Fic: "The Lost City" (5/5)
Title: The Lost City (5/5)
Author: cassyl
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Jack Sparrow/James Norrington
Summary: Jack’s search for a fabled map leads him on an adventure that may mean more than he ever bargained for.
Warnings: This is AU like whoa. I also want to point out that, although many locations in this story are based on real places, they are all fictionalized versions of themselves. Furthermore, no copyright infringement is intended.
THE LOST CITY
“There is a tide in the affairs of men Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; Omitted, all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows and in miseries . . .”
-- Shakespeare, Julius Caesar
PART FIVE
All in all, the solution to their problem turned out to be surprisingly simple. It took an afternoon’s thought, but presently Jack remembered that the Isla de Muerta was actually remarkably close to Tortuga. He’d wondered about it when he first learned the location of the dreaded island, thinking how strange it was that people didn’t stumble across it more often. Of course, this was before he’d seen it for himself and learned firsthand that nearly anyone who wandered in unprepared would be lost for good.
It was easy enough to say, “We’ll row to Tortuga,” but, in actuality, the trip nearly killed them. There was no ill weather, but rowing for four days with no provisions to speak of would have nearly killed anyone, or at least made them very grouchy. And when they arrived in Tortuga, it was without anything besides the clothes on their backs. Luckily, they were able to drag themselves to the Crossed Keys, and found dear Roberta still there, placid as ever.
Roberta fed them up and found them a bed, and went asking around to see if any of Jack’s allies were in town and feeling generous. She came back the next evening with Gerrit, one of the rumrunners who’d put an end to Jack’s governorship of that deserted island two years ago. Tall, pale, with eyes like big round moons, Gerrit was credulous but not foolhardy, and he dazedly agreed to lend Jack his small sloop for a time, and on the condition that Roberta would favor him with her company, a caveat that the woman consented to easily.
Jack and James enjoyed a few more days of Roberta’s hospitality while their fingers and head, respectively, healed up. But once they were whole again, they wasted no time in departing for Bimini in Gerrit’s sloop. For the first time in weeks, Jack found himself in high spirits, hopeful again.
The first night out from Tortuga, Jack and James shared a meal of salt pork and fresh bread, and it seemed like a feast fit for a king. For the first time in months, Jack felt he was truly master of his own destiny. Warmed by this hopefulness, and by the rum dear Roberta had given them for the journey, he kissed James until they were both breathless, sprawled on the deck in the welcoming moonlight. It seemed an age since they’d touched each other in anything more than a perfunctory manner, and the strength of his desire for James came back to Jack in a harsh surge. He took James then and there, wringing every last bit of pleasure from him, leaving them both exhausted, laughing indulgently under the stars.
The days they passed on Gerrit’s little boat were some of the most enjoyable Jack had experienced in years. He didn’t like to linger on that fact, and he certainly didn’t want to get attached to the notion, but there it was, all the same: the truth. He could turn his head the other direction, but it would never really go away.
The sun had just begun to sink towards the horizon when they spotted the island out in the distance. James stood at the prow, laughing into the wind. Jack understood his joy, his pride. He’d expected to feel it himself. There it was, Bimini, long sought after, finally within arm’s reach, gilded with late afternoon light. And yet he could not bring himself to share James’ giddy anticipation. He felt only apprehensive.
They followed the western coast of the island until they reached a spot they judged to be the location of the ruins of Atlantis, based on what they recalled of the ruined map. They’d yet to see any sign of the Lost City, but Jack kept reminding himself that if it were easy to find, there wouldn’t be any sense in hunting for it. Once they’d anchored the boat, they waded in and sat down on the broad beach to rest a spell.
“What now?” James asked, squinting into the sunset.
Jack shook his head, unable to summon up any enthusiasm, and took a pull from the bottle of rum he’d brought with him. “Hadn’t thought about it,” he said. Which was true enough, as far as it went. “But there’s no sense in starting now. Be dark soon.”
James turned to look at Jack, and studied him quietly for a moment. But if he saw something in Jack’s face that gave him pause, he said nothing about it. Instead, he smiled generously and said, “You’re right, of course. Shall we have supper out here, to celebrate?”
“Why not?” Jack said, though he wondered what, exactly he had to celebrate.
So James waded back to the boat and retrieved some provisions. Meanwhile, Jack wandered off to pick up some firewood, in order to give himself some space. But separation from James had the secondary effect of leaving Jack alone with his thoughts, which was less than pleasant. It put him in even worse humor than before, a positively black mood. He picked up branches and twigs sharply, all the time cursing himself for a fool. He couldn’t leave things well enough alone, had to make everything so bloody complicated. “Well”, he muttered to himself, “I won’t have it. You’ve made your plan and you’ll stick to it if it kills you.” Snatching up one last branch, he stomped back through the underbrush and suffered through a desultory meal with James, who seemed to have taken the hint, because he kept his excitement to himself for the rest of his night.
The next morning, though, it was a different matter. Jack was awoken by James’ excited shouting. For one wild moment, he thought it had snowed, but then he remembered where he was, and he realized that the whiteness he was staring into was merely the blinding expanse of beach before him-a beach that was twice as wide as it had been last night.
“What,” he grunted, struggling into a sitting position.
James hadn’t heard him, but it became irrelevant, because James’ exclamations suddenly coalesced into words: “Jack, wake up! Look out there! That’s bound to be it!”
Wiping the grit out of his eyes, Jack came to see what James was talking about. Off in the distance, a tall black shape rose up out of the water just offshore. Jack felt a strange sense of disappointment. He’d almost hoped this whole chase would be fruitless. It would save him rather a lot of trouble if it were.
“All right, all right, I’m up,” he said under his breath, and levered himself to his feet, staggering a little before regaining his balance.
Together they gathered up the remains of their dinner, kicked sand over the smoldering fire, and started out for the dark shape in the distance.
“D’you think it’s really . . . ?” James asked.
Jack gnawed on a piece of salt pork. “Must be,” he said, his temper no better this morning than it was last night. In fact, it might have been worse, because the way the bright sun was reflecting off the tide-bared sand was making his head ache prodigiously.
As they neared the shadowy form, Jack noticed that the tide was receding even further, until the beach seemed to stretch on forever. The shape in the distance became more distinct the closer they got. It looked to be the remains of a building, the tall, skeletal beams that once supported a roof reaching high above the water now.
“God, Jack, I can’t believe it. This is it . . .” James moved forward like a man in a dream, half-dazed, his eyes wide with wonder.
But there was some uncomfortable feeling creeping up on Jack, even as they advanced on the ruins. He couldn’t figure out what it was, thought maybe it was just a result of his general ill humor, tried to brush it off.
The walked on, along the ever-broadening strip of sand that burning white-hot in the morning sunlight. There seemed to be not a sound for miles beyond the heavy shushing sound of the surf.
When they finally stood before the dark ruins, Jack realized what it was that’d been eating at him. He stood for several seconds in the shadow of the great relic, too stunned to speak. Finally the words formed in his mouth and he said, “It’s a ship.”
It seemed completely impossible, but it was true. James was staring at him with wide, incredulous eyes, but Jack could not deny it.
“It’s a ship,” Jack repeated, shaking his head. “It’s just a ship.”
“But . . .” James murmured. “The map . . .”
For some time, Jack could think of no rebuttle to this argument. “Could be we got the wrong spot.”
“No . . . This is it. This is what the map . . . I don’t understand . . .” James dropping down onto the sand, staring up at the carcass of the ship above him.
Now it was Jack’s turn to move as someone in a dream. He felt such a profound sense of relief, now that there was no Atlantis, now that he didn’t have to follow through with his plan . . . He walked forward, stepping through the rotting remains of the great vessel. He strode over wet sand, touching beams here and there, just glorying in that wonderful relief. Until, that is, he tripped over something protruding from the sand and fell flat on his face.
Once he’d righted himself and surveyed himself for broken bones-none-Jack returned his attention to the item he’d tripped over. It looked to be a heavy iron wedge, but as Jack cleared the sand away, it revealed itself to be a large metal chest. Then he noticed that there were several more dark corners sticking up out of the sand ahead of him. He called James over, and between them, they heaved the box out of the sand and pried off the rusted lock. James felt back, panting from the exertion, a hand on his chest. Jack hesitated a moment before lifting the lid. The chest was filled with heaps and heaps of gold coins, exactly like the ones that had surrounded James’ map of Bimini.
They followed this procedure with the next chest, James growing more energetic with every subsequent chest and Jack less so, until they had revealed seven capacious boxes full to the brim with gold. Inside the last chest was a leather envelope, but other than this, there was nothing but treasure as far as Jack could see. As Jack stared down at their reward, he was gripped with harsh, hysterical laughter. All the relief that’d washed over Jack moments ago had evaporated by now. The reprieve had just been a brief, cruel joke, played on him by some malicious deity in whom, Jack had to admit, he didn’t even believe. Now it was Jack who dropped down onto the sand, head in his hands. He needed a moment of silence, a moment to work up the courage to do what he’d always intended to do.
Unfortunately, James wasn’t in the mood to grant him that courtesy. He was speaking again. Jack tried not to listen, but it was hopeless. “What?” he snapped.
“Jack, don’t you see?” James said, with an awed smile. “This is Atlantis.”
“Don’t be-What’s that?”
“This is Atlantis,” James repeated emphatically. He held in his hand the leather envelope that’d been amongst the last chest of gold. “Or, more accurately, it was the Atlantis. Look.” He held out an old piece of parchment that Jack couldn’t bring himself to look at. “Papers for a English ship called the Atlantis. Dated some hundred years ago. The ship must’ve been transporting this treasure to one of the new colonies colonies . . . until something went awry. They were blown off course and wound up here, maybe, or pirates got them, or just bad luck. Perhaps some survivor wrote out a map to inform his superiors of the location of the wreck. And sometime between then and now, that map wound up in Tripoli as a false relic.”
Jack had to admit, the story had the ring of truth. It seemed plausible, if nothing else. “The Atlantis,” he murmured. A reasonable story, yes, but it didn’t save Jack from having to put his plan into action. More than ever now, Jack wished they’d never found this place, that he’d never tripped, that anything in the world could happen except what he knew he would inevitably do next. Because, after all, there was no real choice. Much as he liked James Norrington, sorry as he would be to betray him, Jack would let nothing come between him and the Black Pearl.
Once again, James was interrupting Jack’s train of thought. “Jack,” he was saying. “Thank you. For all of this.” James caught his arm, pulled him closer. Jack stumbled closer, despite his best efforts, and let James kiss him, but stood still, a little too guilty to enjoy the embrace. Always observant, James stood back and asked, “What’s the matter.”
Jack considered lying. But, as seemed to be happening with unnerving frequency, he couldn’t quite bring himself to. “You shouldn’t be thanking me, Jim,” he said, casting his gaze out to the bright ocean beyond them.
James laughed, incredulous. “B-Why on earth not?”
“Because . . .” Again Jack hesitated. It would have been so easy to lie, or to say nothing, and to go on from here, letting James believe whatever he liked. But something in him-damn him-made him stop. “All that bilge you heard from Águia’s guard-throwing you over and taking the treasure for myself-wasn’t half wrong. I wasn’t going to do it on the Graciana because it would’ve meant sharing the spoils with others. But from the day I met you I’ve meant to maroon you here and make off with all the treasure.”
For a moment, it looked like James didn’t know what to believe. “But you didn’t,” he said with a weak strain of hope in his voice.
“I haven’t yet. There’s a difference.”
“Why would you do a thing like that?” He let go of Jack’s arm as if it were burning.
“Pirate,” Jack said unpleasantly.
“That may be, but I thought we. . .”
“Well, if it comes to that,” Jack said with a burst of false cheer, “we never discussed the treasure. Officially. You agreed to give me the map and fund the trip, and I agreed to let you come with me, but we never said a word about what would be done with our spoils.” He smiled bitterly. “So, really, I’m a man of my word. In a fashion.”
James’ face fell, and Jack was dismayed to notice how much this pained him. “I see. Well, so be it. The treasure’s yours, Jack.”
“You’re just going to give up?” Jack cried. He knew James Norrington to be many things, but a fatalist was not one of them.
The laugh James let out was strikingly bitter, and it made Jack wince. “Don’t you understand?” James scoffed and turned his face away. “I never wanted the treasure.”
Whatever Jack had been about to say died on his lips. “You-What?”
“I was never in this for the money. I wanted to go on an adventure, and there you were presenting the perfect opportunity. And then-I got to know you, and it wasn’t just that I wanted to go on an adventure. It was that I wanted to go on an adventure with you.” Here he broke off, shaking his head sharply. “I thought we understood each other, but obviously whatever I thought was wrong. Whatever I was feeling, you were only in it for the treasure. So the treasure’s yours, Jack. I don’t want any of it.”
For a moment, Jack couldn’t find the words to speak. “Jim . . .”
Already James was turning away, heading down the stretch of flat sand. “I’ll thank you to leave me at the nearest settlement,” he said over his shoulder. “You have my word I won’t attempt anything untoward.”
Jack lunged forward, catching James’ arm and pulling him round so that they were facing once more. “James.” This seemed to catch him by surprise, although Jack wasn’t sure what James saw in his face that gave him pause. For a moment, Jack could say nothing more, still struggling to find the right words. “I . . . wouldn’t mind having another adventure or two with you, myself.”
A tender expression flared up on James’ face and then dissipated just as quickly, leaving a cynical look there that was fixed solely on Jack. “Is that so?”
“It is.”
“And yet you would’ve betrayed me for some pocket change.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call this haul pocket change, luv,” Jack protested.
James gave him a stony glare. “And yet.”
“But I didn’t,” Jack replied with a hopeful gesture.
“You mean you haven’t yet,” James said bleakly.
Jack squinted at James in the bright sunlight. “I told you was planning on leaving you and taking the treasure, but . . . as it happens, I don’t think I could’ve gone through with it.”
James shook his head, still frowning. “I don’t know what to believe, Jack. Can I trust anything you say, or is it all suspect?”
“Couldn’t tell you.”
James was silent for a time. His gaze was directed at the tips of Jack’s boots, but Jack had the sense that he wasn’t looking at anything at all. Finally, he looked up and met Jack’s eye. “Well, I started this adventure not trusting a word you said.” He smiled. “I don’t see any reason why I should start now.”
“That’s very modern of you, mate,” Jack said. And then, because this seemed like as good a time as any, he closed the distance between them and kissed James soundly on the mouth.
When they finally parted, James licked his lips and said, “Well, what now, Jack?”
Jack cast his gaze out to the bright horizon, white-gold in the midday sun. He was thinking of Barbossa and the Pearl, and of James at his side once he’s won his ship back. He could feel his luck changing, just like the tide that was slowly edging closer to them once more, swallowing up the remains of the Atlantis. “Jim, m’lad,” he said, a smile rising to his lips, “I think it’s about time we started on another adventure.”
NOTES:
To say it one more time, this was written for the Sparrington fest at scruffy_love, using the single word prompt #111 (“Ship”) and the phrase prompts # 39 (“Jack and James somewhere other than England or the Caribbean”) and 50 (“ ‘Trust me,’ he said.”).
As an interesting (or possibly dull) side-note, before I get to the good stuff. The Crossed-Keys is the name of a diner in Doylestown, PA, where I once ate a Philly cheesesteak. I was having some trouble coming up with a good whorehouse/tavern name, and that came to mind. No offense to the real Crossed-Keys is meant. The sandwich was very tasty.
So, yeah. Atlantis is just a ship. As far as anti-climaxes go, I think this one is pretty solid.
OK. Now for some explaining. The coins the Atlantis was transporting the chests (for whatever reason) were Italian florins. What Jack took to be a trident was a worn fleur-de-lis and the figure who he thought was Poseidon bearing a trident is Saint John the Baptist. So. That’s that.
Author: cassyl
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Jack Sparrow/James Norrington
Summary: Jack’s search for a fabled map leads him on an adventure that may mean more than he ever bargained for.
Warnings: This is AU like whoa. I also want to point out that, although many locations in this story are based on real places, they are all fictionalized versions of themselves. Furthermore, no copyright infringement is intended.
THE LOST CITY
“There is a tide in the affairs of men Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; Omitted, all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows and in miseries . . .”
-- Shakespeare, Julius Caesar
PART FIVE
All in all, the solution to their problem turned out to be surprisingly simple. It took an afternoon’s thought, but presently Jack remembered that the Isla de Muerta was actually remarkably close to Tortuga. He’d wondered about it when he first learned the location of the dreaded island, thinking how strange it was that people didn’t stumble across it more often. Of course, this was before he’d seen it for himself and learned firsthand that nearly anyone who wandered in unprepared would be lost for good.
It was easy enough to say, “We’ll row to Tortuga,” but, in actuality, the trip nearly killed them. There was no ill weather, but rowing for four days with no provisions to speak of would have nearly killed anyone, or at least made them very grouchy. And when they arrived in Tortuga, it was without anything besides the clothes on their backs. Luckily, they were able to drag themselves to the Crossed Keys, and found dear Roberta still there, placid as ever.
Roberta fed them up and found them a bed, and went asking around to see if any of Jack’s allies were in town and feeling generous. She came back the next evening with Gerrit, one of the rumrunners who’d put an end to Jack’s governorship of that deserted island two years ago. Tall, pale, with eyes like big round moons, Gerrit was credulous but not foolhardy, and he dazedly agreed to lend Jack his small sloop for a time, and on the condition that Roberta would favor him with her company, a caveat that the woman consented to easily.
Jack and James enjoyed a few more days of Roberta’s hospitality while their fingers and head, respectively, healed up. But once they were whole again, they wasted no time in departing for Bimini in Gerrit’s sloop. For the first time in weeks, Jack found himself in high spirits, hopeful again.
The first night out from Tortuga, Jack and James shared a meal of salt pork and fresh bread, and it seemed like a feast fit for a king. For the first time in months, Jack felt he was truly master of his own destiny. Warmed by this hopefulness, and by the rum dear Roberta had given them for the journey, he kissed James until they were both breathless, sprawled on the deck in the welcoming moonlight. It seemed an age since they’d touched each other in anything more than a perfunctory manner, and the strength of his desire for James came back to Jack in a harsh surge. He took James then and there, wringing every last bit of pleasure from him, leaving them both exhausted, laughing indulgently under the stars.
The days they passed on Gerrit’s little boat were some of the most enjoyable Jack had experienced in years. He didn’t like to linger on that fact, and he certainly didn’t want to get attached to the notion, but there it was, all the same: the truth. He could turn his head the other direction, but it would never really go away.
The sun had just begun to sink towards the horizon when they spotted the island out in the distance. James stood at the prow, laughing into the wind. Jack understood his joy, his pride. He’d expected to feel it himself. There it was, Bimini, long sought after, finally within arm’s reach, gilded with late afternoon light. And yet he could not bring himself to share James’ giddy anticipation. He felt only apprehensive.
They followed the western coast of the island until they reached a spot they judged to be the location of the ruins of Atlantis, based on what they recalled of the ruined map. They’d yet to see any sign of the Lost City, but Jack kept reminding himself that if it were easy to find, there wouldn’t be any sense in hunting for it. Once they’d anchored the boat, they waded in and sat down on the broad beach to rest a spell.
“What now?” James asked, squinting into the sunset.
Jack shook his head, unable to summon up any enthusiasm, and took a pull from the bottle of rum he’d brought with him. “Hadn’t thought about it,” he said. Which was true enough, as far as it went. “But there’s no sense in starting now. Be dark soon.”
James turned to look at Jack, and studied him quietly for a moment. But if he saw something in Jack’s face that gave him pause, he said nothing about it. Instead, he smiled generously and said, “You’re right, of course. Shall we have supper out here, to celebrate?”
“Why not?” Jack said, though he wondered what, exactly he had to celebrate.
So James waded back to the boat and retrieved some provisions. Meanwhile, Jack wandered off to pick up some firewood, in order to give himself some space. But separation from James had the secondary effect of leaving Jack alone with his thoughts, which was less than pleasant. It put him in even worse humor than before, a positively black mood. He picked up branches and twigs sharply, all the time cursing himself for a fool. He couldn’t leave things well enough alone, had to make everything so bloody complicated. “Well”, he muttered to himself, “I won’t have it. You’ve made your plan and you’ll stick to it if it kills you.” Snatching up one last branch, he stomped back through the underbrush and suffered through a desultory meal with James, who seemed to have taken the hint, because he kept his excitement to himself for the rest of his night.
The next morning, though, it was a different matter. Jack was awoken by James’ excited shouting. For one wild moment, he thought it had snowed, but then he remembered where he was, and he realized that the whiteness he was staring into was merely the blinding expanse of beach before him-a beach that was twice as wide as it had been last night.
“What,” he grunted, struggling into a sitting position.
James hadn’t heard him, but it became irrelevant, because James’ exclamations suddenly coalesced into words: “Jack, wake up! Look out there! That’s bound to be it!”
Wiping the grit out of his eyes, Jack came to see what James was talking about. Off in the distance, a tall black shape rose up out of the water just offshore. Jack felt a strange sense of disappointment. He’d almost hoped this whole chase would be fruitless. It would save him rather a lot of trouble if it were.
“All right, all right, I’m up,” he said under his breath, and levered himself to his feet, staggering a little before regaining his balance.
Together they gathered up the remains of their dinner, kicked sand over the smoldering fire, and started out for the dark shape in the distance.
“D’you think it’s really . . . ?” James asked.
Jack gnawed on a piece of salt pork. “Must be,” he said, his temper no better this morning than it was last night. In fact, it might have been worse, because the way the bright sun was reflecting off the tide-bared sand was making his head ache prodigiously.
As they neared the shadowy form, Jack noticed that the tide was receding even further, until the beach seemed to stretch on forever. The shape in the distance became more distinct the closer they got. It looked to be the remains of a building, the tall, skeletal beams that once supported a roof reaching high above the water now.
“God, Jack, I can’t believe it. This is it . . .” James moved forward like a man in a dream, half-dazed, his eyes wide with wonder.
But there was some uncomfortable feeling creeping up on Jack, even as they advanced on the ruins. He couldn’t figure out what it was, thought maybe it was just a result of his general ill humor, tried to brush it off.
The walked on, along the ever-broadening strip of sand that burning white-hot in the morning sunlight. There seemed to be not a sound for miles beyond the heavy shushing sound of the surf.
When they finally stood before the dark ruins, Jack realized what it was that’d been eating at him. He stood for several seconds in the shadow of the great relic, too stunned to speak. Finally the words formed in his mouth and he said, “It’s a ship.”
It seemed completely impossible, but it was true. James was staring at him with wide, incredulous eyes, but Jack could not deny it.
“It’s a ship,” Jack repeated, shaking his head. “It’s just a ship.”
“But . . .” James murmured. “The map . . .”
For some time, Jack could think of no rebuttle to this argument. “Could be we got the wrong spot.”
“No . . . This is it. This is what the map . . . I don’t understand . . .” James dropping down onto the sand, staring up at the carcass of the ship above him.
Now it was Jack’s turn to move as someone in a dream. He felt such a profound sense of relief, now that there was no Atlantis, now that he didn’t have to follow through with his plan . . . He walked forward, stepping through the rotting remains of the great vessel. He strode over wet sand, touching beams here and there, just glorying in that wonderful relief. Until, that is, he tripped over something protruding from the sand and fell flat on his face.
Once he’d righted himself and surveyed himself for broken bones-none-Jack returned his attention to the item he’d tripped over. It looked to be a heavy iron wedge, but as Jack cleared the sand away, it revealed itself to be a large metal chest. Then he noticed that there were several more dark corners sticking up out of the sand ahead of him. He called James over, and between them, they heaved the box out of the sand and pried off the rusted lock. James felt back, panting from the exertion, a hand on his chest. Jack hesitated a moment before lifting the lid. The chest was filled with heaps and heaps of gold coins, exactly like the ones that had surrounded James’ map of Bimini.
They followed this procedure with the next chest, James growing more energetic with every subsequent chest and Jack less so, until they had revealed seven capacious boxes full to the brim with gold. Inside the last chest was a leather envelope, but other than this, there was nothing but treasure as far as Jack could see. As Jack stared down at their reward, he was gripped with harsh, hysterical laughter. All the relief that’d washed over Jack moments ago had evaporated by now. The reprieve had just been a brief, cruel joke, played on him by some malicious deity in whom, Jack had to admit, he didn’t even believe. Now it was Jack who dropped down onto the sand, head in his hands. He needed a moment of silence, a moment to work up the courage to do what he’d always intended to do.
Unfortunately, James wasn’t in the mood to grant him that courtesy. He was speaking again. Jack tried not to listen, but it was hopeless. “What?” he snapped.
“Jack, don’t you see?” James said, with an awed smile. “This is Atlantis.”
“Don’t be-What’s that?”
“This is Atlantis,” James repeated emphatically. He held in his hand the leather envelope that’d been amongst the last chest of gold. “Or, more accurately, it was the Atlantis. Look.” He held out an old piece of parchment that Jack couldn’t bring himself to look at. “Papers for a English ship called the Atlantis. Dated some hundred years ago. The ship must’ve been transporting this treasure to one of the new colonies colonies . . . until something went awry. They were blown off course and wound up here, maybe, or pirates got them, or just bad luck. Perhaps some survivor wrote out a map to inform his superiors of the location of the wreck. And sometime between then and now, that map wound up in Tripoli as a false relic.”
Jack had to admit, the story had the ring of truth. It seemed plausible, if nothing else. “The Atlantis,” he murmured. A reasonable story, yes, but it didn’t save Jack from having to put his plan into action. More than ever now, Jack wished they’d never found this place, that he’d never tripped, that anything in the world could happen except what he knew he would inevitably do next. Because, after all, there was no real choice. Much as he liked James Norrington, sorry as he would be to betray him, Jack would let nothing come between him and the Black Pearl.
Once again, James was interrupting Jack’s train of thought. “Jack,” he was saying. “Thank you. For all of this.” James caught his arm, pulled him closer. Jack stumbled closer, despite his best efforts, and let James kiss him, but stood still, a little too guilty to enjoy the embrace. Always observant, James stood back and asked, “What’s the matter.”
Jack considered lying. But, as seemed to be happening with unnerving frequency, he couldn’t quite bring himself to. “You shouldn’t be thanking me, Jim,” he said, casting his gaze out to the bright ocean beyond them.
James laughed, incredulous. “B-Why on earth not?”
“Because . . .” Again Jack hesitated. It would have been so easy to lie, or to say nothing, and to go on from here, letting James believe whatever he liked. But something in him-damn him-made him stop. “All that bilge you heard from Águia’s guard-throwing you over and taking the treasure for myself-wasn’t half wrong. I wasn’t going to do it on the Graciana because it would’ve meant sharing the spoils with others. But from the day I met you I’ve meant to maroon you here and make off with all the treasure.”
For a moment, it looked like James didn’t know what to believe. “But you didn’t,” he said with a weak strain of hope in his voice.
“I haven’t yet. There’s a difference.”
“Why would you do a thing like that?” He let go of Jack’s arm as if it were burning.
“Pirate,” Jack said unpleasantly.
“That may be, but I thought we. . .”
“Well, if it comes to that,” Jack said with a burst of false cheer, “we never discussed the treasure. Officially. You agreed to give me the map and fund the trip, and I agreed to let you come with me, but we never said a word about what would be done with our spoils.” He smiled bitterly. “So, really, I’m a man of my word. In a fashion.”
James’ face fell, and Jack was dismayed to notice how much this pained him. “I see. Well, so be it. The treasure’s yours, Jack.”
“You’re just going to give up?” Jack cried. He knew James Norrington to be many things, but a fatalist was not one of them.
The laugh James let out was strikingly bitter, and it made Jack wince. “Don’t you understand?” James scoffed and turned his face away. “I never wanted the treasure.”
Whatever Jack had been about to say died on his lips. “You-What?”
“I was never in this for the money. I wanted to go on an adventure, and there you were presenting the perfect opportunity. And then-I got to know you, and it wasn’t just that I wanted to go on an adventure. It was that I wanted to go on an adventure with you.” Here he broke off, shaking his head sharply. “I thought we understood each other, but obviously whatever I thought was wrong. Whatever I was feeling, you were only in it for the treasure. So the treasure’s yours, Jack. I don’t want any of it.”
For a moment, Jack couldn’t find the words to speak. “Jim . . .”
Already James was turning away, heading down the stretch of flat sand. “I’ll thank you to leave me at the nearest settlement,” he said over his shoulder. “You have my word I won’t attempt anything untoward.”
Jack lunged forward, catching James’ arm and pulling him round so that they were facing once more. “James.” This seemed to catch him by surprise, although Jack wasn’t sure what James saw in his face that gave him pause. For a moment, Jack could say nothing more, still struggling to find the right words. “I . . . wouldn’t mind having another adventure or two with you, myself.”
A tender expression flared up on James’ face and then dissipated just as quickly, leaving a cynical look there that was fixed solely on Jack. “Is that so?”
“It is.”
“And yet you would’ve betrayed me for some pocket change.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call this haul pocket change, luv,” Jack protested.
James gave him a stony glare. “And yet.”
“But I didn’t,” Jack replied with a hopeful gesture.
“You mean you haven’t yet,” James said bleakly.
Jack squinted at James in the bright sunlight. “I told you was planning on leaving you and taking the treasure, but . . . as it happens, I don’t think I could’ve gone through with it.”
James shook his head, still frowning. “I don’t know what to believe, Jack. Can I trust anything you say, or is it all suspect?”
“Couldn’t tell you.”
James was silent for a time. His gaze was directed at the tips of Jack’s boots, but Jack had the sense that he wasn’t looking at anything at all. Finally, he looked up and met Jack’s eye. “Well, I started this adventure not trusting a word you said.” He smiled. “I don’t see any reason why I should start now.”
“That’s very modern of you, mate,” Jack said. And then, because this seemed like as good a time as any, he closed the distance between them and kissed James soundly on the mouth.
When they finally parted, James licked his lips and said, “Well, what now, Jack?”
Jack cast his gaze out to the bright horizon, white-gold in the midday sun. He was thinking of Barbossa and the Pearl, and of James at his side once he’s won his ship back. He could feel his luck changing, just like the tide that was slowly edging closer to them once more, swallowing up the remains of the Atlantis. “Jim, m’lad,” he said, a smile rising to his lips, “I think it’s about time we started on another adventure.”
NOTES:
To say it one more time, this was written for the Sparrington fest at scruffy_love, using the single word prompt #111 (“Ship”) and the phrase prompts # 39 (“Jack and James somewhere other than England or the Caribbean”) and 50 (“ ‘Trust me,’ he said.”).
As an interesting (or possibly dull) side-note, before I get to the good stuff. The Crossed-Keys is the name of a diner in Doylestown, PA, where I once ate a Philly cheesesteak. I was having some trouble coming up with a good whorehouse/tavern name, and that came to mind. No offense to the real Crossed-Keys is meant. The sandwich was very tasty.
So, yeah. Atlantis is just a ship. As far as anti-climaxes go, I think this one is pretty solid.
OK. Now for some explaining. The coins the Atlantis was transporting the chests (for whatever reason) were Italian florins. What Jack took to be a trident was a worn fleur-de-lis and the figure who he thought was Poseidon bearing a trident is Saint John the Baptist. So. That’s that.
