Disclaimer: Legally, my friend Laurie says this does nothing, but you can't blame me for trying. I don't own any of the characters in Disney's Pirates, but if I did, ohboy, would it be a pirate's life for Wren. Or a Naval one. Whichever would get me closest to the sexiest men in breeches.

Pairing(s): Jack/Norrington, Elizabeth/Will implied, m/m, f/f implied

Rating: NC-17. (All for you, fangirlies. Aaaalll foooor yoooou.)

Author's Notes; 1.)I would like to give special thinks to George W. Bush for 'Rooting'. If he hadn't endevoured to piss me off regularly, I never would have written so well the story of two MEN in LOVE.

2.)anachronism: (as defined by Websters)Mistake of time, where something is put in the wrong historical period.

In this story, I admit to flagrantly using a song from the 1980's in the 17th century, because it was pretty and fit the scene perfectly. Please do not hunt me down and murder me.

3.) My new friend Dea brought up an interesting point to me while I was in the midst of writing 'Rooting', that people never give credit to the inspirations which help them write fanfiction, or just regular fiction. In response to that, I attribute these sources to helping me write this epic, insofar as I remember;

Buffy - The Vampire Slayer(I love you, Joss!), The Indiana Jones Trilogy, Matrix - Revolutions, Coupling - The British Version! (Yay JavDavSexySteve!), The Blood Jewels Trilogy by Anne Bishop, Boy Meets Boy by David Levithan, Swordpoint by Kathleen Kushner, the berth of the work by William Shakespeare, Rent - the Musical, Les Miserables - the Musical, Cyndi Lauper, Coyote Ugly - the soundtrack, Labrynith - the soundtrack, Supernatural - Santana, Michelle Branch.

And on a personal inspirational level; My Slyness - first beta constant muse, Laurie, who taught me law jokes could be funny in a pirate fic, Figgy - for she is the wittiest Gryffindor that ever witted, Monnie and Dea - who actually taught me that I could do slash and not have to steal, Thalia - who said that James Norrington could wear kohl, and I believed her; and of course to the other writers in this genre - Webcrowmancer, Firesignwriter, Garnet, Marquesate, MistressOfHappyEndings, and so many more.

Finally, to the movie Lost and Delirious, which told me a story about love that had nothing to do with what people were.

Thank you for inspiring me, through and through.

4.)Yeeeees. Wren wrote smut! However, you have to go through a lot of plot to get to that. Remember what I said at the beginning, kids. This is a love story.

Dedicated To: The Fans. Because I love you guys, no lie. Your letters and notes and everything else made me happy. You rock my socks, and this one goes out to all of you.

Furthermore, this dedicated to James Norrington - the James Bond of the 17th century, and Jack Sparrow, the Keith Richards of Pirates. Never have two characters inspired SO much madness.

Now on with our tale...

The composing of one's thoughts after any traumatic or life changing event, I find, is always important. It gives one perspective. 'Am I satisfied with my actions on this occasion? If not, what could I have done differently? If this is a major life change, how can I affect the outcome in a positive way for myself?' So. Allow me to recap the last few minutes.

This is where matters stand. I am on the Black Pearl, having commandeered it from Captain Jack Sparrow in hopes that he will give me what I need to capture the dread leader of the Ebony Sharks, one Captain Lark. However, instead of discussing my terms of surrender, and his terms for the information, we instead ran around a table - him chasing after me - and he manhandled me. Pleasantly so. Ahem.

After I quite loudly and vocally showed my displeasure in his actions insofar as to throw me down and have me any which way without so much as my say-so, he and I reached an agreement where he would court me in a timely fashion.

The sound in which is now echoing in my ears is the sound of my head meeting the presently closed door of his office of sorts, in nice, solid thuds. Stupid. Stupid. STUPID.

What was I thinking? I stop hitting my head against the solid oak, and rest my forehead against the stained wood. Ah - yes. I wasn't thinking, I was reacting. My actions were provoked by the simple fact that he was nibbling at my neck in an entirely enticing way and his hands were warm against my bare skin...

Thud. Thud. Thud. Must. Stop. Thinking. About. Seductive. Pirate. Must. Remember. Mission. Must. Stop. Seductive. Pirate's. Seduction. From. Waylaying. Mission. Must. Stop. Thumping. Head. Fear. Serious. Concussion.

I finally lift my brow and brace both arms on either side of the doorframe. Right. Clearly, my problem is letting Sparrow get his hooks in me, metaphorically speaking. I have to remain in control of the situation, no matter what insanity he throws at me next time. I must not lose my composure, or my temper. Hopefully, Sparrow will agree to the easy terms, I can get the information I require, and I will not have to worry about any more assaults.

My lips quirk, as I straighten to my feet, and brush my fingers across my neck. Despite the, ah, inappropriateness - it certainly was the most enjoyable assault I've ever had on my person. Never, of course, am I forgetting the impropriety of it all. Certainly not. Sparrow went far beyond moral constraints.

Not that he seems to have many to begin with, and I dare say it has a great deal to do with how open he is with his emotions. He has so much... passion. He radiates it, like a beacon. I felt it thrumming off his skin, like a fire on a grate, close enough to burn but doing nothing more than heating me up considerably...

I heave out a heavy sigh, moving to sit on the edge of the table. Time to face some facts squarely, Norrington. Like a man, like a logical thinking person. Sparrow is after me, in the romantic sense of the word. As long as we are stuck on this ship together, I will have to endure his advances. Clearly, I will reject them in turn. It is morally wrong to allow myself to be wooed by a man, and then won by turn. I am also an officer and a gentleman - it would be unseemly to lead Sparrow on.

Yet ... and I must admit to the yet, the man is...tempting. He is willing to agree to my terms of courtship, despite the fact that he hates any terms that he himself does not set. The apples were a generous and well thought out gift. It showed he took the time to learn something about me, and then went through the arduous ordeal to bring them to my home, risking life and freedom. As for the taunting and the teasing, obviously he is looking for reactions and by God, I am giving them to him by the cartload. I simply cannot resist. He wiggles the bait at me with those laughing dark eyes and I rise to chomp at it every time.

A thought. Possibly he is lifting the bait so high to see if I will? Gauging interest, so to speak. My eyes widen at the revelation. Calculating little bastard, is Sparrow, for he sets the bar to see if I'll jump it before proceeding to the next step in his chase for me. Yet at the same time as he is plotting out his war of seduction, he also doesn't want to move a step forward without me following. Hence the agreement. He... is wary. Wary of me. I remember that look on his face back in the 'Farthest Point' clearly - the open, aching, longing look, quickly hid behind the mask again.

I wonder if I looked the same way to him...

Sigh. Again. Point made.

Sparrow is chasing me, but I am following. I am following while denying I am, which is worse. He may lead us both in a circle of desire and temptation, but I go where he goes. I... want him to come after me, and God help me, I think I want to do a little chasing myself.

That is the crux of the matter, really. I am not a man who can delude himself. Denial is apparently my forte, but delusion I have never been strong in. I want his touches, his kisses. I want that rum-soaked voice whispering that horrible, hacked-off version of my name. I want that dark pair of glorious eyes fixated on me.

I want Jack Sparrow.

I wait a long moment to see if the lightening will strike me down, for the Voice of God to smite me for such wicked thoughts. Another moment, and two more after that. Nothing. Apparently God has larger concerns than the possible carnal sins of an English Commodore.

Right. Back to my line of reasoning. Now, why do I want Jack Sparrow? We will get to the depressing matter of why he would want me later on, for the moment I will keep to dissecting my own emotions. Logically. None of this nonsense about Cupid's Grove and tracts of lyrical soppiness. Simply the facts of the matter.

It's not because he is a man. No. I've assessed my feelings towards others of my gender very closely in the past few weeks and months, and can find nothing but simple kinship with my fellow man. Although Jack Sparrow is most assuredly a man - no one could possibly think of him as anything but. Wild his gestures, sashaying his walk, but he is a man. There is far too much steel to that body for him to be considered soft. He can be warm and humorous, but I saw him in motion that day he escaped on the docks, a man fighting for his freedom with every last breath. Decadent, but with sheathed claws. Like a tiger on the prowl.

Perhaps ... that is it. He is more than just a simple man, he is something almost mystical and damned near mythical, if Jonathan is to be believed. I am a man who lives to fulfill his duties, to serve others. I am steadfast, dedicated... and I live in a cold little house alone, a dull officer of the Navy, with few friends. Jack is the complete opposite. He captivates, he entices, he makes people like him even against their better judgment. Like myself, for example. Perhaps I am simply caught up in the Jack Sparrow spectacle. A momentary loss of my senses, and I am merely bedazzled as the others have been. Quite a simple matter to get past, really.

Perhaps, a little voice in my brain whispers to me, you are using your forte once again. I snarl internally, but the little voice is right. I am not easily taken in by dramatics, or flair, as the case may be. That was proven the first day I met Jack Sparrow, and felt little more than contempt for the pirate before me. In fact, Sparrow was equally unimpressed with me, if memory serves. So how did we get here? When did things suddenly change?

Wait. My own words are coming back to haunt me. By remembering I serve others, Mister Sparrow, and not only myself...

Did it start for him there, the change in regard? It must have been, for it was so distinctive in his memory the day on the cliff. He admired the fact I stuck to my principles, but admired even more that I was willing to put them aside for love. To Sparrow, that is a matter of the utmost importance. My dignity and his ship are all well and good, but the most vital thing to him, in the end, is people.

But what of myself? I knew he was a good man when he stood at the gallows, and I lamented the laws that forced me to hang the very same man who saved the woman I loved, the Governor, my crew and myself. However, I also knew my duty. Lord knows when he and William made their bid for escape I was just as determined to see him hang as the moment before. Right up through William's heroic stand between myself and Jack. I wasn't feeling too kindly towards him when Elizabeth made her choice to stand with them, when I lost her forever...

...Oh.

Oh my. Could it be that moment? Yes, I feel it must be. After Elizabeth looked me in the eyes, pained and yet firm, telling me her heart was with William, and as my head dropped I could see Jack's head peering between them, his eyes a sorrowful realization. He pranced around Governor Swann, who backed away from him with no little disgust. Sparrow headed to me afterwards, making me wonder if he had used the Governor as a means to propel himself in my direction, moving right into my personal space. I refused, as I do now, to move back, even as he leaned in close. Those eyes caught me again, for he looked at me not as pirate to Commodore, but a man to another man, his gaze alight with feeling as he pressed his hand down on my shoulder. In an attempt at empathetic comfort, a sensation I hadn't felt since I was a mere boy. I found myself watching his mouth as he whispered, "I want you t'know that I was rootin' for you, mate." A pause, that finger gently raised, pushing home the point, "Know that."

The open sympathy that curved his generous mouth. The understanding in those words, a man who knew the pain of losing something precious. When he fell off that cliff, it felt like I was falling with him. He hit the water, and I waited for a breathless moment to see if he surfaced. Above us, the sentry called 'Sails ahoy!', jerking my gaze, and that of everyone on the fort wall, to the bay. The Black Pearl waited, black sails taut in the breeze, for her Captain.

Torn, I stood there, wondering quite simply what the hell should I do now. It was -then- that my heart changed towards that pirate, and all the claims to duty in the world would have never made it right if I had given Gillette the order to drag Sparrow back to the gallows at whatever cost. Governor Swann must have known, or why else would he say those words that released me almost magically from my responsibility? Acts of piracy, indeed.

Putting my heart before my uniform...

From then on, I was compromised where Jack Sparrow was concerned, I realize that now. How could I, when he showed up not a month later in the Governor's study, hang the one person who was likened to my own heart? We agreed to that ridiculous 'accord', and we both knew it was just palsy play at one true game between us. He finding ways to make me chase him, for me, the chase itself. We needed it. We needed something to keep fighting, to keep going.

We need each other.

Yes, James Norrington. Very good. You've realized there is more to this than just the chase. You should have realized that the day on the cliff, where you and Sparrow spoke of what was truly in your hearts, and what you both wanted more than anything. It is, after all, the same damned thing.

Someone warm, to wake up to.

In that open moment of truth, we became allies, he and I. Perhaps... even friends. We were all each other had while we watched our dreams reduced to ashes at our feet on that sunlit meadow.

I think... I know that we still are. We have loved, and lost, and we know each other's scars continue to be tender to the touch. Yet you don't show any other person those scars, do you Jack? I know I don't. I sigh. Only we know. Only we understand.

My thoughts are scattered by a knock on the door, and I lift my gaze to it. "Enter."

Gillette peers around the door, looking at me with some concern. "Sir? Are you all right?"

I look at him blankly for a moment, as a little litany runs through my head, Well, I was just chased around the table, thrown down unto the table, passionately nibbled on the table, and I am going to be courted by Jack Sparrow, while I find myself not minding at all. Clearly a sin and a hanging offense, and part of me doesn't care a whit. Otherwise, feeling absolutely marvelous. Yourself? I choke down a hysterical laugh, then clear my throat. "I am perfectly all right, Gillette. What brings you down here?"

"Sparrow, sir," Gillette answers dryly, and at my startled look he shrugs sheepishly. "He's on deck now and he told me to go check on you - as he was giving you a few minutes to... compose yourself? He heard a lot of thumping, then quiet. I came down immediately."

"Aaah." I drum my fingers against the wood of the table for a moment, brooding. Allowing my thoughts to wander through memories of Sparrow is not going to get me anywhere - I have to have something real pinned down to work my mind around. "I am perfectly well; however, I require some parchment paper and a quill pen. Be so kind as to ask Captain Sparrow where they are located, and tell him I'll see him at his earliest convenience. What of the other pirates?"

"They are currently scouring the ship for their weapons, sir. Apparently they didn't believe us when we said they were locked securely away." Gillette smirks broadly.

"And you still have the key to the galley?" I ask, going to sit on one side of the table again, in my original seat.

"Yes, Commodore. Tucked away safe in my pocket. The last place they'll look for it, and even if they do, we have it locked up good and proper." I nod my head with approval, and he straightens a little more. "I'll go see about your paper and quill, sir."

"Thank you, Gillette. Most kind." I exhale slowly as he leaves the room, letting myself deflate into the chair a little. Confusion takes quite a bit out of a body, I am finding. I let my eyes wander about the room, noting the stark furnishings and otherwise empty elegance of the room, and finally the map that rests so near to me. Absentmindedly I reach over, plucking it up. It's one of the finer renditions I've seen of the coast of the Colonies. The attention to details and to the coastlines is superb, the calculations precise to the measure. It makes me wonder who Sparrow swiped it from, and if he would be willing to give up the name. The fellow could probably use some honest employment.

A moment or two later, Gillette returns, looking a tad disgruntled, a statement which I find understated as he stomps over to a cupboard to the left, yanks open the door, and scrabbles angrily through the contents. Putting the map back where I found it, I speak up, eying the tense way his shoulders are hunched. "Is there a problem, Lieutenant?"

Gillette tenses again as he starts to fussily arrange writing utensils before me, and I wonder if he is going to burst out in frustrated French before he takes a deep breath and speaks in a short, clipped tone. "Captain Sparrow is amusing his crew with the tale of his escape from Port Royal. The first one."

"Aaaah.." The painful and humiliating loss of the Interceptor. We were fortunate, Gillette and I, not to be brought up on charges for her loss, but Governor Swann was magnanimous with the safe return of his daughter. It is a wound to the pride, however, that Gillette has never truly recovered from.

I take the quill from Gillette's fingers, and remark casually as I dip its nubbed end into the inkpot. "You might care to ask Captain Sparrow about his 'miraculous' escape from that desert island with Miss Swann."

Gillette's lips thin. "But sir, he didn't escape. We-" I look at him, one eyebrow raising, and a look of sharp comprehension comes over his features. With a smirk, he salutes and heads jauntily back above deck.

Leaving me with my paper, my quill, and my thoughts. After a long moment of staring at the paper blankly, I put my quill down on the paper, and write out Jack Sparrow.

Then I write in my clear hand, Shortcomings. Satisfied, I keep writing.

Pirate. Annoying. Arrogant. Always seems half drunk. Pirate. A Man. An Overly Lustful One. Sinful. Clearly Insane. PIRATE. Manipulative. Underhanded on more than one occasion. Clumsy. Pirate, Pirate, PIRATE.

I underline the last, then stare at the list. Well, that seems fairly well thought out, I believe. I dip my quill back into the inkpot, and write out, Attributes. I hold the quill poised for a moment, then start to scribble out whatever comes to mind when Sparrow does.

Intelligent. Charming, with or without him trying. Alluring. Amusing. Gentle. Honorable. A Good Man. Wise. Desirable - in ways which defy my comprehension. Determined. Witty. Loyal to friends. An excellent friend in turn. Compassionate. Brave, when the mood strikes him. Hah, Dauntless. Challenging. Considerate, also when the mood strikes him. An excellent kisser. I frown at that, half tempted to etch it out, but instead keep it in. After all, I am considering all of his attributes. I keep writing, A good swordsman. Kind. A Good Captain, and an even Better Sailor. Attractive, in ways that also defy my comprehension, Lovely...?

I put down the quill, and re-read the parchment before me, then sigh up at the broad wooden beams above my head. It -would- stand to reason that I cannot even escape my own desires when attempting to be practical, much less the pirate's. Yet escape them, I must. I cannot give into Jack - it simply isn't proper. Morally correct. Sane.

All the things, the little voice informs me, that have made you a lonely bachelor at thirty with naught but a sword for company in the middle of the night. Although it is a beautiful sword, Commodore, wouldn't it be much more satisfying to share your bed with a beautiful person instead?

My mind shifts through varying memories once more. Jack - unabashedly breechless and smiling wickedly at me in Governor Swann's study. The long golden line of skin that I had seen that night in my bedroom, peeking out from the 'V' of Jack's shirt, distractingly... sensual. The sight of Jack naked... god, had it only been hours ago? The silky stretch of muscle on that bare back, glimmering in the candlelight. Again I am struck with the image of something utterly feline in Jack - coiled predator, with claws and teeth to match - ah, but the softer side of him. Welcoming seduction wafts from his body to mine, and I know it is a rare opening being offered to me.

What would it be like, to touch that sun-kissed skin? To run my hands up those strong wiry arms, just lightly brushing fingertips? Would he be as warm as I imagine? Does the smell of rum and the sea herself cling to his bare skin, the expanse of chest and stomach? I felt him above me fully clothed ... what would he feel like without?

Between my legs, my body very firmly tells me how much it likes my line of thoughts on this matter, and encourages me to find Jack and experiment as soon as possible. I let out a heavy sort of sigh, moving to rub my eyes. Much better than any other aching part of my body.

"Wouldn't do that if I were you, love." Jack's smokey voice jerks my hand away from my face, and makes other parts of my body salute him appropriately. I pray for a clear expression as our eyes meet. He's dressed up a bit more, with his coat but sans his hat. How he can make such a wretched set of clothes seem so damned captivating is beyond me. He flashes me a slow smile as he moves the rest of the way into the office, closing the door behind him once more, "Wouldn't want t'smudge those pretty eyes of yours, would you?"

"My what... oh, the kohl." I clear my throat, and sit up, pulling my coat a little more firmly shut, as I fold the parchment before me and stick it hastily into a pocket. "Well, that will be removed as soon as we finish our business here." I pause, then add sternly. "Which means we are going to take care of business."

"Natur'lly. We have so very many things t'discuss. Like the return of MY ship to her rightful owner. Which would be me." Jack's smile is almost feral, as he gracefully glides towards the table. He eyes the bowl of apples, plucks up a green one with those clever fingers, and then eases himself back into one of the chairs, propping his boots atop the table.

My gaze narrows on his slouching form - clearly he is acting blasé to annoy me. Clearly, it is working. So I shall take the other extreme. Something that would be eased greatly if I, one, was wearing my uniform; two, did not feel distinctively lacking in my usual authority without it; and three ... if Jack Sparrow wasn't taking slow, savory bites of his apple.

"Y'know, the last time I enjoyed an apple this good, Barbossa was on the other side o' this table." Jack says cheerfully... since when did I start referring to him mentally as Jack? Oh yes, when he started swaggering nude across my mind's eye. At any rate, Jack continues, glancing back at me, smiling his faintly amused yet affectionate smile. "O'course, the scenery and the gener'l company have vastly improved."

"Is that so?" I reply calmly, extremely pleased that my voice neither rises nor deepens in tone. I can't fuss with my shirt or jacket - that would make me look unnerved. As does straightening my posture. I really need to avoid any sharp movements, especially dealing with any body part south of my stomach.

"Aye, for one, Barbossa never looked half as ... appealin' in black. Suits you fine." Another slow bite. It is an extremely juicy apple, because the juice trickles, just around the corners of his mouth. Those gleaming eyes meet mine and the roughened velvet voice murmurs. "Don't mean t'be rude, James, but aren't we meant t'be talkin' about my ship?" The pink whisper of his tongue slips out and cleans up the droplets of juice.

I am openly staring. I know that I am, and yet, I am helpless against it. My mind is filled with the flashing images of Jack without clothing and Jack eating that apple. For some reason, they are interposing in my head in the most delightful way.

He's leaning forward. No. Do not put those lips any closer to me, Sparrow. I mean it. He props up one arm on the table, and tilts his bearded, beaded chin into his open be-ringed hand, his smile now whimsical and innocent, which has, might I note, a severe lack of innocence at the moment. "...Unless, of course, y'wanted to speak of our other agreement?"

Then he takes another slow, taunting bite of apple with those pretty golden teeth.

I must not lick my lips.

I Must Not Lick My Lips.

...Damn Blasted Bloody HELL.

He smirks, and my heart leaps in my chest. He knows what he's doing, although I doubt seriously he realizes just how effective his teasing is. Therefore, if I can keep from dribbling spittle from my mouth like an infant, I will not look like a complete fool. I have to remember that he is playing his 'Game of Love' with me and I...

I can play it right back.

Fixing my eyes steadily on him, I remove my hat with slow and careful grace, flipping it over neatly to rest on the table. Then I rake my fingers through my chin-length hair, taking some of the tangle out of it. "Captain Sparrow, as much as I am sure you would like to delay the inevitable, there are matters that need to be taken care of, here and now."

He's paused in his apple assault, watching me with a slightly tilted head, eyes bright with interest. "Couldn't agree more, mate..."

I run my fingers through the dark strands more slowly, then let it tumble around my face lightly. "I'm glad you think so. Other discussions can wait, you realize."

"Can they?" His eyes move along with my fingers movements, to the falling of my hair across my cheek, and his voice goes a bit more husky.

I dip into my pocket carefully, drawing out a length of black ribbon I kept while I was climbing the rigging of the Pearl. With slow deliberation, I smooth it between my fingers, and then carefully tuck it under my hair. Jack's hand is paused in the air, his eyes watching as my fingers twist the ribbon, pulling my hair away from my face firmly. I leave a bit of leeway, and one lock of hair falls loose, curving slightly over one of my eyes. My gaze never leaving his face, I gently lick the tip of my finger, and then smooth back the errant hairs back into place, dropping my voice low as I speak, "The moment, as you would say, is not opportune for such a conversation."

"..What?" Jack blinks, distraction clear on his face and in his tone. This time, I am the one who smirks knowingly. His dark eyes narrow on mine, and suddenly he laughs. I've never heard Jack Sparrow laugh before. It rolls out of him, like a slow wave, dark and deep. You could wrap yourself in that laugh, like a blanket. He sits up a little, grinning at me. "James Norrington, you are good."

"Jack Sparrow, you have no idea." I say, letting my smirk soften. It shouldn't be this comfortable, to tease him. It shouldn't feel so good to hear that laugh, to want to make him laugh again. It shouldn't feel so tender and so close to meet his eyes and not want to look away.

The silence between us lengthens. Not tense with friction or heat, but rather quiet and filled with things that want to be said, movements that want to be made. Jack suddenly puts the apple down on the table, his expression serious and earnest. "James ..."

The way he says my name ... The matters at hand, Commodore. Remember the Haven, and the Intrepid, when your longing gets the better of you. I clear my throat, now straightening as varying physical problems are slowly coming undone, as it is. "No, Jack. Not now. Our business, if you recall?"

Disappointment lines that face, disappointment followed by a weary sort of patience. He settles back into his chair, raising an eyebrow at me. "Aye. Our business. So what have you 'commandeered' the Pearl and her Captain for, Commodore?"

I manage not to flinch at the hard infliction of my title, but it does bring me back to earth, so to speak. "As I have said, once I have the information I require, the Black Pearl will be returned to your command. I have little use for your ship outside a bargaining tool."

"Oh? Then what information would you need from a simple sailor like me, then?" His eyebrow arches, amusement trailing over his face once more.

My lips twitch. "You are far more than simple, and you know it."

I am attempting, much to my personal chagrin, to make him smile. He doesn't disappoint me, flashing those gold teeth broadly as he twirls his hand in a decorous bow. "Many thanks, Commodore. Always glad t'know I have m'self an admirer in the Navy."

I bite back a further comment - suppressing urges to laugh, to flush like a maiden, or to go around that table and show him how much of an admirer I could be. "You would make me your devoted servant, Captain, if you could tell me the whereabouts of Captain Lark and her fleet of pirates."

...Oh, you don't like hearing that name, now do you Jack? I can see the lines of your body tensing up. The darker feeling behind those eyes - where have I seen it before? Ah yes. The first day we met on the docks. Fierce, like a trapped animal. Now you're easing around the edges, not to give too much away. "That's big prey, Norrington."

"I am the Pirate Hunter." I respond, watching his every movement with sharp interest.

"Yes, but even pirate hunters bite off more than they can chew, mate." Jack's eyes flash emotions like ripples on the water - concern and fear being the most prevalent as he frowns.

"So I take smaller bites. One at a time, or all at once." I nod at the apple on the table, my own features in a mask of hard seriousness. "Either way, she has earned herself a dawn appointment with the gallows."

A moment of startled amazement, followed swiftly by a darkly bemused smile. "You still have this thing with hangin' pirates, do you? Even if they wear dresses?"

"Not all of them are good men." I say with a meaningful tilt of my head. "And none of them are you."

He looks rather taken aback by my compliment, and I wonder how many Jack gets that he does not give himself. Not many, I think. We are interrupted by a fierce rapping on the door that pulls our attention away from another, both of us speaking at once, "Come!"

The woman Anamaria stomps in, a righteous storm of indignation. Her dark eyes flash, moving from Jack to me in a moment, and her lovely face curves into one of the most frightening scowls I have ever seen upon a woman's face. She marches up to me, sticking one caramel-colored finger in my face as she snarls. "Where. Are. My. Weapons!?"

I raise both eyebrows, and repeat back to her in the same staccato rhythm. "Locked. Up. For. The. Safety. Of. All."

She glares even more fiercely at me, waving that finger right before my nose. "I had bettah get those weapons back."

"Indubitably, madam. I wouldn't want you to feel -unprotected- without them. Heaven knows you can frighten any man's knees to jelly just with that glower." I answer dryly. Jack covers his mouth with his hand, dark eyes sparkling amusement.

Anamaria lifts her chin a little, putting her hands on her hips. "You makin' fun of me, Navy Man?" She takes a step forward, leaning one booted leg up on the chair nearest to me. " B'cause if you are, there are more den one way to skin a cat, and more den one way a man can b'come a eunuch."

...She has rather pointy boots, doesn't she? Hm. "You'll have your weapons back once your Captain and I reach an agreement on the information I require. In fact, as soon as I have it I will be out of your boots ... hair, completely."

At those words, she grunts at me dismissively, before turning to Jack, her foot coming down to tap on the wooden floor. "Well, get on with it, Capt'n! Tell dees fluffed up parrot what he wants so we can get d'Hell outta here."

I watch as the lines of Jack's body tense again. He rests his fingertips together quietly, thrumming them lightly against one another, before looking at Anamaria and speaking in a carefully level tone. "The Commodore wishes t'know where he can find Captain Lark, Anamaria."

Anamaria's dark and lovely skin pales notably at Jack's words, and she jerks a look towards me, and then back to her Captain. Her fingers fidget around her waist, looking for the blade that isn't there. My eyes narrow a little. What is it about this Captain Lark that brings about this level of fear in normally fearless people? She looks away from her waist helplessly, then to Jack, trembling questions in her onyx eyes. Jack meets her look without flinching, then speaks to me. "..'M afraid, Commodore, that we can't be grantin' your request for information."

The young woman's shoulders unhunch, even as I sit up straighter and stare at the both of them. My lips clamp together for a moment, before I speak in clear, sharp tones. "Until you give me what I need to find Captain Lark, Captain Sparrow, I am keeping your ship."

Jack's eyes flash anger, and then something crafty curls beneath their depths. "So, what you're sayin' is, Commodore Norrington, that as long as I withhold what I know, you're going t'keep me, and m'ship, under your personal watch, is that it?"

I frown a little, but nod my head once. "Quite so, Sparrow. I'm not leaving the Pearl until I know what you know about Captain Lark, and not a moment before."

I really dislike the sudden smile that curves over Jack's face, right then. It bodes nothing but trouble. He looks up to Anamaria, his voice coming out in an almost purr. "Anamaria, be my fierce dove and tell the crew we're about t'do a bit of a parley? They might want t'add things to the list of agreements, eh?"

"...Parley? List of agreements?" I say, definitely not liking the sudden flash of amusement in Anamaria's eyes as she moves from the room.

"Aye, Jamie. Agreements. The terms of my surrender, as it were, and your prolonged stay on the Pearl. You haf' t'admit that we need some sort of cessation of hostilities, and you also have t'admit that y'owe something t'me for the inconvenience you're causin'. Lost wages, and the like." Jack's eyebrows arch upwards with a complacent little leer.

I snort. "Oh yes. I really should compensate you for your loss of plunder. How thoughtless of me to forget that." I roll my eyes, leaning back in my chair as I observe him with no little sardonic disbelief.

"Well, glad t'know you agree, James." Jack leans forward on the table, now broadly smirking at me. "Now, shall we parley? I've got a few provisions of my own that need t'be met..."

When the French came up with their vocabulary, I do not think they realized that on the occasion that it was to be 'buggered' with, it was to be 'buggered' with by a pirate. Or perhaps knowing Jack, they would approve. However, I doubt sincerely they thought 'parler' was going to turn into the meaning of 'twist around the undergarments of the British Royal Navy in every possible, irritating, and overly confining way'.

Then again, they would probably still approve. Heartily, no doubt.

Hours after we began our 'discussion', Jack and I are back on the deck of the Pearl, and I am reading before all assembled the terms of 'surrender' and the continued 'holding' of the ship by myself and my subordinates. I thought it was near intolerable when the pirates kept coming up with the most ridiculous requests imaginable, making me wrangle over every single point with Jack, and those I lost went down on paper in meticulous detail.

I had forgotten, unfortunately, how irritated Gillette and indeed all my own crew can be when set upon by the vicious tongues of pirates. I pause, once again, and rub my temple tiredly. "...Clause 31; Therefore stating that if any pirate refers to any marine by the following names, the marine in question has the right to ..." Another sigh. "...'Knock him OR her about the ruddy ears'. Case in point - Lobster. Moving Target. Tall, crimson beanpole. A barrel with a redcoat on."

The marines grunt from the port side of the ship, glaring over at the pirates. The pirates sneer back at them from the starboard side. I glance back at Jack, who is complacently looking at his nails as he leans against one of the stairwells. He flashes me a bemused smile, then waves me on. I turn back to the paper with a noise of annoyance, and keep reading. "Clause 32; Therefore stating that if any marine OR officer of the British Royal Navy refers to any pirate by the following names, the pirate in question has the right to 'introduce him to the deck face-first'. Case in point - filthy bastards of the sea, a misnomer as pirates bathe quite regularly, mother killing reprobates, as they would never intentionally hurt someone's mother. Put bluntly - any insult in which any pirate needs to have simplified to them, or is longer than three sentences."

The pirates nod their heads firmly, while Gillette and the marines smirk in turn. In any other occasion, I would have noted their placement was rather like two sides of a chessboard. Slightly lopsided chessboard, for without weapons the pirates are seriously at a disadvantage. On the other hand, they have Jack Sparrow. A male Queen of the board, who moves every which way regardless of what is happening. In that respect I am glad for the legal documentation of our agreement - it means that we are both bound to uphold it to the letter. Therefore, Jack's pirates won't murder my men in their sleep, and my marines won't open fire for every little dirty look Jack's men give them. It is an uneasy truce, but a truce nevertheless. I have enough to worry about with trying to peel the information on Captain Lark out of Jack without having to stop firefights and duels.

Finally. The last clause. "Clause 42; I, James L. Norrington - no, Sparrow you will not have my middle name - hereby solemnly declare that I will return the Black Pearl to her rightful Captain, Jack Sparrow, after he provides me with all possible information on one Captain Lark of the Ebony Sharks... " The pirates in turn grimace, and Gibbs goes so far as to sip from his flask. I frown, again struck how the mere name of Lark throws unease into them, where strangely I myself have never heard of her. Perhaps because she is a woman pirate captain? "...Until the information is released to me, I will retain control over the Pearl, and shall stay with her and her Captain to HOPEFULLY conclude this agreement as soon as possible."

I pause, then look around firmly, "Are there any other complaints, additions, or anything else that someone wants to add purely to see me pull out my own hair by the roots?"

There is a long moment of distinctive embarrassment as the pirates and my own men look at me, then back at each other warily, before coughing and shuffling their feet into the deck. Yes gentlemen, some of the points are rather moot, aren't they? Especially since the marines are still in the plainclothes and wouldn't know a complicated insult if it literally slapped them in the face. I arch an eyebrow, a thin twist of lips my only expression, "Thank you kindly. Bush, the ...barrel, if you will."

Bush steps forward, moving the barrel in front of me, with the quill, ink bottle and blotter resting on the flat wooden slats. I dip my quill into the ink, and sign my name, before stepping back and offering the quill to Jack. He rises to his feet, and glides over effortlessly, slipping the quill from my hand so lightly I barely feel the press of his fingers against mine. With a little waggle of his eyebrows, he leans over and much to my surprise, writes out 'Captain Jack Sparrow' in a flourish of fine calligraphy. Off of my astonished expression, he smiles jauntily, "Amazin' what you pick up in an Anglican abbey, eh?"

"Apparently so... Our business is concluded." I pause, and add with a bit of force. "For now." Yes, Jack. Just because we have a truce does not mean I am simply going to wait around on your ship while you twist away from the truth.

"Oh good! Means we can get to other discussions... in a bit. If you'll excuse me, Commodore. I'll be right over there." Jack flashes me a smile that is more smug than apologetic, and then saunters off to his crew, gesturing them into a small group. I frown, slightly confused. Surely the man doesn't think I care where he is at all times. It's a large ship, but not that large. I do trust him - to an extent - to uphold his word.

"Sir?" Bush's voice brings my attention towards my Lieutenant. He nods towards the marines. "We should have one of the men bring our things below, and stake out our living quarters for the time being. As it seems our friend Captain Sparrow isn't too eager to lose our company."

"Or rather, the Commodore's." Gillette says from my other side, scowling a little over his shoulder. "He seems terribly eager to keep us around, sir, especially you.."

"Not as much eager to keep me around, but unnerved by what I might find out. Sparrow is hiding something. We have what appears to be a bit of a mystery on our hands, gentlemen." I fold my hands behind me, and look to my lieutenants. "Two of us will stay on deck while the other takes one of the men and scouts out cabins for us all."

"Permission to do just that, sir?" Gillette asks, standing a little straighter.

"Permission granted." I respond formally, nodding my head curtly.

A small smirk crosses Gillette's face. "Permission to change out of this ridiculous outfit before I succumb to the strange urge to drink obscene amounts of liquor and completely forget how to speak in proper grammatical terms?"

Bush and I exchange a little suppressed look of humor, before I say blandly. "Permission, again, granted."

Gillette nods, and turns to the three marines, eying the lot of them. "Studson! With me. We are going to find living quarters for the duration of our stay. We'll take the Commodore's and Lieutenant Bush's things down first, then your own things."

"Aye sir!" Studson salutes, moving to gather up my own bag, and Bush's. As I watch him heft my things over his shoulder, I am glad we decided to pack the bare essentials - another set of clothes better suited for high sailing than high tea, our shaving kits, a bare trimming of personal items, and of course the basic accoutrements of our uniforms. Obviously we could not pack the wigs and the hats, which was more of a relief to the three of us than I think we would admit aloud. However, we would need the uniforms if we ran across any of our own ships. Identification papers are all well and proper, but nothing says 'Commodore' like the ranking buttons on one's frock coat.

"Headin' below, then?" Jack's voice calls out keenly, as he slides over to Gillette's side. He glances momentarily at me, before a smile quirked on his face. "Gibbs can show you where you can stow your partic'lars. Gibbs!" Gibbs steps away from the other pirates, an interesting mix of emotions crossing his ruddy face. Jack leans towards him, resting his arm lightly on his bo'sun's shoulder. "If you would be so kind as to show the fine Lieutenant here where he and his mates will be gatherin' their sleep and privy time?"

"Aye, sir." Gibbs offers Gillette a broad smile, which Gillette frowns upon. He looks over to me, the question in his eyes if not on his lips.

I glance between Gillette and Jack, then back to my Lieutenant with a light shrug. "Follow the man, Gillette."

Gillette makes a little disgruntled noise, but then nods over to Studson to follow. Studson clomps behind, the constantly bemused expression of his on his lean face. One of these days, I shall have to ask him what he finds so damned funny. Bush has reclaimed the helm, and is issuing orders to Murtogg and Mullroy on the state of the sails and the like, with a patient tone. "..No, Mr. Murtogg. Not THAT rope. The other rope. Very good. Now pull it TAUT. Excellent!"

I hide a smile, moving to join him, when a hand takes me by the shoulder. I half turn, finding Jack leaning in close to me. "A word or three, Commodore? We've got particulars to discuss."

"...Very well. Bush, the helm is yours." I answer, before trailing the pirate captain down the steps. The other pirates, I note, are huddling near the mainmast, looking at the two hapless marines running about with a mix of disgust and smugness.

Jack glances towards them as well, as he gestures for me to follow him below deck. "Come along, Commodore. I've got t'do a quick tour of m'Wife. Make sure you Navy lot haven't mussed her too much."

"Under the circumstances I think we've been quite good to her." I answer slowly, as our steps clomp on the heavy wooden stairs.

"Yes, well, jest make sure y'lot keep at it." Jack admonishes, as he runs his fingers along the wooden planks, his touch loving and gentle. Almost adoring, really. Brief musing; would he touch me in the same gentle way? Then I chide myself for the very thought itself. Really, I must have a touch of personal mental restraint...

His fingers continue to dance across the dark wood, making me wonder if this is a habit of old, or a show Jack is putting on just for me. Look at those clever fingers, the movement suggests. They are rough, and a bit callused and dirty, but watch how they curve and dip. Graceful as the man himself. They touch what he worships with reverence beyond measure.

Dear God. I am composing mental rhapsodies for the man's hand. What shall happen next, sonnets for his eyebrows?

He's said something. What was it? Drat. I was lost in my contemplations of his fingertips. I clear my throat, glad for the dim lighting to cover my coloring neck. "Pardon, Sparrow?"

He pauses in his steps, bringing us to a halt in a dark, yet broad hallway in what must be the heart of the ship itself, lit only with one distant lantern. He glances over his shoulder at me, laughter hinting in those whirlpool eyes of his. "Gettin' distracted again, love?"

"The ship is enthralling." I say quickly and firmly. Hrm. Perhaps a bit -too- firmly.

"...The ship." Jack turns to regard me, cocking one eyebrow. "Are you sure it's my ship you're so intent on?"

A flare of heat floods me from head to toe, and I am suddenly aware of just how alone we are. How close he is. That the smell of rum and saltwater is wafting in the air. I clear my throat again, opening my mouth to reply.

"Commodore! Commodore!" Studson's voice and footfalls come thundering up behind me, and I turn to face the marine, feeling relief at the distraction.

"What is it, Studson?" I ask briskly, as the tall and rather gangly marine skids to a halt before me and shoots off a salute.

"Sir, it's about the ..er... big sail in the middle, sir!" Studson stumbles verbally.

"What about the main topsail, Studson?" I ignore the soft snicker from the pirate behind me.

"Er, well. Lieutenant Bush says we need to ..er... make it go up higher to get the winds, sir." Studson clears his throat, a flush of pink to his ears.

"I see. The sails need to be hoisted again. Very well - why can't Mr. Murtogg and Mr. Mullroy do it?" I ask, folding my hands behind me.

"Well sir, Murtogg's scared of heights, he is, and Mullroy can't get his fat ars -- I mean, he can't get up there safely, sir." Studson's lips flex in that bemused look.

"Hmm. And what of our pirate friends?" I tilt my head curiously.

"They won't do it, sir. They refuse to help." Studson said, and as I turn to Jack for confirmation, I can hear the low mutter. "...lousy pirate blighters..."

Jack has his arms crossed over his lithe chest, grinning like a fox as he tilts his head at me, "Like I was tellin' you, Commodore, not a moment ago. M'crew doesn't like being hijacked by the British Navy, instead of the other way about. So they'll jest be sittin' this tour out, savvy?" A pause, and a deepening of the devilish twinkle in his eyes. "Y'were followin' that the second time, aye?"

"Succinctly." I say, giving him my flattest voice and sternest gaze, before turning back to Studson thoughtfully. "Are you afraid of heights, Mr. Studson?"

"No sir! Always been too high to begin with, sir!" Studson says, chin up and that bemused look in his eyes.

My lips quirk. "And I take it by your presence that Lieutenant Gillette doesn't have need of you for the moment, so would you be so kind as to hoist the sail?"

Studson's expression twitches for a moment. "...Aye, sir. Don't know why we didn't figure that to begin with, sir."

"Sailing is busy work, Mr. Studson. The little details often pass us by." I note with a quiet nod. "On your way."

Jack manages to stay quiet until Studson hits the stairs, heading deckside again, but when he does speak it is with all the contempt a man of the sea can have for a landlubber. "...Sail in the middle. Fine lot you have sailin' my ship, Commodore. I'm overjoyed they know their arses from their heads."

I turn to him, jaw tightening as I take a step forward. "What that man lacks in nautical know-how, Captain Sparrow, he more than makes up for in loyalty and bravery. He has been wounded in the line of duty more than once, and earned particular distinction at the Isla de Muerta, where he was one of the first men off the boats and into the hellish battle routed by your former crew. He isn't a sailor, he's a soldier, and considering the lack of assistance from your men now, he is doing an exemplary job. Be very grateful to that man, Captain Sparrow, because he is one of the few at the moment who is going to try his damnedest to keep your Pearl from meeting the wrong end of a sandbar."

A look of honest surprise passes his face, then a quiet little smile. His arms cross over his chest. "Well, well. Look at the protectiveness. Quite the wolfish leader, aren't we?" His head tilts, and the tinkle of beads clinking fills my ears, "So does that fine gentleman have the pleasure of knowing the Commodore personally for all his grand high t'do deeds?"

"...I do not fraternize with my men in the degree in which you are no doubt imagining." I lift my chin up slightly. "I know it must be a shock to your deviant mind, Sparrow, but the British Royal Navy doesn't exactly hold highly with the Pirate's Code. We show a little more concern over our brother soldiers than 'doing right by ourselves'."

"You might, Commodore, and those who serve under you, b'cause you're the sort of man who believes in such. But I can well assure you not half your fine Navy is any better with moral distinctions than me and mine." He slides in close, arching an eyebrow.

"Bringing us to the point that not all pirates are bad men, and not all Naval officers are good ones?" I say, holding my ground. I might have 'avoided' him before, but now it is a matter of mind over matter. My mind, his alluring matter... "As it stands, perhaps we should just agree, Captain Sparrow, that there are distinctions to be made about your men and mine - and different ways in how we deal with them."

"...Sounds fair enough, Commodore Norrington, as you aren't a man to back down from a valid point of honor. I offer m'apologies if I offended." Another step, and as the ship shifts on the water, he shifts with it, first away, then into my personal space.

"Accepted." I pause, very aware how he is leaning into me again. How close he is, as the spicy scent of him assaults my nose. I give him what I hope is a stern look. "...I am not willing to back down to anything, Sparrow."

"Ah, so you have no intention of runnin' off again then, eh?" His lowered voice makes my body twang in perfect harmony. His fingers raise up to gently touch my ear, then trail down slowly.

I will not shiver. I will not. Instead my eyes meet his, and my hand moves to grab his and hold it firmly as it slides down to my chest, holding it away from my skin. My own voice lowers, "In no way conceivable, Sparrow, am I simply going to let you have your way with me."

"Permission first, I rememb'r." Jack wriggles his fingers a little in my grip, then entwines our fingers together. "'Sides, I think hand-holdin's right proper in the ways of courtship, don't you?"

I blink, looking down at our clasped hands, then into that innocuous expression of his. My lips twist into a faint smile without meaning to. "...Damn it, Jack. Why do you make things so bloody difficult? Why do you always have to twirl things around to get what you want?"

"I think the real question here, Jamie-love, is why do you fight so hard from givin' yourself what you want t'begin with." His fingers grip mine lightly, as he flashes those gold teeth up at me. He's so very close, and that smell is almost as intoxicating as drinking down the liquor itself, isn't it...

"CAPTAIN SPARROW!" Anamaria's voice pierces the silence, making me jerk away from Jack as if I were shot, and regain my composure as quickly as I can.

Besides me, Jack lets out a low curse, then steps in front of me. "YES, Anamaria? Is there something very important that you needed t'tell me that couldn't have waited another minute ... or perhaps twenty?" Twenty minutes? What in the world could he hope to accomplish in twenty min ... Never Mind.

Anamaria charges up the dark hallway, a one-woman army in her own right. She stabs one finger at Jack as she comes to a halt. "You..." and her finger shifts towards me with another stab, "...tell him.."

"Who is standing right here." I remark calmly.

She glowers at me as she continues speaking, "...You tell him if we don' get somethin' to eat from OUR galley right quick, we're gonna use one of dem pasty-faced pretty soldiers for FISH bait."

Jack stares at her for a long, long moment. He turns to me, then glances back quickly at her. She gestures impatiently at me. He drags his gaze towards me, folding his hands together with a clearly baffled sort of smile on his face. "Well, Commodore? Fish bait or food?"

"We will open the galley once we have secured ourselves rooms for the night and settled our bearings." I pause, then add meaningfully, "However, if your crew wishes to hurry along the process, they are more than welcome to assist with the ship's duties as they see fit."

I truly disbelieved the possibility of her looking any more disgruntled than she already was. Apparently, I find myself in grave error. She grinds out her words, dark eyes infuriated. "I'd Rathah STARVE."

With that, she stomps off once more, leaving Jack and me to the stillness of the hall and the soft creaking of the Pearl herself. Finally, I find my voice for speaking. "As per our previous conversation on the matter of our crews and their differences, I shall not say a word about the utter insanity of yours."

"Gibbs is always talkin' about how it's bad luck to have a woman aboard. I'm wonderin' if that's b'cause they're so right scary when they get riled." Jack murmurs. He shifts towards me, and then that slow smile appears again. " ... Now, where were we?"

"CAPTAIN!" Anamaria bellows again.

Right on the heels of that? Gillette's highly tense, "COMMODORE!"

"...Getting interrupted?" I answer smoothly, moving back towards the stairs that lead up to the deck - ignoring the feelings of disappointment, and clinging to the ones of relief. "Come along, Sparrow."

"...it's just not fair. It's not Bloody Fair!" I hear him muttering behind me, as I suppress a small smile.

The scene that greets us when we come up on deck is one of mass confusion. Anamaria and Gillette are yelling at one another, so close their noses are nearly brushing as they spit verbal fury. Gibbs and Bush are attempting to keep them from going at one another's throats, with mixed results.

By the mainmast, Murtogg and Mullroy are simultaneously shouting while attempting to extract Studson from a tangle of ropes. The old man with the parrot and the dwarf are pulling on the other sides of the ropes, meaning that Studson is getting no less loose and all the more like a trussed up holiday goose. The parrot is fluttering between both pairs of men, squawking fiercely and intelligibly.

Jack and I exchange a startled look, and then turn back to the pandemonium. I take a long, deep breath, set my shoulders and back straight, bellowing out. "OFFICERS AND MARINES, AT ATTENTION!"

The reaction is gratefully instantaneous, as Gillette and Bush jerk upright, facing straight forward without a peep coming from either one of them. Murtogg and Mullroy drop the ropes and stand stock-still. The only unfortunate side-effect is that as they drop the ropes, Studson also attempts to stand at attention and only succeeds to tumbling face-first into the deck.

"Well, children, are we finished playing?" Mock pleasantness curls from my tone as I move slowly across the deck, pausing in front of Gillette and Bush, one eyebrow raising. "I expected this sort of outburst from the marines, Lieutenants, but I expect a little more decorum from both of you."

"Our apologies, sir." Bush says quietly, keeping his eyes straight ahead. "Things, ah, simply got out of hand."

I stop in front of Gillette, waiting for a moment. Gillette lets out a long breath, looking at the deck first, before finally replying. "My actions were .. are, with much reproach. My apologies, sir."

"Hah!" I don't turn towards the noise of Anamaria's sharp laugh, as she is not my concern, but instead fix my eyes on Gillette. He doesn't move an inch, however, and I make sure he can see the approving tilt of my head. He begins to untense slightly at that.

"Do y'find somethin' funny, First Mate?" Jack's voice is low and deceptively mild. I find myself looking away from Gillette to him with some surprise. Surely he isn't angry? His focus, however, is on Anamaria as he makes his way across the deck, to the fallen Studson. "Y'know, I realize none of you are that pleased t'have the Navy aboard - God knows I'm not too happy with the circumstances m'self. How'ver, you're lettin' your ire affect the way the ship's handled, and I won't abide by that ... easy lad, I've got you. Hold still and let me get these ropes here loose."

The pirates all look at each other askance, as they struggle for an answer. Studson's voice, muffled by the deck, echoes with relief. "Holding still, sir. Thank you, sir."

A warm note of amusement fills Jack's voice, and something tense in me loosens at the lack of mockery to it this time around. "Think nothin' of it. Commodore Norrington says I owe you and your mates a bit of thanks for the Isla de Muerta, after all." He throws another pointed look at Anamaria and the others, who again squirm.

Jack continues as if he didn't see them. "Fair amount o' your mates died, gettin' my ship back for me. Pointless sorts of death, but they saved m'life. Saved the life of m'crew, if they would be so kind t'recall. Had the Navy not been engaged in its pricey bit of battlin' with the undead bastards, they never would have gotten away in the first place."

"Er, you're welcome, sir?" Studson says, a trifle bit confused, but gratitude to being freed from the ropes is prevalent over that. He sits up, and rubs his wrists for a moment, before glancing over at me and shooting to his feet to stand at attention with the others.

"At ease." I say, relenting under the rather weary look of Studson. My crew relaxes on their heels, looking at me expectantly. While I look at Captain Jack. Who is, strangely enough, looking at the sky.

Or rather, at the mast. "Mr. Gibbs ... would you be so kind as t'get that sail hoisted? Mr. Cotton and Mr. Rudolph, could you be assistin' with that? And Anamaria..." Jack rose to his feet, and fixes his darkening gaze on her, "Would you be a darlin', and clean up this mess, here?" A pause. "None of those were requests, mates."

"Aye, Capt'n.." "Awwk, wind in your sails.." Comes the muted replies. Without looking at each other, the pirates began scrabbling up the rigging, moving about the deck with renewed purpose. Anamaria grunts Mullroy and Murtogg out of the way, but says naught else as she starts to untangle the ropes that have fallen on deck.

Jack catches my incredulous look, and one side of his golden mouth lifts up. "They lost face in front o' their Captain. Nothing more humiliatin' than that to a pirate."

"Discipline through disapproval?" I raise an eyebrow, bemused despite of myself.

"Can't say I have the fine bellowin' voice you've got, Commodore. So I'll jest make do with charm." Then the scallywag has the nerve to wink at me, turning immediately to clap Studson on the shoulder. "Now, Studson m'lad ... and you two lads there, Murtogg and Mullroy, if I'm not mistaken?" At their open-mouthed bobs of agreement, Jack throws his arms wide, "Excellent! Now that you are all on the Legendary Black Pearl, let me give you a few fine tips on handlin' her, for she's a temperamental Lady.."

"Amazing." Bush says lowly, drawing both Gillette's and my eyes to him. He smiles faintly in response. "A living, breathing Pirate Charmer, who has effortlessly moved to his Majesty's marines."

We all turn back to the sight of Jack Sparrow kneeling on the deck with Murtogg, Mullroy, and Studson grouped around him in a half circle. They look both oddly in place, and oddly out, as they watch with no little amount of wonder as Jack sweeps his fingers across the deck, whispering something low that I cannot catch. All three marines eyes widen noticeably.

"Well, one must give Sparrow credit." Gillette says, and his voice has that edge of sarcasm I have come to note when he is truly upset about something. "First the marines," He flashes a flat look over to Bush, "Then the officers. Of course, moving right unto the Commodore himself, something I am sure he thinks he can accomplish by keeping you in his quarters.."

"Pardon me, Lieutenant, what was that?" I ask, suddenly startled by his words.

Gillette suddenly looks somewhere between sheepish and angry, an interesting combination. "My apologies, again, sir - but that was the matter that had me so upset. Mr. Gibbs was quite insistent that you are to be staying in the Captain's cabin with that... that pirate."

My gaze jerks towards Sparrow again, who has moved his little school lesson closer to the fore of the ship, moving his hands broadly, while he quite clearly avoids me. After a moment, I let out a sigh, and look to the sky, before fixing my gaze back on Gillette. "Let it be, Lieutenant. I shall endure the pirate's snores for a quick resolution to our situation."

Gillette's eyebrows raise, alarmed sputters coming from his lips, "But ... sir! What ...?"

"Gillette..." I pause, and add quietly. "Andrew. Sparrow wants to keep an eye on me - and I can hardly blame him. I would be doing the exact same if our positions were reversed. Beyond that, it gives me the opportunity to badger him, if necessary, into answering our questions on the whereabouts of the Ebony Sharks."

"Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer." Bush nods his head, giving Sparrow an approving glance. "Very smart of him. Besides, I'm sure Sparrow thinks of this as a way to try and sway you on certain ideas of hanging him." He pauses, then smiles that little devilish smile of his. "I might have to add, 'best pirate AND manipulator I've ever seen'. He's very compelling."

Gillette looks between us, his face nearly purple with repressed anger, as he hisses out at Bush. "Well why don't you just build the man a bloody statue, Jonathan? I, for one, refuse to be swayed by Pretty Pirates." He straightens, jerking his head back to me. "Pardon me, sir. I need to change into clothing that is a little more suitable."

Head high, and dark eyes flashing a blazing look at Bush, he marches below, his steps reverberating loudly. I let out a sigh, and give Bush a long and aggrieved look. "You did that on purpose."

Bush's lips quirk, and he holds his fingers a scan inch a part. "Just a little."

"Jonathan, behave. Or you are going to end up fishing Sparrow or yourself out of the ocean when Andrew finally loses his composure all together and tosses you both overboard in a fit of French pique." I note pointedly. "I, myself, am going to see to my own attire. The helm is still yours, but I will return momentarily to relieve you so you can change."

"Aye, Commodore." Bush's smile becomes a little more teasing. "Although ...since I'm not the one that's going to be in Captain Sparrow's cabin, shouldn't I be telling you to behave?"

"Bush. Helm. Now." I glower at him, making him clear his throat, salute quickly, and dart up the steps to the quarterdeck. I watch him, shaking my head a little as I head below. I swear to God, sometimes Jonathan takes an almost demonic pleasure in seeing how far he can taunt Andrew. He knows very well that Andrew doesn't like Jack, that being on the same ship is going to be torture for our redheaded friend. So what does Jonathan do? Flaunts his odd fondness for Jack in our faces and ...and ... Dear God, am I jealous?

I stop in front of the door of what I believe to be Jack's private cabin, pressing my fingers to my temple. No. I am not. Because I do not have jealous feelings over a pirate where one of my oldest and dearest friends are concerned. It is silly. Absurd. Ridiculous.

Sigh. I unlatch the door, and step inside Jack Sparrow's cabin.

Which surprises me, to say the least. First of all, it is clean. Not as neat as my own cabin on the Falcon, perhaps, but things are generally put away in built-in cupboards. There is a soft carpet of orient origin on the floor, and varying knickknacks here and there. Nothing delicate or easily breakable, but all of it interesting. I spend a moment contemplating a strange tribal mask set on Jack's wall, before going to hunt down my satchel.

It's by the bed - and when I say 'the bed' I feel the need to capitalize the letters appropriately. For it is The Bed - a large, decadent affair of black oak with hangings and bedsheets to match, set into one side of the ship's wall. Soft cushions of dark colours and foreign patterns line it, and it has, if one can believe it, padded insets to keep one from falling out of bed in the middle of a rough night at sea. I stare at it for a long moment, amazed. I've never seen its ilk, and I doubt I ever will again. Backing away slowly, I murmur to myself as I drag my bag across the room, "I should have known he's a bloody hedonist."

I search the cabin until I find, hanging parallel to the bed, two iron rings set opposite into a small alcove. Relief fills me - room for a hammock. I would not fancy trying to get a good night's sleep in Jack's bed. Too many .. ah, distractions. What with the rolling of two bodies - not at ALL in a way that would be breaking any biblical tract! Or law. Or composure. Or anything.

Another sigh. It is past time to change my clothing. I think Andrew might be right, and these pirate garments somehow have the ability to make normally sane, law-abiding citizens contemplate the most wicked deeds.

It doesn't take me long to change into a clean white shirt, along with a plain pair of dark green breeches and matching vest. I exchange my boots for simpler shoes, then neatly fold up my pirate clothes. No reason not to be tidy. Picking through my bag, I find my handkerchief and what I will assume is Jack's shaving mirror, fancy gilded affair that it is, and remove all the kohl from around my eyes.

There, now I just need one thing more to make me feel like I am simply James Norrington again. I take out my sword from amongst my things, gladly clasping it to my waist again. I hadn't wanted to lose it while climbing the rigging, earlier on. Now it rests by my hip, where it belongs. Ruefully, I slide the blade out of its scabbard, taking in the fine gold gilt. Had I had it with me early, then perhaps Jack wouldn't have been so eager to toss me down on that table.

Or then again, it probably would have just encouraged him more. He likes it when I openly resist. Probably because it's a prelude to interest. I must be interested, or why would I make such an effort to not be? I pause, startled by that revelation. Jack knows me better than I thought..

The Pearl shifts a little, and behind me there is the sound of something falling out of one of the cupboards. I turn, startled, sliding my blade back home before I walk over. It's one of the cupboards at the foot of The Bed, and tilting my gaze downward I note the item that's fallen is a ... well. It's a book.

Not just any book, however. Shakespeare's sonnets. My lips curl up in private pleasure, as I thumb through the pages lightly. Then I glance up at the cupboard, my frank curiosity getting the better of me. Sonnets in hand, I stand up straight and open the cupboard fully.

Two long shelves, filled with books. My finger runs along the spines as I read - Milton, further volumes of the Bard, Dante, More, Chaucer, Plato? Dear Lord. The man has his own personal Renaissance collection. There are poets, playwrights, philosophers and tracts on political theory. Several books on the work of Leonardo Da Vinci. My eyebrows go up and stay up. Well, well, Captain Sparrow. Not all the buffoon we claim to be, hm? I always knew he was more clever than he let on.

The ship shifts again, and from the shelf above the miniature library, a piece of paper slides loose and drifts down. I snag it out of midair, frown as I turn the parchment around, but my eyes widen at what the paper contains.

It's a sketch of William and Elizabeth - two different perspectives. He is on the deck of the Interceptor, one foot leaning against a bulkhead, looking out to sea, his gaze preoccupied and worried. Dark hair is pulled away from his youthful face, his jaw and eyes tight as he grips the sword at his side. He seems to be straining against ... what? Time. Fate. The world itself.

Elizabeth, in turn, is also looking out to the ocean. It is, I realize with a start, a portrait of her on that island where I rescued her and Jack from. She is seated on the sand, a bottle of ..rum? in her grip. She seems despondent, staring out to the water almost accusingly. If she could, she would battle it like any Amazon, fierce and beautiful, yet she is trapped on that shore, in that moment.

In a small, suddenly recognizable hand on the bottom, there is the simple title, 'Longing - by CJS'.

I look up from the drawing, wonderingly, and in utter amazement. First, he was just a raving pirate lunatic, soon to become a clever raving pirate lunatic. Then, a good man who is also a clever raving pirate lunatic. Now, he's a good man with the soul of a poet and the hands of an artist, not to mention a raving pirate lunatic who is, in fact, far more clever than previously believed.

I sincerely wish Jack would stop turning my view of him every which way whenever we meet. I can feel the boundaries of reality itself unraveling every time he does.

The sound of rambling steps jerks my attention towards the cabin door, and I quickly shove the drawing back in place on the top shelf before closing the cabinet doors firmly. Just as the door opens, I realize that the book of sonnets is still in my grip, and I quickly shove it behind my back, tilting up my chin slightly as Jack ambles in, humming happily. He tosses me a broad smile, as he moves across the room to another cupboard, opening it to reveal a dearth of rum bottles. He plucks the one to the furthest right, and works on the cork as he speaks to me. "Well someone looks like he made h'mself right at home, then. Nice togs, Commodore ... although I prefer the more, heh, rascallious look on you."

"It is not the uniform, but it will suffice." I say, raising an eyebrow, before moving back to the original comment. "Yes, well, I did not want to start another brawl by protesting. Nor did I want it getting around to my men that your interest is anything more than professional caution."

"Mmh.. I can see that. Don't want them gettin' all jealous, eh?" Jack arches a wicked smirk in my direction.

I frown at him. "Nothing like that in the slightest. It is merely ... disquieting to certain social practices for a man to openly court another man. Especially in front of his crew."

"Aah, so you remembered that bit, did you?" Dark eyes gleam at me with interest.

"Quite so. Therefore, I will retire to another cabin. It would be unseemly for you to make advances on me if we are in the same room. So if you wish to court me properly, you will just have to do so at a distance." Logic, triumphant at last. If there is space between us, I can fend him off easily. Or at least put walls and people enough between us to buffer.

"Hm. That sounds like a right proper idea." Jack says slowly, looking off thoughtfully as he takes a long swig of rum, then swallows. "Seems a pity we can't do it all that way. What with breakin' the contract, and all."

"...What do you mean, 'breaking the contract'?" A frown creases my brow, for I am not liking where this conversation is suddenly going.

"Clause Forty Two states that you, Commodore James L. Norrington, swear that until I give you the information which your little naval heart so fondly desires, you are t'stay with the Pearl, and her captain." Jack's smirk widens. "Which by a funny coincidence, would be yours truly, love."

"That doesn't mean all the time!" I growl out in angry disbelief, my gut twisting.

Jack takes another swig of rum. "Act'lly, it does. Under the consensus o'contract law, the written word of the contract is t'be upheld. To the letter."

I gape at him for a long, long moment. "...what in the name of the Devil do you know about contract law?"

"Jamie-love!" Jack looks at me, head tilted back in offense. "How am I t'-break- all the laws if I don't -know- them?" He holds up one finger. " 'N I know what you're thinkin' ... that now you'll just call off the courtin'. Might I remind you in that circumstance, we have ourselves an accord - verbal legal agreement? Therefore, violatin' one means violatin' the other."

"Damned if I do, and damned if I don't." I mutter, moving towards him with precise, angry steps.

"One way of puttin' it, I suppose. However, if you look at it in an optimistic sort of shade, sooner or later you'll get exactly what you want. From all quarters." Is there anything more annoying than a smug pirate? Yes. A smug pirate with the law on his side.

"Sparrow, this is intolerable. You cannot possibly court me when we're sleeping in the same room. It's out and out manipulation of the situation, and perhaps you are comfortable with that sort of thing, but it is my heart and I am not! You cannot just steal whatever isn't nailed down, literal objects or affections!" My words come out clipped and riding the edge of anger, as I make a jerky movement with my hand in his general direction.

Which, ah, unfortunately is the one with volume of Shakespeare's sonnets in it.

We both stare at the little red leather-bound book for a lengthy, silent minute, before Jack finally clears his throat, choking down some amusement, "...Nice book."

"It fell. It fell, and I picked it up." I say, automatically heading for the defensive.

"Anythin' like how you just 'happened' t'commandeer m'ship? I didn't ask you to come here, love, but you came here all the same. I'm not the only person here takin' without askin'." Jack crosses his arms over his chest, meeting my gaze with a dark-eyed seriousness and intensity I have only seen him use when at his most persuasive. "I want you, James Norrington, and by God I am not going t'let a golden opportunity like this slip me by. You want me t'court you proper, and I will. But that's where your terms end, and mine begin."

I swallow, quietly. "..Your terms?"

He smiles, an easy lifting of those full lips, but he doesn't move towards me. Instead he gently stuffs the cork back into his rum, and puts the half-empty bottle back in the cupboard, moving towards the door. "Best be gettin' back up on deck, Commodore. I'm sure your man Bush wants t'have some time to groom himself proper." He stops at the door, glancing back at me. "Oh, yes ... feel free to borrow old Willy, if you have a mind to. Y'might find him enlightening."

I stare at him for another moment, and press the red volume into my breeches pocket without a word, before following him out of his cabin. I have just realized that in the Game of Love, I am remarkably low on ammunition, and Jack Sparrow plays to win, with no holds barred.

Oh God.

Sunlight burns into my eyelids, and I force my eyes open to meet it, grunting a little. After a moment, I lean over, and tilt my hammock precariously as I look out to the window, momentarily disturbed before I realize this is not the Falcon but the Pearl and therefore it is perfectly all right to have Jack Sparrow sleeping in The Bed across from me.

Or rather, where Jack Sparrow was sleeping. The Bed is conspicuously empty.

I let my gaze drift warily around the cabin, not believing I have a respite from Jack. However, there is no sign of the pirate captain, which strangely makes me more unnerved than less. He could be anywhere.

...Which would be acceptable, as this is his ship and he may lurk where he wishes.

I roll out of my hammock, rubbing my bristled face tiredly as I move barefooted and stockingless to my satchel. I reach in for my shaving kit, then take my hand back quickly, blinking. There is a tiny paper ... bird atop it, decoratively and intently folded. After another moment of hesitation, I pick it up.

Jack's sweeping cursive edges one delicate wing, the simple invitation of 'Open Me' in black curling letters. My mouth twitches, as I do just that.

Commodore Jamie-love,

P.P.S.S. Do you know how adorable you are asleep? You're fortunate to be courted by such a gentleman, or I would have snuck a kiss. Or... perhaps I did. I'm sure you're dying to find out now. Bwhahaha... ~ Jack

I close my mouth tight, but a snort of laughter escapes all the same. I cannot believe he wrote out his evil cackling. How strangely endearing and ... Completely Inappropriate. Really. Sending me little love notes -- or any note of any kind. It shall not be accepted. I move to crumple it, then pause. Seems a shame to waste the paper. Beyond that, I rather want to know how he folded it, and where he learned to. So I carefully fold it as best I can and leave it atop the edge of The Bed while I get out my shaving things.

I wince a little as the muscles in my shoulders tense, then ease as I straighten again. I had forgotten how much work goes into keeping a ship moving, especially considering how few hands we have on deck. Dropping the anchor and making berth right after sunset was a considerably interesting experience, especially with a half crew of pirates and Naval officers of all creeds. Everyone was attempting to get the job done without getting too close to the other side. I must admit to some private bemusement to the thought that the pirates somehow think that respectability is a disease on the levels of the Plague.

Of course, I am sure Jack was entertaining the same thoughts about corruption and the British Royal Navy. No wonder he kept looking so amused during the whole process.

It appears Jack is keeping a great many things to himself, which makes me wonder what's going on behind those kohl-marked eyes. He's up to something. I know it.

I smirk at myself as I smooth cool soapy lather over my face, shaking my head a little. Jack Sparrow is always up to something. Why should romantic interludes be any different? At any rate, I have other things to worry about.

For one, I think I'll keep at least two of the marines in the galley area during mealtimes. If anything else they proved last night that 'backcountry boys' know how to take a mishmash of food supplies and turn it into a delicious meal. The pirates, Anamaria especially, grumbled up to the point they ate that first mouthful of savory stew crafted by Murtogg and Studson. They were blissfully silent afterwards.

For another, the rather unappealing agreement allowing the pirates have their weapons back. Scratch that, to allowing Anamaria have her weapons back. For the entire two hours that Jack Sparrow had me lounging about on deck with him after I had sent Bush and Gillette to bed, chatting with his crew and completely ignoring me, she had one hand on her trusty blade as she looked intently and unwaveringly at me. Which of course, had me staring right back at her, one hand at my sword at all times. We have heightened the term 'staring contest' to new and stubborn levels, because even after Jack nudged Anamaria and called out to me, we still didn't pull our gaze from one another.

It took Jack whispering something in Anamaria's ear to make her jerk her glare away from me to him, smacking him soundly in the arm before heading below with a growl. He grinned after her, his dark eyes watching the subtle shift of her breeches-clad hips, the only thing that marked her as a woman, before he turned to me and lifted his eyebrows expressively...

I rest the razor lightly against my throat, my green eyes darkening a touch. Watching them together - watching him react to her ... it makes me wonder why I didn't see the obvious before. They were lovers, at least for a brief time. Whatever happened between them, I have enough reason to believe that Jack began it, and Jack probably ended it. There would be no need for her to be this hostile if Jack was the rejected one. Unresolved issues aplenty, and I frankly have no need to be on the wrong side of her blade if she is jealous of what she -must- know is the reason that Jack wants me around.

Equally grating are the sharp stabs in my chest when I look at her. When I wonder if he's been pleasuring her lately. If he has been using Sweetheart to release tension .. well, that's one thing. Quite another to have a lover aboard and then chase after another potential one... which I am not. Still. He spends all this time aggravating me beyond reason, taunting me with his upcoming courtship, and he does nothing. Yet he ogles her openly, right where I can see him. If he is attempting to make me jealous .... he is doing a damned fine job.

I start to shave, sighing a little. Thinking on unresolved issues ... I had best speak to Gillette when I have a chance. He spent the entirety of last night glowering at Jack, then glowering at Bush, finally upping glower to an outright glare at Jack speaking to Bush, which happened -once-, when they left to retire for the night. That I could understand - after all Jonathan's known admiration of Jack makes him a target for possible trouble - but that really doesn't excuse Gillette coming to question me about varying niggling orders at timed intervals when Jack finally decided it was time to be abed himself. Trying to relax with a book of poetry when the man in the bed across from you is drinking rum and eying you speculatively while your lieutenant keeps knocking on the door every twenty minutes or so is rather detrimental when all you are trying to accomplish is to make yourself exhausted enough to fall asleep.

Perhaps a few words on patience and temperance? I know he is worried about my 'virtue', and more about Bush's, which... isn't such an insane leap of fretting, actually. However, Bush knows the consequences of his actions, as do I. Besides, Jonathan would never bed down with Jack, and Jack would never openly seduce another man after laying his feelings so honestly before me.

Well, somewhat honestly. He never really got around to telling me how he felt. He wants me - he said that. However, that can mean just about anything, and for God's Sake, it's Jack Sparrow. He might have women and men in every damned port city from here to China ...

I am NOT thinking about this. I am shaving. Making a valiant attempt not to slice open my own damned throat. I am not contemplating this any more.

After making it through shaving amazingly without bloodshed, I dress myself promptly and take only a moment to push the bird back into my vest pocket. On a second thought, I take the red volume of Shakespeare's sonnets, and head out and up to the deck.

The sun is bright, the sky is a shade of blue so deep it's like it was dipped in vibrant oil paint, the water calm, and there's a strong wind to the northeast. Perfect for sailing in English waters until Jack breaks down from annoyance or untold pirate greed to be a'plundering and tells me what I want to know. Or he drives me insane. One will probably occur right on the tail of the other.

I breath in the salty air deeply, one hand going to fold behind me as I look around. Down the way, Gibbs is chattering happily to Murtogg and Mullroy, as he shows them how to tie knots. The man must be dying for a fresh audience for all his stories and tales. Anamaria is checking some of the rigging on the foredeck - excellent. Then I shall head to the quarterdeck, to neatly avoid any and all confrontations. I turn briskly, pleased to see Gillette there and alone, dressed in his equivalent of normal clothing, an outfit not unlike mine, but in a dark sable brown, and he has boots to match. With Jonathan still below, it means we can finally have that talk. Andrew needs only to hold his temper until we get off this ship, then he can take all his frustrations about Sparrow out on the Ebony Sharks.

"Good morning, Lieutenant." I greet him politely. Oddly enough, he is frowning at the sky. Hm. Perhaps a heavier wind than we would desire? It is gusting a bit.

He jerks his eyes downward, then offers me a curt nod, his expression dark but controlled. "Good morning, sir."

"Status report?" I ask, moving to his side, fixing my gaze on the horizon before us. We must be heading north - the breezes seem cooler than the normal balmy heat of the Caribbees.

"We were underway in goodly time, sir, about an hour ago. I thought it best to get the northeastern winds in our sails." Gillette's tones ease. "I hope I wasn't too presumptuous, sir."

"Absolutely not, Lieutenant. In fact I am pleased to find this ship, of all ships, running in such a smooth manner." I say, glancing over at him.

Gillette's stance straightens a little, and he looks over at me with the barest hint of a smile in his dark eyes. "Thank you, sir." He glances upward again, and his body tenses a little more.

"Is there a problem, Gillette?" I remark, frowning.

"It's ...nothing, sir. I just find myself a little perturbed over the easy acceptance of the 'pirate way of life' from our crew and junior officers." Gillette's voice breathes sarcasm. "Especially from our junior officers. I was being snotty when I suggested a statue in Sparrow's honor, but apparently Lieutenant Bush plans on taking me seriously."

"I think you are a little more than perturbed, Andrew. I think you are out and out enraged." I say, bracing myself for his fierce look. I am not amiss in my caution, because his glare could cook eggs readily enough. "I am not that upset. Bush can worship any pirate he likes, even ones that have so handily humiliated his senior officers... apparently."

"You are that upset. You never use the word 'apparently' unless you are, and you've said it twice in the past minute." I lift one eyebrow, waiting for his sputtering protests to taper off.

It doesn't take long, and finally he begrudgingly says, "...Well, perhaps I am. But just watching Jonathan fawn over that bedraggled criminal, after all he's done to you, James. It makes me want to throttle Jonathan for being that pirate's sycophant."

"You realize he is just saying those things to get a rise out of you, correct?" I ask, my lips lifting in momentary wryness. "Besides, I hardly think a polite 'good evening' is worthy of such ire."

"Over that? No. However, it has gone well into the morning." He tilts his head upwards, and this time I follow his gaze to the mizzen mast, where on one of the broad yardarms I see two figures speaking cheerily to one another. My entire body stiffens when I realize who those two figures are. Jack Sparrow in his normal raggedy wear, and Jonathan in his neat grey breeches, white shirt and no vest, with a sturdy pair of black boots on his feet. Chatting away like old schoolmates.

"..And just how long have they been up there?" I ask quietly, taking a step closer. I have no idea what Jack just said to Jonathan, but apparently it was hilarious. "The better part of an hour." Gillette grumbles behind me. "They've become quite chummy."

"So it would seem." I can hear the iciness in my voice, and do not bother to correct it, as I continue to watch the pair high above us both.

"..Glad to know I'm not the only one perturbed." Gillette comments dryly. I turn to give him a look, and he returns it with a bitterly amused smile, "You only say, 'So it would seem', James, when you are close to contemplating homicide."

My lips compress together, and I do not bother to answer as I turn to gaze upwards again. Perhaps they can feel the weight of my and Gillette's glares, because Jack and Jonathan both look down to the helm at the same time. Jack gently hits Jonathan's arm, says something with a waggle of his eyebrows, and Jonathan leans in close ... what is that noise? Oh. That would be me, grinding my teeth together.

A moment later, Jonathan is scaling down to the deck lightly, greeting Murtogg and Mullroy with a brilliant salute. He ambles up towards us, and I can hear him humming under his breath. He shoots off another salute, jaunty and filled with animation, "Good day, Commodore! Gorgeous morning, if I say so myself."

I glance over at Gillette, as he looks over at me. Then we turn and look off at the horizon together.

"Apparently." Is his crisp reply.

"So it would seem." Is my own deathly still one.

"...Oh now what could you two possibly be upset over? It's a beautiful morning!" Bush protests, as his gaze darts from me to Gillette in surprised bafflement.

"I suppose one could say that," Gillette drawls out flatly, "Captain Sparrow seems to be enjoying it well enough."

"Is this about me chatting with Captain Sparrow?" Bush looks between our two stoic faces, and heaves out a sigh, "Yes, I suppose it must be. We are on his ship, sirs. I will occasionally have to have words with him."

'Yes, but do you have to look like you're enjoying it so much? Does he?' I bite back the words through sheer will, raising my chin a little as I look at Bush. "Your point is taken, Bush. However, considering your past ... interest in Captain Sparrow's career, you'll note our concern is valid."

Bush's eyes flash, and his stance straightens a little, "Commodore Norrington, Lieutenant Gillette - if my behavior has been anything less than proper, and I have given you enough reason to doubt my loyalty to you or the Navy, then I suggest that you put me in irons and throw me in the brig immediately. However, I will not have rank accusations thrown at me without proof. So I suppose I should be asking you both, respectfully, if you are impugning my honor, sirs?"

I pause, a feeling of shame stabbing me directly in the chest. Here I am, worried about Gillette's emotions getting the better of him, not to mention Bush's interest in Jack compromising his judgment. So what in God's name am I doing? I clear my throat before speaking, "My apologies, Lieutenant Bush, if you believed I doubted your honor in this situation."

Behind me, Gillette sounds almost completely contrite, "My own apologies, Lieutenant. I didn't mean to imply you were in any way untrustworthy."

Bush's ire melts away like frost in the sun, and he gives us both an amused smirk, "Gentlemen, I realize we are aboard a pirate ship where we might meet our ends at any moment, and we are no closer to finding the Ebony Sharks than we were when we left Port Royal, not to mention that we are stuck with the one pirate who drives you both to complete and total madness. However," He steps between us, resting a hand apiece on our shoulders, "You really need to lighten up."

Gillette snorts a laugh, and I just shake my head ruefully. Bush grins at us both, then nudges me with one hand, "And speaking of madness and our 'hostage', Captain Sparrow would like the pleasure of your company aloft, sir."

I let out an a long breath, muttering, "And so it begins... Bush, if you would take my sword?" Bush complies with a quiet smile, as I let my eyes move up to the mizzen mast, where Sparrow is moving back and forth between the yardarms with a fluid grace that surprises me. On land, he seems so completely hapless, almost always falling over his own feet. Or off of loading arms. Or fort walls. Yet here, on this ship, it is like he is completely in control of every minute movement of his body. The way his arms pull the rigging to him in a sharp, practical elegance. The way he walks, muscled calves and limber legs moving not unlike a dancer, always sure of the steps being in time with the music of the ocean...

I really must stop waxing poetic.

I eye the rigging, and my shoes. It's been quite awhile since I've tested out the hand carved notches in these. Might as well see if they are up to Mr. Weston's, Port Royal's cobbler, skill and reputation. I grasp the side of the rope ladder leading up, my gaze moving momentarily across the deck, and catching Anamaria's eye from across the desk. Wordlessly, she lifts her chin at me, and I silently lift my own in turn. After another moment, she snorts, and returned to her work. I smile thinly, and began to ascend upwards.

I find Jack holding the mast as I climb up to join him, an amused smile on his golden face. "Well, well ... don't we look all fine and riled this mornin'. Bit of a trouble with Johnny?"

It takes me a moment to understand just who Jack is speaking of, and I frown as I pull myself up to sit on the yardarm. "Lieutenant Bush is in no trouble whatsoever - as long as he can keep himself from being lured into a criminal life by yourself."

"Me? Try t'convince a member of his King's Service to join mine? James, would I do such a thing?" Jack sits on the other side, peering over around the mast at me, grinning broadly.

Wordlessly, I glance down to Gibbs, and then back up to Jack, one eyebrow raised in sardonic question. Jack follows my gaze, then snorts. "Oh now, you can't be blamin' me for Gibbs. He was run out by you Naval lads long a'fore I got my hooks in him."

"True enough. However, I would be ever so grateful to you, Captain Sparrow, if you managed to keep your hooks out of the rest of my men?" I ask dryly, resting one hand on my knee as I lean over to look at him meaningfully.

"Don't think it'll be that hard, love." Jack's dark gaze bears into mine. "I'm only after the one."

Do not look away, Norrington. Control the thumping in your chest. "Is that why we're up here?"

"Well, I did want to discuss our other arrangement last night ..." Jack leans backwards, and glances down to where Gillette is at the helm. "But your l'il guard dog seemed rather insistent that I behave m'self."

"He is not my 'guard dog'. He is my subordinate and concerned for my safety in the company of a known pirate." I intone sternly.

"Another close friend then, eh? Seems a mite bit possessive to me." Jack tilts his head at me, smirking. "How'ver, I'm glad t'know he's not considered competition."

"Now that is just crude, Sparrow. Andrew Gillette has been my close friend for over eight years. His conduct has been above reproach, and frankly, I doubt he has the moral laxness to contemplate what you are ... currently contemplating." I straighten a little, looking out to the ocean.

There was a thoughtful noise from Jack, before he speaks slowly, "You'd be surprised what happens when moral men find somethin' beyond personal conduct, Commodore. Or perh'ps you simply don't know your mate as well as you think." I look sharply at him, and he raises an eyebrow at me in return, his expression calm and perhaps a little sad. Then he smiles, "I'm jest miffed he kept interruptin' your reading. I would have liked for you to get more into old Willy."

"I have sufficient experience with the Bard that the interruptions weren't that calamitous. He is as good while being distracted as any other time." I note, making myself a little more comfortable on the yardarm. Looking back to Sparrow, I notice his expression seems to be treading on shocked, "...What?"

"You- read Shakespeare" he asks, one eyebrow raised in what can only be disbelief.

A faint flicker of irritation runs through me, "I'm familiar with his work, yes."

"...Amazin'. I'd never figured you for it. I mean, lookit you. All proper decorum and straight-laced down to yer boots." Jack grins, looking off to the horizon. "I thought you'd have your nose stuck in some tome of military history, half the time."

My glare narrows a little, before I grab one of the lines running down, leaning closer to Jack as I begin to recite from memory,

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed,
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed:
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee."

Jack's kohl-lined eyes widen, as a slow look of pleasure crosses his face. It is tempered, however, with a mark of caustic humor as he drawls slowly. "Well isn't that all fine and pretty. But every schoolboy knows that one, love."

"Aaah, a challenge then? Very well. Name a sonnet. Any sonnet, and I will recite it." I reach into my breeches pocket, and hand over the volume.

The expression of pleasure goes from sardonic to purely bemused as Jack takes up the book, and starts flipping through it. Halfway through he stops, and eyes me. "Sonnet 25."

A smile dusts my face momentarily, before I speak in slow, metered tones, putting as much feeling as I am able into the words,

"Let those who are in favour with their stars
Of public honour and proud titles boast,
Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars
Unlook'd for joy in that I honour most.
Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread
But as the marigold at the sun's eye,
And in themselves their pride lies buried,
For at a frown they in their glory die.
The painful warrior famoused for fight,
After a thousand victories once foiled,
Is from the book of honour razed quite,
And all the rest forgot for which he toiled:
Then happy I, that love and am beloved,
Where I may not remove nor be removed."

Jack shifts his head to the side, bemusement warring with enchantment. "Well, well. I am impressed, Jamie. Didn't know the heart of a warrior poet dwelt in that Navy breast of yours."

I lean back, inclining my head just so, before asking curiously, "I impress you?"

"Consistently so, love. Every time I meet you, James Norrington, y'surprise me again. At first I thought you were this stiff-necked tosh with nothin' on your mind than a quick promotion and bloodthirsty t'boot." Jack smiles wryly, before moving to stand.

My eyebrows arch, from surprise and a silent ironic understanding, for was I not thinking that myself in different directions about Jack yesterday past? "Indeed ... and what is your considered opinion now?"

Jack looks down at me, a quietly wry smile on his face. "Don't know how a fine man like you ever got into the Navy, m'self. Now, up with you." Off of my dubious expression, he grins, "C'mon, then. I won't bite unless you ask nicely. I want t'head up higher, check the skyline for storms."

"Hm.. " I balance myself, pulling up to my feet by means of one of the ropes. "Of course you realize, Sparrow, the same question applies. I wonder how a man of self-education to your degree can possibly be a pirate."

".. Make a bet with you, love. First one to the top gets to hear the answer of the loser, right off." Jack's smile flits to mischievous. "B'sides, are y'not the one who told me y'could still get to the top of the riggin' before me?"

"So I did .." I smirk in return, as we swing over to the two ladders hanging along the mast. With a count of 'three, two, one', we are climbing, hand over foot, as quickly as we can. Trust me, there has never been a moment where I have been so glad of being as tall as I am than now. I reach the topmost yardarm, slightly breathless, fighting a grin as I wait for Sparrow to climb up on the other side. "Well, Captain Sparrow, I believe you owe me a story?"

"..Long legs. What I wouldn't give for a pair o' longer legs." Sparrow grumbles, as he hoists himself up. He throws me a mock fierce look, before his faces crumbles into a merry laugh. He holds unto the top of the mast, gesturing out to the broad bowl of emerald water and cerulean sky beyond, sparkling in the sunlight, "There. All that. The pure freedom of bein' able to spend every bless'd day of my life out here, answerin' to no one but m'self." The laugh has faded, but the open warmth remains, making him look like a boy, "I grew up in London, y'see. One of the 'respectable poor', no chance of a better education than what I could pick up from books at corner booths and m'stepfather. He's the one who taught me how to read, make m'letters, and mathematics."

"Mathematics?" My eyebrows tilt upwards.

"He was a cartographer, y'see. Sort of necessary in his line of work t'know how to use bigger numbers beyond ten. He used t'sit me down with him, because I could sit quiet and listen unlike the rest of the noisy brood of children in our house, and show me about all the different places in the world - Africa, the Far East, and o'course the Colonies. I was set and determined t'go to those places, when I was old enough."

"You could have joined the merchant marines, however, and gotten to do the same." I observe, leaning against the mast.

"What makes you think I didn't? I found the whip and the measly rum rations were not to m'liking, however. So I decided robbing those who could afford it was much more along the lines of an independent entrepreneur such as myself, so I became a pirate. O'course, I couldn't get behind the rapin' and the killin' - m'mother would box my ears silly, but the pillagin' suits me just fine." Jack's dark eyes dance brightly at the startlement that must be clear on my features, before he looks to the water again. " 'Sides, pirate is in m'blood, and I had to square with that, same as Will."

I frown for a moment, before comprehension comes to me. "Your real father?"

"Aye, but I don't know if you could call him that. Leavin' a woman to fend for herself and three lil' ones don't much strike me as much of a paternal influence." Jack's voice is low, and I can hear the anger ebbing around the edges.

"As you are generally the same line of work ... did you ever get to meet him again?" I ask, before adding, "Of course, you don't need to answer that."

"Don't you worry about me, James. I'm stronger than I look." Jack says with a hint of a smirk to his full lips, "And yes, I did meet 'im once more. But that is another story for another time. Your turn, Commodore."

"It isn't nearly as interesting. I am the second son of a gentleman magistrate, and my choices were the clergy, or the Navy. I decided I would rather hold a sword than a bible." I shrug, a faint smile touching my lips. "Besides, I was never happier when I was near water. I grew up outside of Portsmouth, and I used to look upon the times I could go down to the harbor with my father with greater anticipation than Christmas. We used to take walks along the docks, while he talked about what was usually on his mind, the upholding of the law. Although I am afraid my mind was half on the ships and half on the lessons."

"Hmm, that explains the Navy, and the barrister father explains the interest in justice ... now explain the pirate huntin'." Jack's keen gaze is hard to escape from.

My jaw tenses, as I look out to the water once again, "I am not only the second son, but also the middle child in my family. I have one sister, Anne, who seven years older than myself. When we were growing up, my mother was always busy with the younger children, so it was to Anne that I ran with the newest toy ship I had built, or my scraped knees. She was always there, no matter the small problem, and we grew closer because of it. I thought of her quite possessively as mine, and when I was five I was silly enough to tell her I was going to marry her when we were older. She smiled, and never laughed, which I always remember fondly of her. However, as time passed, and as young ladies often do, she found herself a sweetheart."

Here I pause, and I force the pain out of my voice as I keep speaking. "His name was Jonas, and he was a first lieutenant on a fine ship of the line. I wanted to hate him with all my nine-year-old heart for taking Anne away from me, but instead of pushing me off as any other suitor would have, he drew me into their conversations. He used to sit me next to him, talking to me about the Navy - what sorts of ships he had seen, and all the wonderful new places he had visited. He even helped me build a few scale models - just he, Anne and myself. I came to love him as dearly as I did Anne, and began to look forward to the day when he became my brother by law, if not by blood. He was one of the few who saw early on I was destined to be a sailor, and with that in mind he presented me with my first sword on my tenth birthday, just before he left for sea again. It was a toy sword - but made to look just like the one he wore at his own hip. I promised him that I would polish it every day, just to show him how well cared for it was when he came home again. He was .. well, he was my hero, and I wanted him to be proud of me."

There is a moment of silence, before Jack asks quietly, "When did he die?"

I take in another deep breath, "On the voyage back from Nassau. He had just gotten his first commission as Captain and his own ship, and he was coming home to formally ask my father for Anne's hand. His ship ran afoul pirates, and the blackgards slaughtered all aboard. When Anne found out, she wouldn't leave her room for weeks, and I ... I took up my little toy sword and hacked my mother's rosebushes to pieces in my fury, pretending they were the pirates that had taken Jonas away from the both of us." My voice drops low, the rage still fresh, after all these years, "I swore that I would never let another pirate take something precious away from me, or from anyone else, ever again."

I look out to the water, my entire body straight and tense, like an oak tree facing the storm. Immovable in my silent anguish. It takes me a moment to realize, in my stillness, the hand curving around my own on the mast. Warm, rough, and callused fingertips rub the back of my hand, soothing in their small circular movements. I glance over at Jack, as he quietly looks at me in turn, and I am struck anew by that look that says, 'Yes, I understand.' Like the day of his escape, like the day on the cliff. The look that tells me if he could, he would take all the pain away. I swallow, lost in those eyes, lost in Jack's openness and heartfelt grief for me.

Lost in Jack.

When he finally speaks, it startles me enough that I nearly jerk away, then remember I am a good one hundred and more feet above the deck itself. Jerking away could mean falling, and I want to do little of that. One way, or the other.

Again there is that note of tired patience in Jack's voice, of a man who has long become accustomed to waiting, "It's going t'take quite a bit to get you to trust me with your heart, isn't it Jamie? I being a pirate, gettin' ahold of something that precious."

I open my mouth slightly, then close it, and my expression also closes. There is no way I can answer that question honestly, so best not to answer it at all. A tart smile touches Jack's generous mouth, before he leans forward a bit, whispering, "Don't worry love, I've got trust in you, 'n that's half the battle. Here, let me show you."

And then..

And Then The DAMNED IDIOT LETS GO OF THE MAST!!

He's starting to fall! NO! My heart jerks in my chest, as I lurch around the mast to grab him, yanking him to me with one arm as my other hand tightens its grip on the ropes, holding us upright. His arms come around my waist, making balancing and pulling us to safety a little bit easier. My shaking him fiercely, however, must be detrimental, but frankly at the moment I don't give a damn. "What the HELL did you think you were DOING?! Are you trying to get yourself KILLED?!"

...The bastard is laughing! Laughing his insane head off, making all the beads and trinkets jingle. I give him another shake, growling, and he looks up at me, grinning that knowing golden smile as he speaks in that slow, sensual way of his, "O'course not, love. I jest thought you needed a bit of an example. See, I know that if I ever start t'fall - you'll be there to t'catch me."

"...You are completely out of your mind. And I want to get down, right this instant." I say stiffly, rather aware that Jack has his arms around me snugly and I have one arm around him in a manner just as comfortable.

"Hmm. Alright, Jamie. I'll just let go then.." I feel his arms start to loosen around my waist.

"Don't you DARE!" I hiss, clinging to him ever the more tightly. He's laughing again. The sound tickles right next to my ear as I haul us both closer to the relative safety of the mast. "I swear to GOD, Jack Sparrow, you are but a moment away from the thrashing of your life."

"Ye-es, my fine Navy-love. What-ever you sa-ay." Jack singsongs softly into my ear, but finally he releases me, and balances himself on the yardarm, one arm around the mast.

I flash him a stony look, as I move for the rope ladder, "I am heading down to the lower yardarm. I HOPE that meets with your approval, because I don't care and shall be going regardless." Well, that doesn't make me sound like a petulant child at all.

"Aye, Jamie." Jack grins down at me, before he lifts his chin. "I think I'll stay up here and savor your warmth a moment longer, seein' as you don't mind."

I pause, staring up at him, but he is already looking out to the ocean, a peaceful expression coming over his face as he closes his eyes, letting the wind whip his hair away from his elegant features, the sharp slope of his golden cheekbones. I hold unto the ladder, silent and marveling as I gaze at him. Hating myself for it, until I finally force myself to climb down.

I stop every few rungs, however, and look up again. To Jack, beautiful and free, letting the wind and his ship take him to wherever his heart tells him. To a desire that seems just out of my reach.

"..So this is where your heart truly lies, then?" I ask, not believing this. Not believing that Elizabeth is about to walk away from me, and go with Turner, of all people. Where there is nothing left for him but a hangman's noose.

She lifts those brown eyes to me, a heartbeat of regret flickering across her lovely face, before she responds firmly, "It is."

I feel it in me, the sinking of my heart, the ground crumbling away from my feet, and my gaze moves down with it. Catching momentarily the flicker of Jack Sparrow's face, the pain mirrored there, before I am looking at the flagstones. There is nothing left, is there? My heart's fondest wish - gone. Gone forever.

"Oh really, James. All this melodrama?" A warm and friendly voice sounds in my ear, and I jerk my head up, to find Jonathan standing off to the side, his arms crossed over his ridiculous pirate outfit.

I glare at him, dimly aware that the scene around me is still moving, despite his interruption. Jack is swaying around, cavorting his little speech, "Well! I'm actually feeling rather good about this..."

"Look at him. He enjoys playing the fool - because that's what's expected of him. The foppy pirate, drunk on rum, and on life. But he knows you know better." Jonathan's wry comment draws my gaze back to him momentarily. His dark eyes meet mine, "You both know better."

I can feel the scowl curving over my lips, but I'm startled back to the scene by Jack's voice, the press of him so close to me. "I want you to know that I was rooting for you, mate." So close - those lips, those eyes, the scent that has been driving me to near madness..."Know that."

Then he is moving, and it takes all my resolve not to grab him and pull him towards me, to feel the comforting press of his body against mine again.

"You want him, James." Jonathan is right beside me, as Jack pulls away, his voice a sibilant whisper, "You know you do."

"It's not right, Jonathan. You and I both know that..." I murmur, watching Jack as he looks to Elizabeth almost wistfully. As I must be looking at him now.

"All I know, James, is that since Jonas died you've closed yourself off to even the possibility of real love and passionate emotion. You are afraid of letting anyone in again, of -losing- them. That's why you love Elizabeth but could never open your heart to her like William did. Now, look at you. You're falling in love and you won't even admit it. Morals and laws have become your excuse not to feel." Jonathan looks me dead in the eye, before moving up the steps, behind Jack, to Jack's side. "You're so damned repressed, by the time you're forty you'll -probably- explode."

"I am being faithful to my duty, my position and my reputation!" I answer fiercely, moving towards him and Jack, eyes flashing.

"You are being nothing more than a liar, James Norrington!" Jonathan looks at me, no little contempt in his gaze, "So take this warning in hand, my friend. The love you let slip away, will be the love you lose forever," He touches Jack's arm, making the pirate turn towards him, "There are others, after all, who will be more than glad to take Jack Sparrow's heart from you..."

Jack looks at him, a mix of wonder and tenderness, a look once thrown in my direction, lips parting slightly as he shifts towards Jonathan's own mouth.

"...STOP!" And I am moving forward, my heart screaming in agony. I will not lose again, I will not, and I will keep yelling to keep those two apart I will I will don't you touch him he's mine he's mine no no no no no...

"NO!" I jerk awake, sweat dripping down my face as I shoot upright in the hammock, nearly capsizing myself over. Gasping, breathless - confusion reigns in the darkness of the cabin. I press my hands over my face, trying to think, but nothing but panic and fear are clear in my head.

"...J'ms?" A sleepy, muffled call from across the way, from the reason of my torment and my savior, all in one, for his voice brings me to myself abruptly. "Y'alright?"

"...I'm fine, Sparrow." Glad for the darkness, glad for the ability to lie with my voice so I do not have to force myself to lie with my face and my body. "Just a ... a bad dream."

"Sounds l'ka doozy.." Again comes the muffled voice, and I turn towards the figure, small, slight and sprawled haphazardly across The Bed. "Y'need to talk?"

"No." I say sternly, then amend with a little more courtesy, "I .. just want a little quiet. I'll fall back to sleep soon."

"A'right, then." Minutes pass, as I lay back down, trying to breath, trying to force the panic from my veins. Try not to think of what that dream heralds about my state of mind on the matter of Jack Sparrow. My silent remonstrations are cut off by Jack's voice once more, "You're not asleep yet, mate."

I lift my head slightly, trying for a disgruntled sniff. "How would you know?"

"Your breathin' gets heavier when you're sleepin'. Not t'mention you curl up on one side." Jack's voice sounds strangely echoing, yet close.

"...How do you know I wasn't about do that?" I return, frowning at the dark head across the way.

"B'cause you're still breathin' hard, and I know I haven't done anythin' to you to warrant that sort o' reaction." Comes the amused reply.

Oh, Sparrow, if you only had an inkling ... "It was a dream that startled me more that it should have."

"'Bout what?" Shadowed form sitting up, and ... he sleeps without a shirt. I didn't know that. Of course, for the past two nights I've been fast asleep before him. The dark eyes look remarkably inquisitive, even in the dead of night.

I look over at him, speaking slowly. "I was dreaming of a pirate that I couldn't catch. A ... metaphorical pirate." He has rather interesting scars and tattoos marking his golden skin. I didn't notice them before. Well, mostly because I was distracted with how naked he was - Concentrate, Norrington.

There's a long pause, before Jack says with a carefully quiet tone. "You're havin' nightmares about pirates that you can't catch. Metaphorical pirates, no less."

"Yes. Precisely." I state quite emphatically. There is no way in Hell I am giving away any more than that.

"Mate, y'need yourself a girl." A pause, and then a wicked metal smile in the dark, "Or a man. Or a man who is a pirate so y'don't need t'go chasing metaphorical ones in your dreamings..."

"Good Night, Jack." I declare loudly, dropping back into my hammock, trying not to feel strangely comforted by the soft laughter that accompanies my statement. Beautiful, rich laughter from that beautiful, rich man. I close my eyes, briefly allowing myself to imagine myself hearing it against my bare skin - and am a moment later drifting away.

The day is a little more overcast than I would like. I frown grimly as I pull the laces of my shirt firmly closed at the slight chill to the morning air, scanning the horizon as I step up to the weatherdeck. The Pearl makes excellent time, I must say. I can see the dim outline of land off in the distance - what must be the Spanish-held colony of Florida.

I turn my head, noting that we are only under the power of two sails this morning, which doesn't surprise me. Considering it takes all of us to get the damned things into place, the less sails the better, in my opinion. I am in no hurry.

...Yes, I am. I am very much in a hurry, actually. The Ebony Sharks must be found, must be brought to justice. I need to be back on the -Falcon-, Captain and Commander of my -own- ship, and not this pirate vessel, fine thing she might be. I need to put a great many miles between myself and the captain of this vessel, before temptation and sin get the better of me.

I sigh, turning towards the helm, then stop dead, staring. Bush is there, standing close to Sparrow, who is leaning in to him ... My God, it's a horrible, real life re-enactment of my own nightmare. Here. Topside. I move towards them quickly, willing Jack mentally to step away from Jonathan.

Which ... he does, surprisingly enough.

Revealing a concerned looking Gillette behind them both, as all three stand in a circle, speaking in low tones. I pause, frowning, just now noting that everyone is on deck, and everyone is casting somewhat worried glances at me. The frown deepens as I move up to the quarterdeck, my voice cutting through their conversation. "...What the hell is going on?"

"Ah! Good morning, sir." Bush says, his brown eyes moving over me with outright worry. "How are you feeling?"

"Perturbed." I cross my arms over my chest, looking from each one of them with a suspicious glance. "Shall I repeat the question?"

"It's really not anything, sir. Captain Sparrow was just sharing his concerns." Gillette phrases carefully, looking from me to Sparrow, then back to me.

I press my lips together tightly, looking at Jack with no little anger. "And just what exactly has he been expressing concern over?"

"Metaphorical pirates." Jack says immediately, and off my glower, he shrugs, "Listen mate, I don't want anyone steering my ship who sees pirates that aren't really there."

"Oh for the love of - it was a nightmare. I know very well it wasn't real!" I say sharply, glaring fiercely.

"...Is that what meta-pho-ri-cal is? Not really there?" Murtogg says aloud, making my gaze turn towards him. He is standing by the mainmast, an equally stumped looking Mullroy and Studson at his side. He gulps, a little, at whatever dark expression must be on my face now. "Er, just wonderin', sir."

"Well, I was thinkin' it was the sort of where he was in a boat, y'see young Murtogg.." Gibbs says thoughtfully, leaning against one of the bulkheads. "Y'know. A ship stuck in this big meadow. Where the meadowforikal pirates would be, see? And since it's bad luck t'get off your ship in the middle of a voyage, of course he couldn't jest hop down and go chasin' after the blighter meadowforikal pirates.."

There is a long, long pause, as all of us slowly turn to stare at Gibbs.

"..What in the name of God is he talking about?" Gillette mutters behind me.

"Er, Gibbs, I think y'might be a bit off there, mate." Jack drawls slowly beside me, one eyebrow raised. "There aren't no meadows."

"...Then where do the meadowforikal pirates come from, Jack?" Gibbs asks, tilting his head in confusion.

"Metaphor. META-phor." My words come out flat and dry as a plain in the Dark Continent. "It means something that could mean something else entirely, NOT ..." I trail off, my gaze moving to the horizon. "...pirates that aren't there. Gillette, spyglass, if you would, please?" Gillette quickly put the spyglass into my grip, and I open it with a snap as I put it on the horizon.

Streaming across the water towards us is a sloop, single mast. It is obviously built for sleek speed, so why the owner chose to slow it down with gunnery allows only one conclusion. Pirate. I frown a little, adjusting the spyglass on the masthead, which looks a little odd. "Do you know of any pirate, Sparrow, that has a headless lady for a masthead?"

"Nathaniel Griger. He put that up after his wife left him for his brother." Jack says slowly, from close to my right. I look up sharply to him, and he frowns at me in return, "He doesn't have enough gunnery t'make a threat to the Pearl, even when we're this lightly manned."

"Perhaps he thinks the prize is worthy of the risk." I say bluntly, "Seeing as he is one of Lark's."

"Griger!?" Anamaria's startlement is clear on the face of all of Jack's crew, "Dat old bastard's too stubborn t'ever take orders from a woman."

"His was one of the three ships that sank the HMS Intrepid and the Haven, a passenger vessel bound for the colonies." I say, my voice quiet steel, "Captain Hobbs, late of this world and the one Lark had Griger scuttle to take the full brunt of retribution from the Navy, confirmed the name himself."

The pirate woman falls silent, her eyes tracking over the wood, her jaw tight. Then she explodes forward with a snarl, her blade out and at my throat. "You bloody bast'rd!"

I hold my ground, neither retreating nor moving forward, as around us people move in shocked silence. Gillette has drawn his pistol; I can hear the hammer pulling back, while out of the corner of my eye I see a tight-faced Rudolph, small and unobtrusive as always, moving behind Anamaria carefully. To my right, close enough that I can feel his breath ghosting across my skin, Jack speaks, voice wrought with tight anger, "Anamaria .. put it away, love."

"No, Jack! It's 'is fault we're here, and it's he who should pay the Devil's Dowry!" Her black eyes flare into mine. "B'sides, no Navy Man is afraid of dyin' for his crew, eh Commodore?"

My spine straightens slightly. "No, Anamaria, we are not. I would gladly put myself to the sword to save any soul on this ship, but it is not me your friend Griger wants. He, after all, doesn't even know I'm aboard."

The determination on her beautiful face falters, then bolsters under fresh anger. "Oh, and jest who d'you think he wants, Navy Man?" Her blade presses against my skin a bit harder.

I lean in, not allowing my expression to show pain as I whisper harshly, "You know as well as I, Anamaria. The Lark chases the Sparrow."

Her hand drops away just as quickly as it appeared, as she looks over to Jack, fear warring over all the other emotions. It takes me by surprise, frankly, for it is a look shared by every membe