Yo ho etc

So Julie wrote Pirates fic. It is slashy, eventually. It is also effing long. You can probably just jump right into it, if you prefer that sort of thing, but it might make more sense with some explanations first, so...



When this fic was begun, over a month ago, I had not yet- obviously- seen the movie. I’d seen pictures and previews, and from that I came up with a plot, and it was all completely planned long before the movie was released. I say this because in a lot of ways- most ways- this fic is very, very different from the new movie, but some things, due to inspiration and certain characterizations that were fairly obvious, are very similar. My advice is to do your best to forget the movie entirely as you read this fic, because it will only serve to muddle things.

The bits of canon, scrounged from aforementioned previews and pictures, that did influence and remain in the story are as follows: Norrington, for reasons I didn’t bother to go into within the story, was booted out of the Navy, and has become a cranky drunken shadow of his former self. At a point before the start of the fic, he and Elizabeth and Will have joined up with the Black Pearl. Jack is in search of the chest- and heart- of Davy Jones, and has already- through means again not explored within the realm of this fic- acquired the key, as well as a map of the island where the chest is buried. Norrington, through different circumstances than in the movie, picks a barfight in Tortuga. The crew has already made a trip to Tia Dalma’s, though the jar of dirt is nowhere to be found here, I’m sad to say.

I knew about the jar of dirt, actually, and I also knew that Will spent most of the movie elsewhere, but I chose to ignore that and do things my own way. Similarly, I ignored the original location of the chest of Davy Jones, and put it in the Far East instead, because that sounded like more fun to me. Variations in characterization weren’t deliberately changed- at the time I started writing, I didn’t know how snarky and bitter Norrington was going to be in the movie, which is almost a shame, but I’m not sure I could’ve written him well that way anyway. I doubt I would’ve been much better with Jack’s circumlocutions, which are likewise nowhere to be found.

Also nowhere to be found: any sort of attention paid to the other characters. I’m sorry. I did intend to, and they get little bits here and there, but this is fucking long enough without devoting chunks of time to humorous dialogue between Pintel and Ragetti, or romantic drama between Elizabeth and Will. It was difficult enough working in any kind of romantic drama between the two I’d intended this fic to be about, which is why they don’t get around to actually, y’know, DOING ANYTHING until like two thirds of the way through. We can blame this on the fact that the story is being told from Jack’s perspective, and Jack is nothing if not self-centered. Yes.

For those who are curious about that sort of thing, there are three stars marking the margin on the right side at the point I’d reached actually writing by the time I saw the movie. But, as I said, the fic was already completely planned by then, so I can’t imagine it makes too much difference.

This has been a very long introduction, but I suppose that’s only in keeping with the fic, which I have now discovered is, in fact, the longest thing I have ever written. Hopefully it’s been worth it. I leave that to you to decide for yourself, but I, at least, am satisfied.





IN WHICH Jack Sparrow is a Poor Judge of Sobriety but Not Easily Surprised, Voodoo is Practiced, a Bed is Shared, Jack does Not Kiss a Mermaid, Hen Hawkins is Much Discussed but Not Seen, and Jack Does his Best Not to be Slapped.





Tortuga isn’t even the sort of place where Jack’s likely to keep track of his own bloody crew, much less ex-Commodore Norrington, so when the man wanders off soon after they hit shore Jack’s disinclined to follow after. Elizabeth, soft-hearted thing that she is no matter how hard she hits, looks worried as she watches Norrington disappear into the crowd, and so finally, with an elaborately exasperated sigh, Jack waves a hand indicating Elizabeth should lead on as they follow after.

They catch up with him at the Faithful Bride, where he’s already comfortably situated at the bar and getting more than one suspicious look from the people nearby. He’s no longer at all recognizable as himself, of course, but no matter how ratty it gets that coat certainly is, as well as the hat, and the dirty, battered wig he’s insisting on clinging to doesn’t help much, either. With another sigh, Jack settles himself at a table with a clear view of the bar, and waves half-frantically at a passing barmaid. He’s got a feeling it’s going to be a damn long night.

Sure enough, Norrington ends up picking a fight, which was really probably his intention from the start, which would at least explain the bloody wig. By that time, Elizabeth’s had a few drinks, and as far as Jack can see the only redeeming event of the night thus far is seeing the formerly prim nearly-Mrs. Turner dressed like a pirate and halfway on her way to drunk again, and without the excuse of being marooned this time, either. Still, she’s sober enough to see that Norrington has foolishly got himself into the middle of trouble, and with a worried sideways glance at Jack she gets up from the table to discreetly join the crowd starting to surround the idiot ex-Commodore, who’s now brandishing his sword, of all stupid things.

Wondering when the hell he got such a soft heart of his own, Jack pushes himself up from the table to hang by the edge of the crowd, watching as Elizabeth sneaks up behind the ranting Norrington and smacks him in the head with a bottle, efficiently knocking him out before anyone else can have a chance to do worse damage to him. The crowd cheers, and several people start offering to buy her drinks, and in the midst of all the laughter and chatter no one notices Jack slipping through the crowd to haul Norrington up off the ground and drag him in the direction of the door, muttering to himself about the stupidity of Naval officers all the way.

By the time the night air hits them, Norrington’s already started to regain consciousness, though sobriety is still a long way off. Jack props him up against a wall a little ways from the door, keeping an eye out for Elizabeth to follow after. “Ow,” Norrington mumbles after a minute, hand going to the back of his head under the wig and almost certainly encountering a lump, judging by how hard Elizabeth hit him. Jack probably would’ve hit him harder, so he doesn’t have much sympathy. “Ow,” Norrington says again, a bit quieter, and then “What happened?”

“Elizabeth hit you,” Jack answers shortly, still frowning in the direction of the door. He glances back at Norrington to see him looking like a just-kicked puppy.

“She hit me?” Norrington asks, obviously more than just physically hurting now as his hand returns to the top of his head.

Jack rolls his eyes, decides Elizabeth probably won’t be coming out any time soon, and plucks at Norrington’s sleeve until the man steps away from the wall, immediately leaning heavily on Jack again. “Hit you to keep someone else from stabbing you, aye. Damned buggering fool, and I know from fools, mate.” From the corner of his eye as he leads the way back to the Pearl, Jack can see Norrington’s face fall even more, and sighs yet again. It isn’t that he doesn’t like the man- he does, really, did even when he was a stuffy Navy bastard who wanted to see him hanged. Jack’s grown used to spotting the good men from the bad, regardless of how they look or dress- a talent he wishes he’d developed about ten years sooner. But it serves him well enough now, anyway, that he knows that Norrington is a good man, and knows that he’s been treated roughly by just about everyone he’s had to deal with in the past year or so, Jack himself included. And so even though he is being stupid and drunk- two things Jack knows extremely well- it’s hard to blame him, and hard to not feel at least a bit sympathetic, whether he likes it or not.

Damn his soft heart.

He’s half a minute from saying some of this aloud to Norrington- the man likely won’t remember it later, anyway, and it always does Jack good to ramble at the people causing him trouble- when the man stumbles over something, or more likely nothing, and nearly sends them both crashing to the ground in the process. “Steady on, Commodore,” Jack grunts, struggling to right them again despite the fact that Norrington is a good bit taller than him, and not exactly light, either.

It might be a bit easier if Norrington seemed inclined to help at all, but he’s apparently busy sulking and doesn’t give a damn one way or the other if they end up toppled into a gutter. “Not Commodore,” he’s mumbling, and looks so morose that Jack actually feels a bit guilty. Almost.

“Norrington, then,” he amends, and gives the man a good nudge to the ribs, finally getting him mostly upright again. “Come on, help Jack along, we’re nearly there.”

“Where?” Norrington blinks at their surroundings, stopping in the middle of the road to, Jack assumes, attempt to sort out where he is and where they’re going. Which he’d probably have a hard enough time managing sober, and he is currently a long way off from that. Or perhaps, Jack thinks with some small bit of surprise as he gets a better look at Norrington’s face in the moonlight, not quite so drunk as he’d thought.

But drunk enough, and depressed either way, and Jack nudges at him again, not caring to linger- moonlit nights make him nervous, now, and being surrounded by too many shadows can lead to nightmares later if he doesn’t keep himself distracted. “To the Pearl, ‘course. No sense renting a room for your sorry ar- for you when we’ve got m’ship so near and handy.” Norrington mumbles dismally, something along the lines of “Bloody Pearl,” and Jack gives him a good hard swat to the head exactly where Elizabeth hit him, hard enough to make his hat fall off. “Don’t you say a word against my ship,” Jack scolds as Norrington yelps and clutches his head. “She never did naught to you ‘cept take you on when you’re bang smack in the middle of having a great long sulk and being a bloody nuisance left and right, picking fights where you should know better’n to even step into a place like that an’ if Elizabeth weren’t such a damned soft touch you’d’ve been left there to deal with that lot yourself, and good bloody riddance as well.”

As soon as he’s finished defending his ship’s honour, and venting a few other complaints of the moment as well, Jack takes a second to actually look properly at Norrington, dirty wig and no hat and sad eyes and one hand on his head where he’s been hit and swaying slightly in a way Jack recognizes very well, seeing as it’s the way he himself usually looks when attempting to stand still. Heaving what he hopes will be his last sigh of the night, he bends over to grab the hat off the ground and tugs the awful wig off the man’s head before placing the hat back on. Generally speaking, Jack isn’t one for apologies- as a pirate, he very rarely does anything he feels he need ought to feel guilty for, as most everything he does should really be expected behaviour from someone in his line of work. But he does like Norrington, despite himself, and even if Elizabeth hadn’t been there Jack very likely would’ve stepped in to help Norrington at some point anyway. Probably not in quite the same way, but just the same… “I didn’t mean all of that,” he says, and nudges Norrington in the direction of the ship again. “Come on, let’s get you t’ bed.”

Norrington moves along a bit easier, now, leaning on Jack slightly less and letting himself be led instead of needing to be practically pushed along. They walk in silence for a bit, Norrington still occasionally rubbing at his head, until finally he breaks the silence. “Which bits did you mean, then?”

Jack looks at him sideways- the ability to follow a conversation was not one he’d’ve expected from someone who’s been drinking as much as he’d been thinking Norrington had. Perhaps the man’s begun to build up a tolerance. Unsurprising, considering how much he’s been drinking lately. “I meant the bit about not speaking a damned thing against my Pearl. She’s a lovely fine ship and I’ll not have you saying otherwise.” Norrington nods, though which part he’s agreeing to Jack doesn’t know, and won’t bother to ask. “And I meant the bit about knowing better- if you’re lookin’ to get yourself killed, that’s no business of mine, but if I’ve got to be leaping in to save you from your own stupidity then my patience can only last so long before I kill you m’self. An’ the bit about you sulking, that I meant as well.” He mostly meant the bit about Norrington being a nuisance, too, but decides against telling the man so, since given his current mood it’d likely only make him even more difficult to deal with.

After another bit of silence, Jack adds, “Not that I can fault you for it, when all’s said. ‘s a lot of mess you’ve been through, in not long enough a time. More’n any man should have to go through that quick. Not that any of it was any fault of mine,” he reminds the man sharply, just in case he’s forgotten, “but I’m sorry for all that’s happened to you just the same.” Norrington looks at him sideways to give him a disbelieving stare, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process, and Jack can’t help but grin. “Told you I was rooting for you, mate. Wouldn’t lie about a thing like that.” Norrington, apparently at a loss as to what to say to that, looks away, and Jack laughs, steering them to the gangplank of the Pearl and taking the opportunity to discreetly drop the wig overboard as well.

Will’s on deck with Gibbs and Cotton, and Jack gives him a bit of a wave on his way to his quarters. “Get on down to the pub and bring back your fiancée, young William, unless you’d like her to really turn pirate.”

“Which pub?” he hears Will calling after as he shoulders open the door to his cabin, but doesn’t bother answering back. The boy’ll find her easy enough without needing to know precisely where; Jack would swear they had some kind of invisible chain attached to each other, except that he hasn’t actually tripped over it yet. But expects to any day now. With a faint grunt, he deposits Norrington- still quiet, almost suspiciously so- to sit on the edge of the bed while Jack goes scrounging in one of his chests.

The faint thump of weight landing on pillows makes him look up with a frown. “That’s my bed.”

Norrington blinks at him, then looks at his surroundings, then looks back at him again. “Your cabin,” he points out, which Jack knew well enough on his own without needing to be told, and so assumes that what Norrington’s really saying is why Jack’s cabin.

“I’m not puttin’ you in with the crew and having you pick fights there as well. Get out of my nice clean pillows, you’re not sleepin’ there.” Norrington blinks at him again, slower this time, reminding Jack strongly of a cat who’s just been told to budge from off a tabletop. “You’re not,” he says again, firmer, and holds up the stretch of cloth he’s dug out of the chest he’d been looking in, shaking it for emphasis. “Hammock- yours; bed- mine. I’ve dragged your arse around enough that I’m not about to try to pull you out of my bloody bed as well.” Instead of making even the slightest effort at moving, or smallest indication that he’s been listening at all, Norrington burrows down into the covers and closes his eyes, making Jack scowl even though there’s no one to see it. “Right, then,” he says, resorting to the one thing sure to get his bed free, and maybe even wake up a bit of that prim old Commodore as well, “I’m not sleeping in a hammock on my own bloody ship, so it’s either find yourself somewhere else to sleep or you’re sharing that bed with me.”

It does get a reaction, but not the one Jack had been hoping for. Instead of moving even a bit, Norrington opens one eye, looks at him a moment, then closes his eye again. Jack scowls even fiercer, then pulls a face and shrugs. It’s more than a big enough bed for two, if Norrington’s really going to be that stubborn, and though Jack prefers his bed to have slightly more pleasurable company, he’s too tired to be picky. But he’s damned well going to be comfortable, and maybe that’ll be enough to get his bed free, at least. Trying to make Norrington move over would likely take more energy than Jack’s got left at the moment, and anyway it’d probably be better, he thinks, to be between the man and the wall, instead of between the man and the floor, since he wouldn’t put it past Norrington to try to kick Jack out of his own bloody bed. But even clambering half-naked over the man’s legs to collapse beside him doesn’t make Norrington move so much as an inch, and Jack pushes himself up on one elbow to scowl down at the man, trying to sort out if he’s actually passed out drunk or not.

“If you’re sick in my bed,” he says at last, “I’m throwin’ you overboard, no matter what the Turners’ve got to say about it.” Norrington’s shoulders go tense, evidence enough that he isn’t asleep, anyway, and Jack nods firmly to himself and turns away to burrow beneath the covers.

He wakes in the middle of the night to find himself half-sprawled over Norrington- an arm across his chest and a leg pinning the other man’s down. He’s got little enough regard for personal space during the day that he doubts Norrington would be particularly surprised or offended by this, and even if he is then it’s his own fault for not moving out of the bed when Jack told him to. Still, he has no desire to be kicked when the man wakes, so he carefully edges away, tugging at the blanket draped haphazardly over his middle and trying to get comfortable again, which isn’t particularly difficult in a bed like his.

“I never had a bed as nice as this,” Norrington says suddenly, apparently not only awake but also capable of reading minds, and Jack squints at him suspiciously in the dark, wondering how long the man’s been awake, or if he’s even slept at all.

“Well,” Jack says after a moment, still squinting, “tha’s b’cause the Navy wouldn’t know quality if it bit them on the arse.” Norrington makes a noise, though whether it’s amusement or agreement or some ill-placed inclination to disagree and defend, Jack isn’t sure. “Anyway it’s wasted if you’re not goin’ t’ sleep. And give over, you’re stealin’ my blanket.” Really what he’s doing is lying on top of it, but either way it’s keeping Jack from using all of it so he gives the man a bit of a shove until he’s able to pull the edge of the covers to freedom, wrapping it back around himself where it belongs.

There’s silence again, and Jack’s almost starting to drift back to sleep when Norrington turns over to face him. Jack blinks, then raises an eyebrow, waiting for the man to say whatever it is he has to say so that Jack can get some rest. Norrington’s taking his time about it, though, so Jack’s about to turn away and close his eyes anyway when the man finally speaks. “Are they happy?” Jack’s other eyebrow raises as well, and though he doesn’t need the elaboration, Norrington provides it anyway. “El- Miss Swann. And. Turner. Are they happy, truly?”

Jack knows damn well that Norrington already knows the answer to that well enough for himself, and can’t possibly expect to get any different answer from Jack. Still, he gives it a moment’s thought before replying. “They’re young, stupid, and in love. Can’t say how well it’ll last them, but… aye, they’re happy.” Norrington looks away, and Jack rubs a hand over his eyes, sitting up a little. “An’ you already knew that for yourself without needin’ me to tell it. What’re you on about?”

Norrington looks over at him, eyes still sad but that’s about standard for him, these days, so it’s difficult to judge how much of that is from what Jack’s said. “Could she ever have been happy with me?”

There’s enough light from the moon coming through the windows for Jack to be able to clearly see Norrington’s expression, and what he sees makes him frown. “You’re not drunk enough to be asking questions this stupid.” Norrington says nothing, only blinks at him, and after a moment Jack gives an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “Neither of you would’ve been happy. You know that, an’ I know you know it and you know I know you know it and it’s the middle of the bloody night, ‘s bad enough you’re hogging up half my bed without keepin’ me awake as well. Go to sleep.” He flops back into the pillows again, wriggling around until he’s situated just right, and closes his eyes firmly.

This time, at least, Norrington doesn’t wait long enough for Jack to start dozing off. He feels the shift of weight on the mattress beside him, then the distinct feeling of someone hovering over him. “Sparrow-” Norrington starts.

“Commodore,” Jack interrupts him sharply without opening his eyes.

For a half a minute, there’s silence again, then, “Captain Sparrow.”

Jack opens one eye approvingly. “Norrington.”

Norrington’s quiet again, still hovering above him and looking pensive. If Jack were to wager a guess he’d say that even Norrington doesn’t know what it is he wants to say, or ask, or do, but after another moment, Norrington proves him wrong. “Do you really believe that? That neither of us would’ve been happy?”

He opens the other eye to look at the man seriously, soberly, as honest a face as Jack Sparrow ever makes. “Aye,” he answers, and leaves it at that.

Again, silence reigns, and Jack watches the play of expressions over Norrington’s face until the man speaks again. “Then why were you,” he rolls his eyes, a bit, and there’s almost a flash of the old Commodore there, briefly, “rooting for me?”

Jack flashes him a grin and answers without hesitation. “Because Will would’ve made a damn fine pirate.” To his own surprise, that gets him a laugh, albeit a rather disbelieving one. It makes Jack grin more, and he shrugs before turning moderately serious again. “An’ ‘cause I liked you. Still do.” Norrington’s expression turns even more disbelieving, and Jack shrugs again. “Most’ve the Navy men I’ve met’ve either been idiots or scum or both. You were neither. Just a good man doin’ your job. Can’t hold that against a man, ‘specially as I knew the risks goin’ into my chosen profession.”

Norrington looks at him for a moment, expression unreadable, then collapses back into the mattress again with a sigh. “Navy no longer, at least.” Jack nods, though whether or not the man can see it he isn’t sure. It’s harder to spot the good man, now, hidden underneath dirt and wear and cynicism and sadness and too much drink, but Jack can see he’s still there- it’s easier, times like these, when the man is quiet and apparently sober, or mostly so. “But I suppose if you can see the good in a man that wanted to see you hanged then I should just learn to accept the fact that you’re a good man as well, pirate or no.”

He hadn’t been expecting that, but Jack laughs agreeably anyway, rolling onto his stomach to prop himself up on his elbows so he can look at Norrington properly. “Aye, what with you enjoying my hospitality an’ all.” He nearly points out that Norrington’s essentially pirate himself, these days, but that would likely just send the man into more of a sulk. Since he seems, at least for the moment, to be as at peace with things as he ever is lately, Jack holds his tongue and watches Norrington in silence for a bit. “But you can do better, y’know,” he says after a while, and Norrington blinks at him.

“I’ve never met a better woman than her,” Norrington answers at last, just as Jack had begun to wonder if his meaning had been lost entirely. “She’s…” He stops himself, and settles for a half-hearted shrug instead, but Jack doesn’t need to be told- Elizabeth has more wit and spark and cleverness to her than most women Jack knows, and certainly more than the usual boring society ladies Norrington probably had to deal with before. “Anyway,” Norrington adds with a faint sigh, “couldn’t do better any longer, even if there was someone. I’d be lucky to find a pirate willing to marry me, at this rate.”

“Oi.” Jack gives him a flick to the ear for that, but a light one, and Norrington almost looks amused by it. “You could do a fair sight worse than a pirate, mate, and don’t go forgettin’ it.” Norrington rolls his eyes, still amused, and Jack can’t help but grin. “Well, it’d never be boring,” he offers, and is glad he’s up on his elbows to be able to see the smile that gets him, even as it’s accompanied by a disbelieving shake of the man’s head. “And anyway,” Jack adds after a moment, “she’s practically pirate herself, now, so you’re caught either way.”

Norrington’s face doesn’t quite fall, but he does get a quiet, thoughtful look on his face that Jack would call too broody by half, if he were asked. Jack wants to flick him again, to make him stop, but instead pokes him in the side, grinning as a thought occurs. “Or p’rhaps you’ve already found a pirate to your liking, and that’s why you refuse to clear out of my bed.”

That does get him a laugh, though it’s more like a snort. “Captain Sparrow-”

“Commodore,” Jack returns again, but there’s laughter in his tone this time.

It gets him a confused look, and then a suspicious look, and then finally a bit of a smile. “Jack,” Norrington tries, and Jack nods agreeably in response, indicating for the man to continue on. “I’d thought the goal was for better than Elizabeth. Despite your own high opinion of yourself…”

“Oi!” Jack says again, indignant, and gives him another flick, but they’re both laughing. “Could do a fair sight worse than me as well, and don’t go forgettin’ that neither, or I’ll kick your arse right out of this bed an’ you can sleep on the floor.” Norrington rolls his eyes, but still looks amused, and Jack thinks that it’s worth missing out on some sleep, really, to get the man to stop being such a moody idiot for a while. Still, there’s things that need doing tomorrow, and Jack’s starting to yawn. “Or don’t sleep, ‘m not your mum. Do what you like.” He topples sideways again, one arm settling under his head as his eyes close. “Jus’ do it quiet-like.”

He can still feel Norrington watching him, and after a moment opens one eye to squint at the man, who gives him a bit of a half-smile before rolling over himself and settling down to sleep, or stare at the ceiling, or do whatever it is he intends to do with the rest of the night. Jack, however, intends to sleep, and after another moment of watching the now-still Norrington, Jack lets his eye fall shut again, and sleeps.



They leave Tortuga in the morning, Will and Elizabeth aboard again and standing close together at the stern, talking together and looking disgustingly besotted. Jack rolls his eyes and pulls a face and turns away, and immediately spots Norrington, who was gone from Jack’s cabin as though he’d never been there by the time Jack woke, and who’s now watching the pair of lovebirds as well and looks no happier about it than Jack feels. For a moment he feels a pang of pity for the man, but shrugs it off- he’d almost certainly hate to be pitied anyway, and besides Jack’s got other things that need doing. That in mind, he glances up at the rigging, and frowns at the fore-topsail, which isn’t quite as stiff as he’d like- it’s only wasting a bit of wind, but there’s still that bit, and if his Pearl isn’t using every last scrap of wind there is then she isn’t happy, and if she isn’t happy then neither is Jack.

He squints higher- Dibbens and Crimp are aloft, doing the devil only knows what to the main-topgallant sail. Cotton and Marty are close to hand on deck, Evers is at the helm, he spotted Pintel, Ragetti, Moises, and Gibbs in the galley on his way on deck, and he knows the rest of the crew would come running at a word, or rather a shout. Jack twists a face, weighs his options, then calls out “Norrington,” and looks over at the man to see him looking back. “That topsail there.” He can just about hear everyone within hearing range go still, waiting to see if he’s going to say more, but he doesn’t; simply watches Norrington, and Norrington watches back, and after a moment the other man looks away to squint upwards.

The man barely so much as glances at the sail, but Jack can see that Norrington immediately spots his meaning and before either of them has a chance to say another word, Norrington’s aloft and battening the sail himself. Jack watches for half a moment before looking away to glare fiercely at everyone else on deck, a half dozen staring faces immediately turning away as though they’d never been looking at all. Jack turns back in time to catch Norrington dropping to the deck a few feet away, and the two look at each other for a moment, and though it’s Norrington who cracks and smiles first it’s only by a slim margin.

Jack wanders to lean against the starboard rail, and a moment later Norrington’s beside him, the both of them resting their elbows against the wood and staring out to sea. The silence is companionable, and Jack’s content to be still and quiet for a bit until Norrington speaks, voice low enough that only the two of them can hear. “I haven’t done that in years.” Jack shoots him a sideways grin, nothing but a quick flash of gold in the sunlight, and Norrington shakes his head, amused, still looking out at the horizon. “I suppose it was only a matter of time before I turned pirate. The rum makes it rather inevitable.”

“Helpin’ don’t make you crew,” Jack corrects him immediately- not that he wouldn’t take Norrington on as crew in a heartbeat, if the man wanted, but Jack knows he doesn’t, not really. Helping, though, will at least give him something to do, apart from brooding and sulking and drinking, and Jack doesn’t imagine the Navy approves of its Commodores, say, climbing to the main-royal yard just for the joy of it. Norrington could use a bit of time spent sailing properly, without all the braid and brocade to weigh him down. And Jack can always use another hand around, especially one accompanied by a sharp eye. “Not a pirate yet. We’ve got rules, y’know. Guidelines. Rum’s only part of it.” He snickers to himself, suddenly- remembering Elizabeth describing rum as a drink that turned even the most civilized men into complete scoundrels. Only partly true after all, Jack thinks, though he won’t be saying so to her. She packs one hell of a wallop, and Jack gets slapped often enough as it is.

“What’s the rest of it?” Norrington asks, interrupting Jack’s thoughts, and Jack’s immediate response is a noise along the lines of “hn?” so Norrington explains, though Jack probably would’ve caught up in a minute on his own anyway. “The rest of the rules. Or guidelines. So that I can avoid a complete transformation from Navy to pirate.” He shoots a wry glance in the direction of the stern, where Gibbs is now talking with Will and Elizabeth, and Jack snickers again.

Before he can answer, there’s a splash in the water not far from them, and Jack cranes to see what it might’ve been. Dolphins like to follow the Pearl at times, chasing her and then leaping on ahead, and Jack likes to watch them and sometimes give them a bit of a race, but there’s none to be seen now. Norrington’s looking as well, and glances at Jack when it’s clear that whatever caught their attention, it won’t be doing so again. “Probably a mermaid,” Jack says, and looks away, knowing that if a mermaid doesn’t want to be seen then she won’t be, no matter how hard he looks.

Norrington snorts in answer, and Jack turns back to him, eyebrows raised. “There’s no such-” Norrington cuts himself off abruptly, and Jack smirks, smug, knowing full well what’s made him stop. Jack’s always been aware that there were more things in heaven and earth and so forth, but the mess with Barbossa would be enough to convince anyone, even the most skeptical stiff-upper-lipped twits. And now with Davy Jones’ crew on top of it, Norrington would have to be a fair sight stupider than Jack thinks he is to flat-out deny the possibility- or probability, really, with the way their lives have tended lately- that just about every story they’ve ever heard has been true. Jack could point all this out, of course, could tease the man a bit, but it’s easier just to return to the former conversation and let discussions of the supernatural wait for another time.

“Can’t tell you the rules, that’s one of the rules. They’re only for pirates to know.” Pirates and people like Elizabeth who were technically born to be pirates, but just maybe haven’t found that out yet. How they’re going to get her back into corsets and petticoats when all this is through, Jack doesn’t know, and is glad he won’t be there to see them try. It’d be funny, of course, but he’s sure her father would blame him, and he’d almost certainly end up getting hit at least once. “Gibbs c’n tell you all sorts of superstitions an’ stories, though, if you’d like.” He doesn’t even need to look at Norrington to know what sort of face the man’s making, and with a snicker and a grin Jack makes a big production of turning in the direction of the stern as if to wave Gibbs over.

When he looks, though, he sees that Gibbs is gone, and Will and Elizabeth are walking to starboard to join them. Jack turns away to make a face of his own- he likes Will and Elizabeth fine, of course he does, loves them really, at least as much as he loves anyone who isn’t himself; but he’d been enjoying breaking Norrington’s foul mood a bit and being around the soon-to-be newlyweds is almost certainly going to make the man a broody drunken bastard again. Which is no fun at all for anyone and especially not Jack, who’d been warming to the idea of having someone around worth talking to who isn’t crew, or attached at the hip to someone else and wandering around like a pair of bloody Siamese twins, and wandering right up over to the side, in fact, to look at the sea with Norrington and Jack. “What are we looking for?” Will asks, and Jack looks over at them to see that Will and Elizabeth are both studying the horizon carefully, as though there’s something to be found on it apart from the endlessness of it, the beauty of it, the fact that it’s there, and he takes back what he’d been thinking and saying about the both of them- neither has half so much natural born pirate in them as Norrington, whether the man likes it or not, because love of the sea is a pirate trait, and the desire to possess her is a Navy sailor’s, and Norrington’s definitely got more in him of the former than the latter.

“Mermaids,” Jack answers after a moment, and Elizabeth laughs.

“Jack,” she scolds teasingly, “you shouldn’t bother poor James with such nonsense.” Jack’s standing near enough to Norrington that he can sense it as the man tenses, and flutters a hand vaguely- just another gesture, so far as can be seen, but it makes Norrington untense the slightest bit, and Jack can’t help but smile at that. “But if you’re already bothering him anyway,” Elizabeth adds, peering over the side of the ship eagerly now that she’s added her one obligatory nod to primness to the conversation at hand, “what sort of mermaids are they? Fierce ones, or friendly?”

It’s possible, Jack thinks, that the splash might’ve been one of Davy Jones’ crew, and he’d thought of it distantly before as well; possible, but unlikely, because Davy Jones isn’t the sort to muck about with subtle things like that. And they aren't in waters anywhere near deep enough to be holding the kraken. But that doesn’t mean that the splash wasn’t from some unfriendly creature just the same. Still, “Friendly,” he says, because they won’t be seeing anything no matter how hard they look and it’s nicer to think of sweet, pretty Elizabeth looking for sweet, pretty mermaids than it is to think of some sort of siren tearing a hole in the Black Pearl’s hull.

As they’re finally giving up and turning away, Jack lingers for a moment, only half-listening to the conversation Elizabeth is forcibly drawing her former and current fiancées into. Though Jack feels more sympathy for Norrington, he can’t help feeling a bit badly for Will as well- Elizabeth is stubborn, and was raised well, and Will is far out of his depth in knowing how to deal with the situation he’s found himself in. Jack’s smiling as he looks at the horizon again, and just as he’s about to step away from the railing and follow the others down to the galley, he hears another splash and looks down in time to catch a flash of dark skin and auburn hair as they disappear under the water again. Ah, he thinks, and smiles to himself, and goes in search of lunch.


They’re traveling with a bare enough crew, and through calm enough water, that no one so much as bats an eye when Jack takes midwatch for himself, and even if they had he’s the captain, and Captain Jack Sparrow besides. So midnight finds him alone on deck, though it isn’t until near on 2 that he hears the splash again, portside this time, and steps to the rail of the ship to look over and nearly bangs smack into the mermaid who’s pulled herself up to sit on one of the steps built into the hull.

She’s all browny-red curls and gold-tan skin and pretty green eyes, pretty as mermaids always are, but she isn’t there for Jack to ogle, so he leans back a bit and gives her a smile, which she returns sweetly. “What is it you’re after, love?” he asks her, and she smiles wider, leaning up a bit more.

“Just one little kiss?” she answers, arms stretching up, but Jack leans back further and gives her a frown. He kissed a mermaid, once, on a night quite a bit like this when he was much younger. He can still remember the cold clamminess, the taste of seaweed on his lips and the flat-out terror of nearly being dragged overboard into the deep dark embrace of mermaid and sea both. He doesn’t kiss mermaids anymore.

The one he’s facing now pouts, and he rolls his eyes, gesturing for her to get on with it- mermaids don’t follow a ship for nothing, and Jack knows better than nearly anyone that he’s a thing worth chasing, but even he isn’t quite that good. Finally she sighs, bosom heaving attractively, but Jack stays focused on the fact that she’s speaking again, or at least tries to. “Tonton Skelly and Matant Jemma sez t’ visit, and soon, or else.” Now that she’s not trying to seduce him, Jack can hear the touch of Creole in her voice, and knows she’s one of Samdi’s girls. He gives her a solemn nod, shakes his head as she tries to lean up again, and with one last pout and a flip of her tail she’s gone, leaving behind nothing but the faintest of ripples, which disappear soon enough.

“Was that what it looked like?” comes a voice from behind him, and Jack doesn’t even turn, just nods, still watching the water. After a moment, Norrington joins him, looking down as well. “Who was she saying- those didn’t sound like real names, that she said. Ton..”

Jack laughs, though quietly. “Tonton. Uncle. And Matant, aunt. Not my aunt ‘n uncle, nor hers neither, but probably someone’s.” He considers it a moment, then amends, “Maybe someone’s. Anyway apparently they want to see me.”

“Or else,” Norrington agrees, and Jack shrugs a bit. It sounds more like the sort of idle threat Aunt Jemma would make, and then threaten to smack him with a wooden spoon if he doesn’t listen. Not a very fearsome sort of ‘or else,’ when he’s faced unkillable pirates and half-shark pirates and a hangman’s noose more than once and all sorts of other things besides. But still fairly threatening, when he remembers the sting of a spoon on the back of his hand. “Where will that be, then?”

Again Jack shrugs, though he knows damn well, and his squint goes from the water up to the sky, watching the stars for a moment as he scratches his chin. “Port-au-Prince.”

“Port-” Norrington splutters, and when Jack looks over the man’s eyes are so wide he has to laugh. “Haiti’s a French colony, Sp- Jack.”

“Aye,” Jack agrees easily. “And we’re not an English ship.” Norrington opens his mouth to argue, but Jack shakes his head. “Pirates, mate. The Pearl’s about as welcome there as she is in Port Royal. Probably more, even. Certainly more’n the British Navy would be. We’ll sail in easy, no worries to it. ‘cept to worry what it is that’s got Uncle Skelly and Auntie Jemma sendin’ out messages for me to make sure I stop in.” He heads for the helm, knowing it’s possible that turning about will wake some of the crew, but also knowing that they’ve been sailing the wrong bloody way all day, if they’ve got to get to Port-au-Prince, and the damned mermaid could’ve popped up earlier to say so. “Anyway,” he adds over his shoulder, “Tortuga’s French as well. Technically.”

Norrington snorts, much closer behind him than Jack had thought, and it makes Jack start and look around, in time to catch the man making such a disbelieving face that Jack has to laugh. “Tortuga’s pirate if it’s anything. No one else would want to lay claim to it, not even the French. And there’s quite a bit of difference between a little island off the mainland and the capital city, Jack.” Again, Jack shrugs, and Norrington sighs. “Well I don’t want anything to do with it.”

It’s interesting, how Norrington’s standing firm on this- two days ago, Jack thinks, he likely would’ve just shrugged and either followed after or not, and left it at that. It’s a bit surprising, how easily he’s come back around again, at least a little. “We won’t be goin’ right into the city,” Jack says, and Norrington looks over at him, a hint of a frown on his face. “’s a little island, right nearby. Just off the coast.”

That makes the frown deepen, though the furrow between Norrington’s brows indicates that it’s a frown of confusion. “There aren’t any islands off the coast of Port-au-Prince. None but Gonâve, anyway.”

“There is,” Jack answers promptly, “’cos I’ve been there. No worries, ol’ Jack’ll get us there fine. An’ you can stay on ship and well out of it, if you’d rather. Hopefully it’ll be a quick stop.” He keeps an eye on his compass as he turns the ship about, looking up again once they’re headed back westward to see Norrington still looking at him. He raises his eyebrows questioningly, but instead of giving any kind of answer, Norrington turns away. Which is maybe an answer on its own, but what it’s saying, Jack’s not sure.

Before Jack can say anything else, there’s the sound of voices approaching, and Jack pulls a face and loops a rope onto the helm before moving to intercept his crew on their way aboveboard, or at least three members of his crew. Crimp, Osser, and of course Gibbs, and all three of them looking at him warily. “Thought we was headin’ to the Far East, Captain,” Crimp says cautiously, in response to the raised-eyebrows-impatient-look Jack is giving them.

Jack flashes them a tight grin, slightly less sparkle under the light of the moon. “An’ so we are, gents. But first we’ve been asked to make a stop in at Uncle Skelly’s and Aunt Jemma’s.”

The men exchange looks, and of course it’s Gibbs who speaks for them, saying so precisely what Jack knew he’d say that he really needn’t even have bothered to say it. “We sure there’s time t’ be spared for that, Captain? Bit out of our way, headin’ all the way down there. An’ them two, well…”

“Give you the crawling jitters, aye, I’ve heard. Time an’ again.” If it were anyone else, Jack would shout at them not to question orders and chase them back below decks with plentiful threats and warnings enough to encourage them to do as they’re bloody told. But Gibbs has stuck by him through a hell of a lot, so instead Jack just rolls his eyes. “Stay aboard, then, and tell the rest of the lot they’re free t’ do the same. But we’re still goin’.”

There’s a snort in response- not from any of the three men in front of him, but from behind, and Jack turns with an elaborately disbelieving expression to see Norrington glaring, apparently back to his difficult bastard self again. “A crew full of cowards following the command of an idiot- it’s a miracle you haven’t been caught yet, but if you intend on sailing straight into French-owned capitals then it’s only a matter of time. I always knew you lot were stupid, but I’ve never heard of any pirates who were more blatantly begging to be caught and hanged. I’m glad I’ll be here to see it, even if it won’t be me doing the hanging.”

Norrington’s spitting every word like fury, and Jack knows that there’s more to this than the vitriol the man’s spewing- there’s some kind of reason behind it, but Jack doesn’t have the patience or inclination, at the moment, to sort it out. Those are the kinds of words that could land him with a mutinous crew, and one mutiny in a lifetime has been more than enough for Jack. “We may be pirates, and I may be mad, but I ain’t daft, and this is still my ship you’re on, Commodore. So you’ll be keepin’ a civil tongue or see for yourself what it’s like to have it cut right out of your mouth.” He turns back to Gibbs and the others, pulling a face to indicate his distaste; though he isn’t really bothered by Norrington’s words, he can’t have his crew doubting him, and nearly everyone on the ship- excepting himself, Elizabeth, Will, and, for some reason, Cotton- is united in a common uneasiness around the former Commodore, so playing to this helps the crew to dismiss Norrington’s comments out of hand. “We’ll stop in at Skelly ‘n Jemma’s, see what it is they’re wantin’, maybe take another stop at Tortuga on our way north again. Plenty of time, no worries.”

With the mention of a possible extra night in Tortuga, any lingering doubts his men might’ve had immediately disappear, and they’re all easily shooed off again, disappearing below decks and leaving Jack free to turn back to Norrington. “Mind telling me just what the hell’s got your knickers in a bunch?”

“Don’t dare presume to think that you have ever had, for even a moment, any sort of effect on me beyond an impulse to throttle you with my bare hands or at least see you dangling from the edge of a rope.” Norrington isn’t quite spitting his words anymore, but the anger in his eyes hasn’t gone anywhere, and nor has Jack’s conviction that there’s more upsetting the man than he’s likely to admit to. “It’s just pathetic, one last reflection of my utter failure, that I wasn’t able to catch you when this is the sort of lunacy you spend your time on.”

Jack turns away, rolling his eyes, which likely only infuriates the man further but at the moment he really can’t be buggered to care. If Norrington wants to be a stupid angry arse again, Jack’s not about to stop him. “Ain’t no concern of yours what us mad pirates get up to.”

Before either of them can say anything more, if there’s anything to be said at all, the wind shifts, tugging at the sails and making the beads in Jack’s hair clack together softly. A squint upwards confirms that this new wind is in their favour, and not wanting to waste a moment of it, Jack sets about shouting the crew up out of their quarters and into the rigging. By the time he looks around again, Norrington’s gone- probably back to drinking himself into a rageful stupor, drinking their almost-truce clear away again.

Elizabeth and Will find their way on deck a short while after the sun rises, and Jack greets them briefly but enthusiastically, tossing enough flirtatious looks and innuendo at the both of them to have them rolling their eyes. Satisfied he’s started their day properly, Jack returns his attention to the crew, and his ship, and the sea.

It’s early morning still when Cotton’s parrot squawks from his perch overhead. “Flotsam a-lee,” the bird says, and Jack’s eyes snap to the horizon immediately, searching- ‘land ho.’ “Flotsam a-lee,” comes the call again, but it isn’t until Jack gets out his spyglass and does a fair bit of squinting that he spots it, barely more than a distant smudge.

But it’s a smudge in the wrong place, though Jack checks his compass twice just to be certain. A smudge where no smudge should be. Gibbs comes up beside him, squinting as well at the faint dark line slowly becoming easier to spot. “That where we’re headin’, Cap’n?” he asks, and sounds as nonplussed as Jack feels.

In answer, Jack shrugs, just a bit, not so anyone else can notice. “S’pose we’ll see,” is all the response he can give; either they’re going to it or around it, and there’s no sense in worrying over which when it’s that far off. Leaving Gibbs in charge of the helm, Jack goes in search of Will, Elizabeth, and the almost certainly drunk Norrington.

He finds the first two, though not the third; Elizabeth spots him in the doorway and gives him a smile. “Jack,” she says happily, waving him over. “Come join us, and tell us where it is we’re going.” Someone- probably Ragetti, based on the quality- has made breakfast, and Will and Elizabeth are digging into fresh eggs with cheese and tomatoes and bacon and toast smothered in a jam Jack hadn’t even realized they had. He joins them at the table and tucks in, explaining their destination between and around mouthfuls.

Barely half an hour later, Dibbens pokes his head in to find him. “Captain, Gibbs says you ought to see this.” Jack’s swung his boots off the table and got out the door and up the stairs before the others can say so much as a word. As soon as he’s on deck, he can see why Gibbs called for him- the island’s closer, now, much closer than it ought to be after only half an hour’s sailing, even with such a favourable wind. This confirms, at least, that they’re going to the island whether they like it or not- Jack doesn’t doubt that no amount of turning will put any different view in front of them. What remains to be seen is whether this is their intended destination, or something else altogether; Jack’s never known Jemma and Skelly’s island to move, but he wouldn’t put it past them, either.

He stays on deck, eyes fixed on the horizon, as the island steadily grows closer, leaps and bounds closer, as though the land is moving towards them just as surely as they are moving towards it. There’s a faint murmuring amongst the crew, but Jack ignores it- he’s already told them there’s no need to come along, if this is Skelly and Jemma’s; and if it isn’t, he’ll likely have more problems on his hands than a jittery crew.

As they get closer, though, Jack recognizes the shoreline, and relaxes, though just a bit. A welcome like this can only mean that whatever it is they’ve called him here for, it’s important, since he can’t imagine they’ve suddenly gone and become considerate of his time- certainly not to the extent that they’d go to such showy lengths to get him here quick. The Pearl slides into harbor just as easy as she reached the island, and when Jack turns, he’s almost surprised to find Norrington on deck along with Will and Elizabeth, not quite being drawn into the conversation Elizabeth’s engaging them in, but not quite ignoring her, either.

“Gibbs,” Jack says, one eye still on the trio, “mind the ship. Shouldn’t be long.” With that he turns and heads to the gangplank, pausing only long enough to call back over his shoulder, “All ashore who’s comin’ ashore,” before stepping down onto the dock. He reaches the end before he turns to see who’s followed, and isn’t at all surprised to nearly bang smack into Elizabeth right behind him, with Will and Norrington flanking her to either side. He is surprised, a bit, to see Ragetti and Pintel behind them, and gives the two a nod of acknowledgement before turning again to step off the dock and onto the path leading into the forest beyond the shore.


(continue)