naked, naked, his brain reminded him. If he’s naked the compass is somewhere else. He leant forward to make another sweep of the room, but before his eye met with the keyhole there was a long, low and slightly haggard moan, followed by the fumbling of fingers with clothes. James panicked, scrabbling away, hiding round a corner and peering nervously as a fully-clothed Sparrow moved away. He stood against the wall for a while, contemplating what his brain was proffering as the best plan. Was this what Barbossa had meant when he said Sparrow had a fondness for him? He had hardly shown him any inkling of it before. Perhaps it was just his corrupted brain that was drawing connections, and the thing which was formulating in his brain would never work. Sparrow was smarter than that… wasn’t he?
His plan regrettably slotted into place; he hated every second of it but knew that for Elizabeth’s freedom there really was no other choice.
Breaking Sparrow’s heart and perhaps his own mind was nothing for the safety of the one he loved.
Part 2
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean
Pairing: Jack Sparrow x James Norrington (Sparrington)
Length: 8,565 words. Split into two parts due to restriction policies on LJ.
Rating: NC-17 for lemon.
Status: Complete
Warning: Spoilers for At World's End. Now crossposted to AO3 here.
James Norrington woke up, which is always a pleasant surprise, especially seeing as he was supposed to be dead. His head seemed to agree with the facts; it throbbed painfully, and his tongue was heavy and covered with gunk. “I’d lay still if I were you,” an unknown face advised from a nearby chair. “I expect the captain’ll want to be having a word, and it wouldn’t be doing you much good to knock yourself back out again.” James stopped struggling and sighed; the pirate spoke sense.
“May I enquire to the name of the captain?” he muttered hoarsely, rubbing his eyes as he levered himself into a sensible, slightly more vertical position.
The pirate grinned. “I’m disinclined to acquiesce your request,” he sneered. Clearly this was some private joke; the two by the door jeered in what was supposed to be a snigger. After a few moments of sniggering they stopped, smiles still in place. “Means no,” one of the men by the door explained helpfully; James had known the sort, he had appeared a tad dimwitted. Sure enough, Door Pirate number 1 smacked him on the arm with a scowl.
“Yes, I’m perfectly aware of that,” James said with a long, drawn-out sigh. Pirates. He had forgotten.
A larger head was stuck round the door; James knew enough about pirates to know he was in a position of command. The pirates themselves seemed to find size an indeterminable measure of how piratey one was; brains over brawn appeared to have never reached their shrivelled ears. Then again, if he were to mention the phrase to them, they would have probably thought he was speaking about seafood. “The captain will see him now.” His tone was unquestionable, and James shunned chair-pirate’s hand and stood; he cast an eye about, vaguely recognising the ship, but not quite enough to cause him to be able to identify it. It was really quite infuriating. He made his way across and out of the door on surprisingly steady feet; this was evidently the captain’s quarters, as there were few crew members around. Half-forgotten memories preyed on his consciousness, as if he knew the place, but didn’t… it was all driving him quite mad, and he was quite glad when he finally followed the large pirate into a dining room he definitely did not recognise, set with as much of a meal as can be expected on board a pirate ship. His captain appeared to be sitting across the table; he spread his arms, and James took the invitation, sitting down.
“I know you,” James said slowly. “I heard the crew talking. You’re Barbossa. Sparrow shot you.”
Barbossa grinned. “And Bootstrap stabbed you.”
James nodded. “Fair point.” He reached over and took a bite out of a hunk of bread, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand in a genteel motion that seemed quite out of place in front of a Pirate Lord. Barbossa narrowed his eyes, avoiding the food altogether; James, having spent quite enough time with pirates not to feel rude, continued to eat.
“I expect you’ll be wanting to know how you got here,” Barbossa finally said as he watched James eat.
“I must admit, the question has crossed my mind,” James admitted between mouthfuls, smiling slightly.
Barbossa was used to sarcasm. He was a pirate. “Have you ever heard of Tia Dalma?” James shook his head, mouth full, and muttered as much as he could.
“The crew very significantly did not speak about her,” he said, and took another bite. If possible, Barbossa’s eyes narrowed slightly more.
“Calypso, then?” James’ snort of displeasure was enough of a response. “Ah. I take it the name rings a bell?”
James sighed, finishing his mouthful and deigning it of more use not to replace it with another. “Sparrow’s prattle about Jones’ chest was at least viable and provable, but sea goddesses? Please.”
His hand paused over the grapes, before setting on an apple. Barbossa watched him eat it with ravenous eyes; a suspicion seemed to be confirmed, though James had no idea what he had done to do so. “It was by her power you came back to this world, Admiral, so I’d keep that tongue of yours in check.”
James’ eyebrow rose. “And where is my rescuer, in order for me to bestow my cries of thanks?”
“Sitting in front of you,” Barbossa said smugly, leaning back in his chair and spreading his arms. James simply kept his eyebrow raised. “No, I’m not Calypso,” Barbossa huffed, rolling his eyes. “But it was by her power I came back and so I know the ways myself.”
James couldn’t help his cynical nature. It was part of his charm. “And out of all the people you could have raised you chose me?”
“Nice to know you’re so grateful,” Barbossa replied, sounding a tad petulant. “Let’s just say… my current target always had a fondness for you. Was rooting for you, as it were.”
James sighed. “It had been too much to hope for that you brought me back out of the kindness of your heart. What do you want me to do?”
Barbossa nodded to someone behind him. “I don’t suppose he’s recognisable?” James turned and saw a large, tanned man holding a small boy, six or seven by the looks of him. He had a vaguely recognisable face, but James couldn’t place it. He turned back and shook his head; Barbossa nodded. “It was a long shot,” he admitted, and looked to his left. “Her?”
A woman was shoved into view, her hair wild and her arms restrained but her face and voice he instantly knew. “Where is he?” she yelled to Barbossa, struggling furiously. “Where is my son?!”
James sprang to his feet. “Elizabeth!” he cried, only to find cold steel press against his throat and another blade to slide across Elizabeth’s. Their eyes met, both wide with astonishment.
“James?” she whispered, dumbstruck. A hand was clamped across her mouth and she was dragged, kicking and shrieking from the room. A quiet noise behind him noted the removal of what now appeared to be Elizabeth’s son, which explained his vague recognition; he looked so very much like his father…
“What was that?!” James snarled, voice clipped with anger but body restrained by the blade at his throat. Elizabeth was Barbossa’s current target?! And what had he meant by having a certain fondness? Previously-destroyed hope bubbled up in his chest, and he quashed it - though, sadly, as ever, not completely.
Barbossa frowned slightly. “Call it… motive.” He stood up and tickled a small monkey behind the ear. “I have a need to locate Jack Sparrow. He has something that I want.”
James shifted in his chair, mind exploding. Sparrow was his target? The elusive words from earlier, having a certain fondness, preyed on his thoughts. “You already have the Pearl, what more is there?”
Barbossa’s smile spread. “So you do recognise her?” James said nothing; he had as soon as he saw the boy, a door behind him throwing a tantalising glimpse of the deck beyond. “It’s true, I managed to wrestle back my ship from him, but there’s something else I’d like. I believe you’ve been asked to find it before?”
James frowned. “The compass?”
Barbossa’s teeth glittered in the candlelight. “Aye. The compass.”
“But he keeps it on him at all times, how - ”
“The means I am not interested in, Admiral, merely that they lead to the end product,” Barbossa snapped abruptly. James closed his mouth, eyes blazing.
“The deal?” he said finally, when he was able to steady his voice.
“You get me the compass,” Barbossa replied, enunciating each word as if speaking to a small child.
James ignored the patronising tone. “And in return?”
“I keep you alive, and Mrs Turner and her son get their freedom.”
“At Tortuga. As soon as I hand over the compass.” Barbossa’s eyes narrowed; James had known enough of pirate trickery to know he had to specify every detail.
“Done,” he said finally, and shook James’ hand. A noise behind him announced the return of the man who had escorted him before; the same who had kept hold of Elizabeth’s son. Had she called him Will, he wondered, and where was the father now? “Anything else you require?”
James closed his eyes, focusing his mind on the present. “I have two requests, if I may?”
Barbossa regarded him closely. “Speak them.”
“The first is that you drop me at a port of my choosing.”
Barbossa nodded. “’Tis fair. What port do you choose?”
“I can tell you after you fulfil my second request. I want to speak to Elizabeth.” Barbossa nodded, more to the man behind him than in agreement. The sword at his neck was dropped and James stood, Barbossa addressing his earlier escort. “McAvinger, take the Admiral to the brig. And not into it, I believe our previous conversation would suffice in how to correctly fulfil your orders, but I can never tell with you.” James’ arm was seized and he was brought rather than lead to the door. “And gently, please, we don’t want any harm done to him.” McAvinger seemed to disagree, but let James’ arm drop, and he clutched at it protectively, glaring. He was lead to the brig, keeping his eyes down; any altercation may result in him being unable to speak to Elizabeth, his heart burning in fear for her, and pirates took any gesture as a means to initiate altercations. He was roughly pushed down the steps, before McAvinger moved off to the main cell to address what appeared to be a writhing heap in short, angry, Scottish barks. Elizabeth was separate with her son, in a cell to the side. He hurried over and crouched beside her, wrapping his fingers around the bars. “Elizabeth?” he whispered. McAvinger’s shouts grew louder as the mound separated out to reveal three men, who were brawling about who should stay closer to the second cell.
Elizabeth quickly moved across, gripping the bars below his hands. She smiled and his heart swelled. “James, it is you, oh it’s so good - ”
James waved his hand, eyeing McAvinger nervously. “There isn’t time,” he murmured softly. “Does Sparrow know I’m dead?” he said quickly.
Elizabeth seemed flustered by the question, but responded urgently at the look in his eyes. “I don’t think so, not specifically, a lot of Navy men died that day and I never told him, but it’s been so long, someone could have easily told him - ”
“How long has it been?” James interrupted neatly, bracing himself.
“Six and a half years,” she said quietly, and James grimaced.
“Barbossa must want this compass very badly to bring me back after all this time,” James muttered to himself, spurring another horde of questions from Elizabeth he silenced with a second wave. “I need to know where to find him, will Tortuga still be safe?” Elizabeth nodded slightly, biting her lip, trying to keep in the millions of questions and apologies. “Listen, I’ve made a deal with Barbossa. He promises you and your son’s freedom. I will return for you,” he whispered. McAvinger placed a hand on his shoulder and James stood, keeping his eyes locked with Elizabeth’s. He smiled sadly. “He looks just like his father,” he said softly and was lead back to the captain.
“Where’ll it be, Admiral?” Barbossa drawled.
“Tortuga,” James replied, and turned to face the sea.
There was a certain knack to being noticed. Not being noticed was very easy, especially in a place such as Tortuga; being noticed, on the other hand, was much more difficult, especially if you were trying not to seem like you were trying to be noticed. James couldn’t afford to simply go up to any of Jack’s painstakingly rebuilt crew, as they’d not look at him twice before stabbing him for betrayal or just for the fun of it. But he had to be seen; no, much safer to let them come to him. He situated himself in a place which was noticeable, unthreatening, and yet unmistakeably tantalising. Eventually his efforts paid out, and it was Gibbs who staggered over. “I know you,” he said slowly, peering at James through rum-fogged eyes.
“Yes, I expect so,” James replied calmly, and sipped on his glass again before standing up and turning to leave.
“Wai’, wai’, I do know you! It’s C-C-omm. Comma, communications, no, comm-o-.” He seemed to struggle with the word, and James sighed, long and slow.
“It’s Admiral now, actually, but I do think that if you’ve found me here then I’m rather past all that, hmm?” He had to orchestrate it delicately; give Gibbs enough to keep him talking, whilst not making him suspicious.
“Ent many Navy folk left heer,” he said with another swig.
“None at all, I shouldn’t wonder,” James replied, nose wrinkling in distaste.
“I expect Jack’ll w-w-want to have a word with you,” he managed to stutter out, patting him clumsily on the chest.
“I thought as much,” James sighed dramatically. “Where is he?” Gibbs just about managed to gesture in one direction before collapsing in a happy heap at James’ feet. James wrinkled his nose again before stepping over his figure. He squinted into the early-morning sun and noticed Sparrow by the boats; he walked over and patted him on the shoulder.
“Eh?” Sparrow turned around and then just stared.
“Gibbs said you wanted a word.” In a manner of speaking. “Do you?” “Ahh,” Sparrow said, articulate as always, before pulling out his sword, pressing the tip against James’ chest as he stared at him for a long, long while. “You’re not dead.”
“Neither are you, it would seem. That seems to be a good start to the conversation.” James raised an eyebrow. “So which one of these sorry lumps of wood is yours, then?” he continued after a while of more, rather lengthy stares.
“What interest is it to you?” Sparrow said hurriedly, his eyes narrowed in a suspicious manner.
“Technically I’m still a member of your sad crew, as much as it may depress me. That is, if you still want me.” He raised a fine eyebrow questioningly.
Sparrow stared. “Technically, you betrayed us all and nicked the heart for your lonesome.”
James grinned. “Technically, I took the chest and ran off to help your escape. It wasn’t my fault if the heart was poorly hidden.”
Sparrow regarded him for a slow moment. “Let’s not bother with trivialities,” he said finally, waving his hands and smiling.
“My thoughts exactly,” James replied with a half-smile. “So am I to go aboard or not?”
Sparrow seemed to consult his compass for a moment; James could barely keep his eyes off it, knowing if he just reached out and snatched it now Elizabeth would be free… It was removed from temptation into innumerable shirts, the pirate’s face a grimace, not liking what he had seen. “It appears you are,” he snapped, and went up a nearby ladder to what turned out to be his ship. James sighed, picked up a nearby barrel and ascended himself.
Aboard, he was treated with a similar amount of distaste, contempt and admiration, but generally he was ignored. Half of the crew knew him from before; they were suspicious at first, but grudges didn’t settle in their hearts, not when James was such a dab hand at… well, everything, really, and could occasionally make the captain see sense and take aboard something shiny. The other half had no idea of his naval background, which was fortunate, as they would have probably skinned him alive if they did. He spent a considerable amount of the voyage in the rigging, staring off into the horizon; he even had a brief stint in the crow’s nest, as Sparrow seemed to think that it was something he enjoyed. When questioned, he replied he didn’t, and wasn’t placed there any more. He decided he’d have to stop avoiding Sparrow in the rigging someday; he needed that compass.
Much to his dismay, there was very rarely a time when Sparrow disrobed enough to remove the compass from his belt. The man didn’t bathe, and he rarely changed his clothes; any time he did see fit to remove the stinking garments he’d always do it alone, and after which he’d come out with the compass firmly strapped in again. He waited painstaking weeks of staring at the doors to Sparrow’s cabin, knowing what would set Elizabeth free lay behind the doors, but knowing there was no way he could take it. However, his patience paid off, and he eventually made a discovery; once, when they made port, the crew went off whoring. He’d half expected Sparrow to stay with the boat, but Sparrow ordered Gibbs and him to stay and went off in search of pleasurable company himself. James had followed him, only to find to his frustration Sparrow knew more back alleys than he could ever imagine and lost him within moments. He returned to the ship and waited till the next time they made port, determined not to lose him, but yet again he seemed frustratingly hard to follow. James ended up getting hopelessly lost and only just making it back to the ship as they set off, the other crew members jeering, asking which pretty ankle had turned his eye.
Sparrow was at the helm. He looked distinctly unimpressed when James moved beside him, casting him a long, penetrating look before moving off again. James sighed, leant on the rail and forced himself to remember why he was doing all this.
It was the sixth, maybe seventh time Sparrow slipped into the shadows before James managed not to lose him. It was a smaller town, perhaps, or the pirate was distracted, but in any rate he tailed him until he entered the small brothel. He stood outside for a long while, wondering whether he would emerge and move on, before deciding that if he was to try and steal this compass he’d have to do it quickly to get away before daybreak. He moved inside, ignoring the jeers from the doormen, and the ladies who brushed up to him as he entered. He heard a familiar laugh from upstairs, and made to go up. “You sure, love?” an unnamed lady with questionable morals whispered in his ear. “There’s a lot to be had down here without having to go up there.” James thanked her quietly for her consideration before moving upstairs, padding through the corridors.
Upstairs, there were no ladies, at least. It was worse. The men looked up at him, peered from shadows; more boys than men, each with either dull or fresh, frightened eyes. He felt slightly sick as he moved between them, trying to keep his eyes away. Only one room was occupied, and it was clear from the dull, rhythmic thumping what was occurring inside; nevertheless, James bent down and pressed an eye to the keyhole.
Almost immediately he twisted away and pushed his back into the wall, staring at the ceiling, nails digging into his palm as he tried to forget the sight of a very naked, very sweaty Jack up against an equally disrobed unnamed individual. Naked, naked, his brain reminded him. If he’s naked the compass is somewhere else. He leant forward to make another sweep of the room, but before his eye met with the keyhole there was a long, low and slightly haggard moan, followed by the fumbling of fingers with clothes. James panicked, scrabbling away, hiding round a corner and peering nervously as a fully-clothed Sparrow moved away. He stood against the wall for a while, contemplating what his brain was proffering as the best plan. Was this what Barbossa had meant when he said Sparrow had a fondness for him? He had hardly shown him any inkling of it before. Perhaps it was just his corrupted brain that was drawing connections, and the thing which was formulating in his brain would never work. Sparrow was smarter than that… wasn’t he?
His plan regrettably slotted into place; he hated every second of it but knew that for Elizabeth’s freedom there really was no other choice.
Breaking Sparrow’s heart and perhaps his own mind was nothing for the safety of the one he loved.
Part 2