the Dalaverse

For Want of a Nail
Rating: up to NC-17.
Pairings: Jack/Norrington, Will/Elizabeth, Gillette/Groves, hinted Jack/Bootstrap.
General disclaimer: the pirates and their environs belong to Disney; plot and original characters belong to me.
Additional disclaimer: lines borrowed from "The Princess Bride," "Buffy the Vampire Slayer," and "Cabaret" belong to the writers of those programs and not me.

Chapters 1-4

1.

One of the things Commodore Gabriel Norrington hated most in the world was being lied to. Elizabeth Turner was a very good liar, but he knew she was hiding something, and he knew exactly what it was – or, more precisely, whom.

The question foremost in Norrington’s mind was when it would be polite for him to bring the subject to Elizabeth’s attention. So far they had talked only of pleasant things while sitting out in the little garden behind the Turners’ shop and home. They had sipped tea and eaten biscuits and it was all very pleasant and felt very English, despite the hot Caribbean sun beating down on the back of his neck. He had asked Elizabeth if she would prefer taking tea inside, mindful of her condition and also of their history, but she had chuckled and assured him that being pregnant give her the perfect excuse to avoid corsets altogether, then hastily apologized when his face turned bright red with embarrassment.

“The crib Will is making for the baby is really quite splendid,” she was saying now. “I shall have him show it to you when he gets back from the market. He’s carving Noah’s ark on either side, with as many animals as he can fit.” She smiled at him; she had a very pretty smile which he had loved for all the time he’d known her, but it also reminded him of losing her, so it made him uncomfortable. So, too, did the mention of her husband. He did not want to broach his subject with the both of them present; it would be too much like being outnumbered.

Now, he supposed, was as good a time as any. There was really no kind of segue possible, so he determined to just drop the cannonball.

“I trust you’ve heard about the Black Pearl being seen in these waters not one week ago?”

Her face didn’t falter for an instant. “Oh, surely you don’t take such rumors seriously, Commodore?” she said with a laugh. “I believe there are at least two sightings of the Pearl a day all throughout the Caribbean ports – three in Port Royal.”

“It’s no rumor, I assure you, Mrs. Turner,” he said stiffly. “I gave chase to her myself.”

Elizabeth made a non-committal sound, her eyes fixed on his, seemingly innocuous. Norrington knew better.

“We suspect that it ventured into Port Royal to deposit a certain Captain Jack Sparrow.” She raised her eyebrows. “You have not seen him, nor heard word of him?”

“Certainly not,” Elizabeth replied with wide, innocent eyes. “Of course you would be the first to hear it if we had, Gabriel.”

He disliked hearing his first name on her lips; it wasn’t any more proper than his calling her Elizabeth now that she was a married woman, and expecting to boot.

“Hmmm,” he said, “even though you are friends with Captain Sparrow?”

“Friend or no,” Elizabeth said, pretending to be offended, “we know our duty to the crown.”

That was simply too much. “Mrs. Turner,” he said, leaning forward over the table, “I am well aware that you and your husband know Sparrow’s whereabouts. My men are familiar with the bars his crew frequents. I’m shocked that you would attempt to convince me otherwise. I could have William in irons for this!”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Gabriel, there’s no need to be so dramatic. Yes, we do know where he is.”

Norrington was surprised that she had conceded so easily. He had expected her to lead him down a few more false turns before she admitted the truth.

“You must turn him in,” he said. “This isn’t like the last time – I cannot allow Jack Sparrow to escape a second time.”

“Technically, it would be the third time,” Elizabeth pointed out. “Actually, the fourth, since he sneaked into the wedding without your notice.”

Suddenly he was very glad he had not married the girl, beautiful and well-born though she was. “Where is Jack Sparrow hiding, Mrs. Turner?”

“He’s very ill,” she replied calmly. “He is here because his crew was so worried that they felt he needed care on land. He is in no condition to sit on his arse in your drafty jail –“ Norrington dropped his cup onto his saucer in shock, splattering himself with drops of fine tea. “– and I am asking you to show the mercy that is the chief basis of my respect for you.”

He said nothing. She was looking at him earnestly now, all pretenses dropped; she reached over to clasp his hand. Beneath her straw hat he could see the worry in her eyes.

“Please, Gabriel.” Her voice had dropped low. “I know I have no grounds to ask you for anything, but...I’m asking you to spare him. If you put him in prison under normal circumstances, he would be a free man in less than twenty-four hours, and I guarantee you’d never learn exactly how. But if you do so now, he could be dead in half that time.”

He didn’t want to believe her – it could so easily be a ruse. But just as he had known she was lying before, he knew now that she was telling the truth. For several minutes he hesitated, saying nothing, refusing to respond to the pressure she was exerting on his hand.

Finally he dropped his gaze and said quietly, “All right.”

At that moment Will Turner stepped into the garden, a large paper-covered loaf of bread in one arm. Norrington snatched his hand away from Elizabeth as she stood up to greet her husband with a kiss on the cheek. Will folded her in his free arm, but his eyes were hard and fixed on Norrington.

“Good of you to visit, Commodore,” Will said in a stilted voice. He was not nearly as adept at falsehood as his wife. Elizabeth glanced at Norrington; she knew it too.

“Will,” she said softly, “he knows about Jack. Except that he’s here, just upstairs,” she added with a nod in Norrington’s direction. That was a surprise; a bold move even for the infamous Turners, hiding a pirate in their own quarters.

“What?” Will was trying to appear innocent. “What about Jack? We haven’t seen him or talked to him in months. We don’t have any idea where the Black Pearl might be.” It sounded like a routine he’d rehearsed.

Elizabeth made a tsk noise. “I told you, Will, he knows.”

He glared at her and said, “Will you excuse us for a moment, Commodore?” They ducked inside the smithy.

Will was clenching the bread so hard that it was beginning to crumble. Elizabeth took it from him and laid it atop an anvil. Diego, the donkey, looked up at them hopefully. She tossed him a few crumbs as Will paced the back doorway of the forge.

“I can’t believe you told him!”

“He knew before I told him, love. And I explained about his illness.”

Will threw his hands up in exasperation. “All the easier for him to haul Jack away!”

“Stop it.” She grabbed him by the hand as he came striding past her. “Gabriel is a good man, and you know it. He promised he wouldn’t imprison Jack.”

Scowling, Will reluctantly accepted her arms around his neck. “And you believe him.”

“Yes. We can’t keep Jack here with us, Will, you know that. Norrington will be able to find somewhere else to hide him. And this is the safest he could possibly be – if the Commodore isn’t looking for him, no one else will be.”

“True,” he conceded grumpily.

Elizabeth snickered. “William Turner, I do believe you’re jealous. Are you jealous?”

“No,” he protested, then admitted, “well, maybe a little. I think perhaps I always will be. He could have given you so much –“

“Ah,” she said, kissing him lightly, “but look at all that you have given me.” She placed his hand on her belly and watched as a smile spread over his face.

~~~

Norrington watched this exchange from his seat outside and rubbed his temples, overtaken by a quick headache. He often got such headaches when he visited the Turners. He blamed it on the sulfurous scent of the forge, but knew it was more than that.

Will and Elizabeth returned, his arm protectively around her waist. His eyes as he met Norrington’s were no longer hostile, but neither were they particularly friendly. It saddened Norrington; he thought that they might have been good friends, if things had not turned out quite the way they turned out. He suspected Will felt the same.

“I have a proposition for you,” he blurted out. They looked at him expectantly and he took a deep breath, wondering if he was finally going mad in this fetid climate. Nothing other than madness would prompt what he was about to say.

“Let me take over care of Jack Sparrow.”

They both began to protest, but Norrington raised a hand, and reluctantly they let him speak.

“You both have much on your minds – I know that you have an extensive list of commissions, Mr. Turner, and there is your coming child to think of. It isn’t fair to burden you with care of an invalid as well, especially when you are not sure of the nature of his illness and what effect it could have on either of you. I have a great deal of free time and I used to spend my summers with an uncle who was a country doctor, so I have a rudimentary medical knowledge. If Sparrow is ensconced at my home, I won’t have to turn a blind eye to whomever is bound to see him, should you attempt to conceal him elsewhere. This is why you decided to tell me in the first place, was it not?” Elizabeth nodded, looking as though she was considering his offer.

“Therefore, I am clearly your best option if you want to keep him safe and alive. And,” he added, “if you don’t agree I could always turn you in as conspirators and lock Sparrow in a cell anyway.”

Will blinked.

Elizabeth pursed her lips. “Perhaps it isn’t the ideal solution...”

“But it seems it’ll have to do,” he finished for her, after they shared a long, measured look.

It had been easier than he’d thought. The notion of keeping Sparrow under his control while he was incapacitated by illness had been the first to enter Norrington’s mind when Elizabeth had admitted to hiding him. He would be able to keep Sparrow out of any mischief in Port Royal – he could not imagine the man ever being so sick that he would not be able to stir up trouble – and when he recovered, well, frankly the whole deal would have to be renegotiated. Until then, Norrington would have Sparrow right under his nose, and as infuriating a prospect as that seemed, he knew that the advantages far outweighed the disadvantages.

“We’ll take you to him,” Will said. Norrington followed the two of them inside.


2.

Jack was careful to keep his eyes closed as he awoke. He could hear another someone in the room, right next to him, and he wanted to glean as much knowledge as possible about this person before he acted.

The room was unpleasantly warm, so he knew that he was either somewhere in summer or in the Caribbean at more or less any time of the year. He heard the unmistakable clink of something hard against glass. A throat clearing marked his companion as male. He began to hum in a low voice, a complicated tune that was vaguely familiar to Jack and definitely not a bar ballad or shanty. Probably upper class, then. He sniffed, detecting a faint whiff of cologne. French cologne. Definitely. Well, he had dispatched many a Frenchman over the years, and he didn’t think this one would be any trouble.

After the few seconds it took him to process this information, he leapt to his feet, surprising his aristocratic French enemy and upsetting the decanter of cognac beside the bed; he thrust a blade in deep below the man’s ribs, grabbed the spirits, and made a run for the open window.

At least that was what happened in Jack’s imagination. In reality, he opened his eyes to find Commodore Norrington sitting by his bedside, pouring some pink stuff into a small glass. Jack attempted his heroic leap-and-stab, but found himself barely able to raise his head and one arm. Exhausted by the strain, he let his head drop back onto his pillow, eyes darting about the room. He didn’t recognize it, but a glance at the orange trees outside the window reconciled with his knowledge of Port Royal’s native foliage.

He still felt the oppressive heat, but Norrington was dressed in relatively heavy clothing and was not sweating. Jack could feel warm droplets running from his own brow. He kicked futilely at the quilts covering his prone body.

Norrington -- a man Jack would have been perfectly content to never see again -- was looking at him now, his eyes stern and unforgiving.

“Do you know where you are?” Norrington inquired in a condescending tone that made Jack want to hit him.

Of course, he didn’t in fact know where he was, so he chose to ignore the question entirely.

“Lemme go!” he growled and was surprised at the immediate pain, almost like a rash, in his throat. His voice came out in a croak.

Norrington set the bottle and glass on a bedside table with a sigh. “This is going to be so very unpleasant,” he muttered to himself. Turning, he called through the open door, “He’s awake!”

Elizabeth Turner hurried in and Jack felt somewhat less panicked. The Commodore most certainly shouldn’t be here with him – or perhaps it was the other way around – but if Elizabeth was present as well, neither of them would be able to turn to bloodshed. Jack figured that he would be rather overcome in his present state of immobility.

“Lizzie,” he rasped, “what the hell’s going on?”

“That type of language is inappropriate for –“ the Commodore began with a frown.

“Where the devil am I?” Jack continued as if he hadn’t heard.

She smiled gently at him and bent over his bed, presenting him with quite a fine sight of her cleavage. Oh, he’d missed that, all right.

“Don’t you remember, Jack?”

“I told you he was insensible when we brought him here,” Norrington sniffed. Elizabeth shot him a look.

She put a hand to his forehead and her fingers were blessedly cool. “You’re in Commodore Norrington’s house. We’ve just taken you from our own place.”

“Elizabeth,” he said in what he felt was an exceedingly patient voice, “I cannot think of one single reason why I would be in the good Commodore’s place of residence, especially since last we met he tried to hang me.” He glared at said Commodore, who looked away with the affectation that Jack wasn’t important enough to rest one’s eyes on.

She turned to Norrington. “Would you mind giving us a moment of privacy, Commodore?”

Norrington cast a side-long glance at Jack. “I would prefer not to leave you alone with...this man, Mrs. Turner.” Jack rolled his eyes and noticed with dismay that there was no kohl framing them. His jewelry was likewise missing, though his hair-baubles were still in place. His eyes combed the room, but it was disturbingly bare of any art or furniture – more importantly, it was also bare of his coat, hat, compass, pistol, or sword.

While he was taking a silent inventory of his effects, Elizabeth had apparently convinced the Commodore to take his leave, because he stood and exited the room (not, however, before giving Jack a warning look).

Jack fixed his attention on Elizabeth again and noticed the little crease of worry between her brows.

“What is it?” he asked, alarmed. “Is the whelp all right?"

“Yes,” she said, giving him a strange look. “It’s you, Jack. You’re ill. Don’t you remember...?” At his blank look she continued: “You’ve been staying with Will and me for a week now.”

Jack sat bolt upright – or tried to, in any case. He made it about halfway, then fell back into the pillows. It was quite humiliating.

He tried to think – Elizabeth and Will, what did their home look like? If she was telling the truth, he’d be able to remember it...

Concentrating, he could feel the memories starting to come back, some of them clear, some of them fogged.

She watched recognition flicker in his eyes and said, “You keep slipping in and out. When we brought you here you were nearly delirious, which is probably why you couldn’t remember much at first. Your fever rises and falls as well.”

Fever. So that was why he was so uncommonly warm. And although his head felt all right now, if a little fuzzy, he thought he could recall splitting pain centered there. Likewise he could dimly remember vomiting at some point.

“Anamaria and Gibbs brought you to us,” Elizabeth said. “They couldn’t treat you at sea, and you’re much too notorious now to be taken to a doctor.” She winked at him, but he was too upset to be amused.

“There are crooked doctors in Tortuga,” he pointed out.

“And it’s a good thing Ana didn’t trust them any more than I would,” she snapped.

Jack lifted an arm to gesture weakly with. “Yet here I am in the belly of the beast, so to speak.”

Elizabeth’s face turned resigned as though she’d already had to argue on the Commodore’s behalf (which, if Jack knew her husband at all, she probably had). “He’s protecting you, Jack, and he’ll be able to care for you better than Will or I could.”

“And when I’m well again he’ll clap me in irons, Lizzie, I promise you that!”

“No, I won’t,” said Norrington smoothly. He was leaning against the doorjamb with his arms crossed over his chest, looking completely impassive. “I gave my word. And I wish you would stop addressing Mrs. Turner so informally.”

“Well, I wish you’d take a rusty anchor and shove it backwards up your –“ Elizabeth clapped a hand over his mouth before he could finish, but her eyes were dancing. Jack was capable of heavy flirting even with a severe fever. He puckered his lips and kissed her palm, making her giggle as she pulled away. When she settled her hands in her lap, he noted her rounded stomach for the first time. It was barely noticable, but Jack made it his business to notice such things.

“Did I know about that?” he asked, giving the area a significant glance.

She blushed prettily. “No, we hadn’t told you yet. Should be about five months before we have our own little pirate running around the shop.”

Jack raised an eyebrow at her in mock disapproval. “Darling, we are extraordinary creatures, but not even pirates are able to scamper about at birth.”

The Commodore cleared his throat. Both parties looked over at him, clearly annoyed. It was, however, his house.

Dropping his voice to just above a whisper, Jack said, “I don’t trust him.”

“I do,” she replied simply. “What are your other options at this point, Jack? He’d never have believed that we hadn’t seen you. He knows me far too well.”

“As well as I do?” asked Jack with a bit of a pout. With a smile, she leaned down to kiss his cheek.

“Please behave,” she whispered into his ear before sitting back up.

“Do I really have to stay here?” he demanded, loud enough for Norrington to hear. He thought he could detect an irritated grunt coming from the doorway.

Elizabeth smoothed his bedclothes fussily. “Yes, you do.”

“You could tell me what I’m sick with, at the very least.”

“Possibly malaria,” Norrington said.

Jack brightened visibly. “Serve me up a gin-and-tonic, then!”

Norrington sniffed. “I have purchased some ground Cinchona bark, which will do far better. It dissolves quite nicely in tea.”

It was the first inkling of a friendly gesture from the man, but Jack wanted nothing to do with it.

“Makes a tea tastes like bilgewater, I’ll wager,” he grumped.

“Jack,” Elizabeth admonished, “this is very serious. I want you to take whatever he gives you, and don’t waste your energy trying to escape or contact your crew – they’ve left you entirely in our care and you’ll return to them when I have personally deemed you well again.”

Jack looked to Norrington, finding this hard to believe.

“Of course,” he said, with an utterly sincere smile for Elizabeth. He did not meet Jack’s eyes. He was lying, and Jack would swear to it on pain of death.

Well. He wasn’t Captain Jack Sparrow for nothing. He would deal with that when the time came. He had not escaped the Commodore twice to die by his hand now.

“You see?” Elizabeth said, poking him in the arm. “Will or I’ll visit you as frequently as we can. I’ve got to go now – I want you to rest, you hear?”

A tiny thread of panic rose within him at the thought of being alone with Norrington, but he kissed her hand graciously.

“Thank you for your care, Lizzie,” he murmured, letting his lashes drop down over his eyes. She was immune to his charms by now, but that didn’t mean she didn’t appreciate his constant attempts to use them on her.

“You’re welcome, Jack.”

“I’d like to be around when your babe is born,” he said almost shyly, hating that Norrington was present but wanting to tell her anyway.

Elizabeth’s answering smile was brilliant. “I’d like that too. Rest well.” She nodded to Norrington as she left.

And then it was just the two of them.

Norrington kept his position, arms crossed hostilely, at the doorway. Jack didn’t move either – but then, he had far less choice in the matter.

He opened his mouth, but Norrington cut him off before he could get a word out.

“Look,” said Norrington in a short, clipped tone that could not have been more different from that he used to address Elizabeth, “I don’t want you here any more than you want to be here. Frankly I think you’re a common filthy pirate, no matter if you've happened to do the Turners a fair deed or two, and the gallows are too good for you. But I’m doing a favor for the women who just left.”

“You still in love with her?” Jack wondered aloud. “I never believed you were to begin with.”

“That’s none of your business.” Norrington shifted his weight from foot to foot, a nervous gesture Jack had seen in many a sailor. “Regardless, you are not going to die under my roof. But if I find any of my possessions missing or misplaced, I won’t hesitate to turn you into the authorities immediately.”

“I won’t touch a thing.” Pity; there was nothing worth pilfering in this drab little room, but the Commodore must have some riches in the building somewhere. He certainly could afford to keep those brass buttons and fine leather boots polished to a sheen. Still, if it was between stealing a few knickknacks and a hanging, he supposed he could restrain himself.

Norrington hesitated a moment before he grudgingly asked, “How are you feeling? We gave you some medicated tea a few hours ago, but if you’re doing badly another dose wouldn’t hurt...”

Jack chose to see this as an attack on his manhood. Such attacks had been made, many times, but coming from Norrington he was incensed where he would normally be dismissive. “I don’t need it,” he said defiantly.

“Fine,” said Norrington, still talking as though someone was waiting with scissors to chop off the ends of his words if he lingered on any too long. As he turned to go, Jack couldn’t help asking something.

“Am I to call you Commodore, or Norrington, or are you goin’ to give me a proper name? I don’t feel it’s fair, you knowing mine and me ignorant.”

Anger flashed in his eyes, the clearest display of emotion he’d shown since Jack had woken up. “I do not feel inclined to tell you my first name, Sparrow. And you may address me as ‘Commodore Norrington,’ not one or the other.”

“Then it is Captain Sparrow, savvy? And where are my effects? I should like to have them at hand.”

“I’m not going to arm you, Captain Sparrow. They are at the Turners’ and will be returned to you when you leave this residence.” He left, shutting the door behind him – not slamming it, of course, that would be far too unseemly. Jack heard mechanic tumblers fall into place; apparently it locked from the outside.

“That day cannot come soon enough,” he muttered, wiping his brow before sinking into an uncomfortable sleep.


3.

Norrington was dreaming rather pleasantly of London at Christmas when he was jolted awake by a shout. For an instant he panicked, thinking of intruding pirates and flashing back to the events of a year ago, but gradually he remembered his guest. Of course he’d had the bad sense to put Jack in the spare bedroom next to his own, but it was the only one that locked.

Sighing, Norrington pulled a pillow over his head and tried to ignore the muffled grunts coming through the thin walls. Most of what Jack was saying was unintelligible, but he did catch a few words: “monkey,” “prize,” “island,” “traitor.” It was only when Jack began yelling about someone named Bill that Norrington flung off the covers and stalked into the next room.

Jack was tossing about violently on the bed. As Norrington drew close, he felt the heat emanating from his body. He tried to get a feel of Jack’s forehead, but the fool struck out wildly and knocked his hand away.

“Not Bill!” Jack was crying. “Leave him be!”

“Sparrow,” Norrington attempted in a normal voice. Then, a deal louder – thankful that he’d sent the servants home for the night – “SPARROW!” He ducked in under Jack’s blindly flailing fists and took him by one shoulder, shaking him hard.

Jack’s eyes opened wide on Norrington’s face. He let his arms fall, panting. He looked awful; he was paler than he had been earlier in the day, and in the moonlight the bones in his face stood out starkly, evidence of the weight he’d already lost.

“Sick,” he gasped, “need to be sick –”

Quickly Norrington grabbed for the wooden basin he’d placed beside the bed for this very purpose. He pinched his nose with one hand while holding the basin steady with the other as Jack retched into it. Oh, that was absolutely disgusting. If he hadn’t been so tired from staying up late to read nautical reports, he would have considered depositing Jack Sparrow on Will Turner’s doorstep at that very moment.

Jack spat into the basin when he was done, then lay back down. His eyes were closed, but Norrington knew he wasn’t sleeping.

Setting the basin distastefully aside – he would have to take it out to the privy himself – Norrington poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the nightstand and sprinkled a bit of the powdered leaf into it. He offered it to Jack, who murmured a surprising thank you but was too weak to hold it. Norrington put a hand on his chin, noting how unearthly hot his skin was, and tried to tip the water back in his throat.

Jack scowled and attempted to foist him off, splashing them both in the process.

“Don’t – need – help,” he said.

“Yes, you do,” Norrington retorted. “Either I’m going to put you in a headlock and force this down your throat, or you are going to accept my help and sip it slowly.”

He glared but obeyed, gulping thirstily and making a face when he was done.

“Tastes terrible.”

Norrington cleaned the glass out with a handkerchief. “That’s how you know it will work.”

Despite himself, the corner of Jack’s mouth twitched. His eyelids drooped again. Norrington waited until he seemed asleep before getting up.

“‘Ey,” said Jack just as he’d reached the door.

Norrington turned to face his charge. “Yes?”

“What’s your name?”

Pursing his lips, Norrington left without replying. He could hear Jack chuckling himself to sleep as he sank back into his own bed.

~~~

When Norrington checked on Jack the next morning, he was sleeping comfortably and his temperature was stable. Putting some water and the powdered leaf on the nightstand, he left for work, the thought of Jack nagging at the back of his head even when his mind was occupied by other matters. It made him uncomfortable to have a notorious pirate captain in his home, alone and unsupervised, no matter what condition that pirate was in. At noon, he decided to take his meal back at the house in order to check on his patient. He thought word would have reached the fort if Jack had burned the place to the ground, but one could never be sure.

His butler was rather surprised to see him. It was a well-known fact that the Commodore usually worked through lunch. When he reached the room in which Jack was staying, he found Mrs. Perry, the housekeeper, staring at it with a perplexed expression on her face.

“Commodore Norrington,” she said, putting her hands to her cheeks, “it seems as though the door’s locked – I tried t' go in an' clean but the key's disappeared –”

Norrington winced as she was cut off by a distinct thumping sound coming from the room. Mrs. Perry looked to him for an explanation.

“That’s right, I did lock the door, and I've got the key,” he said quickly. “Delicate nautical experiment, you know, mustn’t have it disturbed.”

The thump sounded again and Mrs. Perry blinked at him. He cleared his throat in a half-hearted attempt to cover up the noise, but it did no good.

“Is – is 'at your experiment makin’ that noise, Commodore?” she asked uncertainly.

“Ah – yes, yes it is. Angry puppy.”

The woman who had kept his property in order for seven years stared at him as though he was a stranger. “A...puppy, sir?”

“Yes,” he said, feeling ridiculous – it had simply slipped out – but knowing it would look even more suspicious to take it back. “Top-secret Navy documents and...the puppy. It’s angry,” he added helpfully. “That must be why it’s making noise. I’ll just go in and...feed it.”

Mrs. Perry nodded slowly and backed away, still looking at him like he’d cracked. “Right, sir. I’ll have some cold chicken sandwiches waiting for you when you’re done.”

“Thank you,” he said faintly. Humiliating himself in front of his servants: one more thing to add to the list of wrongs Jack Sparrow had done him. He had a feeling this list would grow exponentially until he could get the damned man out of his house.

Another thump came through the door and Norrington unlocked it, quickly shutting it again behind him.

Jack was at the window. It must had gotten stuck because he was laboring to pry it open. He had taken to smacking the frame in random spots with a large book. Norrington’s eye was drawn to the nightstand; its drawers had been opened and their contents ransacked. He strode over to the window.

“Stop that at once!” He yanked the book out of Jack’s hand. Jack swayed slightly more than usual, leaning against the wall. It was a good sign that he was feeling well enough to stand, but the toll his battle with the window had taken was apparent in his labored breathing and the sheen of sweat on his exposed skin.

“I just wanted some air,” he said, studying his dirty fingernails in an attempt at nonchalance. It failed miserably, as his hands were shaking. A note of desperation crept into his voice. “I’m bound to go mad locked up in this rathole. I need to be outside –”

Norrington took him by the elbow and hauled him back to the bed. “What you need, Sparrow, is rest. You are not going to run mad – any more so, I should say – by remaining indoors.”

“How would you know, Commodore?” Jack demanded harshly as Norrington knelt to clean up the mess he’d made. “You hole yourself up in your bloody office day in and day out, you don’t need fresh air and open skies...”

“If you will please refrain from telling me what I do or do not need, Mr. Sparrow, I would like to remind you that you are a guest in my home –”

“Prisoner, more like.”

“– and as such I expect you to respect my wishes and not alarm my servants.”

Understanding passed over Jack’s features. “Ah,” he said, leaning back against the pillows, “your servents don’t know I’m here, is that it?”

“Of course they don’t!”

“Odd,” said Jack. “That you can’t trust your own people to keep a secret for you.”

“I –” Norrington began sharply, but he stopped himself short. Telling his servants about his odd visitor had simply not occurred to him. “It’s not that I don’t trust them,” he tried to explain. “It’s that...well, caring for you is a burden, one they are not required to bear.”

Jack shrugged. “All the same to me, mate. But it does seem that that’s exactly what they’re paid for, and you choosin’ not to inform them of my illustrious presence has some deeper significance, the details of which are clearly not known even to yourself.”

Norrington shut the nightstand drawers with a bang. “Has anyone ever told you that you talk a great deal too much, Mr. Sparrow?”

“All the time,” Jack sighed. “Though most of ‘em can’t match me the way you do.”

Norrington looked at him, wondering at his meaning, but he had turned onto his opposite side.

“Got anything for me to eat?” he asked, voice muffled by the pillow. “Feel as though I might actually be able to keep it down.”

“I have some broth Mrs. Turner sent over. I’ll go get it.”

“We can have a nice little luncheon together,” said Jack in a sing-song voice that did little to mask his bitterness.

As Norrington left the room, a gray cat poked her nose curiously around the corner.

“You don’t want to go in there,” he warned her, shutting and locking the door. “Trust me.”

After Norrington returned to work, he found it extremely difficult to concentrate. He twiddled his thumbs; he spent ten minutes trying to get through a single paragraph; he kept staring out the window at the blue Caribbean sea far beyond.

“Gillette,” he called.

The lieutenant was quick to answer. “Sir?”

“I’ll be right back.” Norrington got up and spared one more glance for the sea. “I’m going to get some air.”


4.

“It has come to my attention that I am very dirty.”

Norrington did not look up from the map he was scrutinizing. “Please leave my study, Mr. Sparrow.”

Jack, blanket wrapped around his shoulders, ran a finger along a bookshelf. It was late, past midnight, and yet here Norrington was, wide awake and too bloody active. Jack had heard him tossing restlessly in the room next door, before he’d gotten up and padded quietly down the hall in his bare feet. After a quarter of an hour of trying to get to sleep himself, Jack had given up and followed the Commodore.

“What are you doing awake, anyhow?” Norrington wanted to know. He glanced up at Jack, who was struck by how much younger he looked, out of uniform and out of that ridiculous white wig. In its natural state his hair was a dark, rich brown, cut rather short but long enough to hold a tendency to fall forward over his brow. He was wearing only a plain white nightshirt and a forest-green dressing gown that suited his eyes in a manner he probably wasn't even aware of.

“How old are you?” Jack asked curiously instead of answering the question.

Norrington’s cheeks flushed a light pink. “I don’t see how that information is pertinent to your recovery.”

Jack shrugged it off. “Back to my original purpose,” he said, propping himself against the desk. Norrington rolled his eyes and scooted his chair a few inches back. “I’m filthy, mate.”

“I quite agree,” said Norrington crisply. “What do you propose I do about it?”

“Well,” said Jack, “I’ve smelt you and you seem to clean yourself regularly.” Norrington looked perturbed at the thought that Jack had noticed how he smelled. “So I can only assume that you bathe,” Jack continued, “and therefore you must be in possession of a tub, and I would very much like to use it.”

“You want to take a bath,” said Norrington, apparently seeking confirmation though his voice was perfectly flat.

He nodded and leaned forward on purpose, hoping that Norrington might catch a whiff of him – he was indeed quite dirty, with all the fever-induced perspiration, and his body’s odor was not pleasant by any stretch of the imagination. From the pinched look that suddenly came over Norrington’s face, he suspected it had worked.

“A very short bath,” Norrington warned. “You must get out before the water cools, as I can only imagine what sort of turn your health would take after a cold soak.”

Jack grinned fetchingly at him. It had the same effect it always did: it put a distressed little frown on his lips. Jack never got tired of making him do that – it was a cheap thrill, but an infinitely satisfying one. “I follow your orders, Commodore.” He saluted and Norrington sighed in long-suffering irritation.

Twenty minutes later, Jack was lounging in a fairly large, very expensive-looking porcelain tub. The pleasure of feeling the layers of sweat and grime soak away was nothing short of divine. A fine lass and a bottle of strong rum would be his ideal, but he was willing to take his pleasures where he could get them.

Trailing a hand in the now-dirty bathwater, Jack thought idly about his current situation. He had been six weeks away from the sea, and his longing for it was almost too painful to contemplate. It was a subtle distinction in his blood, like a good voice singing just slightly off-key. And he hated few things as he hated being helpless against the ravages of his illness, which struck in varying degrees so that sometimes he felt ready to take on the entire royal Navy and yet would be hunched over a basin ten minutes later, throwing his guts up. Still, Elizabeth and Will came to see him frequently, and he and Norrington had settled into a kind of routine.

Norrington – now there was a subject worthy of bathtime meditation. It was so easy to upset the delicate balance of his little world. Jack had a great disdain for routine, while men like Norrington lived by it. He had no friends more intimate than the Turners and he had more pride than he knew what to do with. Embarrassing him was a simple matter, and yet he was difficult to charm – and Jack had tried his damnedest to do so. He still wasn’t entirely certain that Norrington wasn’t planning on hanging him, though he seemed a genuinely good man. He figured that even the vaguest overtures of friendship might put a stop to that plan.

Of course, there was also the little factor of attraction.

Jack would admit to himself, if to no one else, that he had wanted Norrington even before all of this business. The man was handsome, to be sure, and he was comprised of a curious juxtaposition of stiff formality and honest vulnerability. He tried hard to be properly distant and detached, but Jack had never seen eyes so frank and open, so prone to betraying whatever he was feeling. And his mouth held a certain sensitivity that Jack found quite promising – it was almost akin to the soft set of Will’s mouth.

He allowed himself a brief thought about Will for a moment before dismissing it. Even if Elizabeth had not been in the way, the memory of the boy’s father was.

What, on the other hand, was in the way of his seducing Norrington?

The Commodore’s dislike of him, of course, though there were brief moments when it seemed to lessen. The idea of him not being the sort to sleep with other men did not even occur to Jack as a potential barrier. He had lured many into his bed who had never been in such a situation before.

If it did nothing else, it would give him another avenue of power, merely because he had a great deal of experience and Norrington clearly had little to none. And an affair would definitely help to alleviate the dreariness of his life in Port Royal – the dreariness of Norrington’s life, when it came right down to it..

Elizabeth would kill him if she knew what he was plotting. She genuinely liked the man, even if she wasn’t willing to marry him. Then again, he doubted Norrington would ever be in a mood to tell her, so that wasn’t much of a deterrent.

His mind wandered off in thoughts of his planned seduction. Norrington would be standing before him, perhaps tipsy on some mysteriously procured liquor, and his lips would part slowly as Jack kissed him. He might taste of peppermint or sugarcane – something sweet, but not overly so, and heavy. Jack would undress him slowly and deliberately, slipping his hands inside the cumbersome officers’ coat, snapping the buttons on his starched white shirt, while those wide green eyes fluttered closed and Norrington moaned into Jack’s mouth...

He wasn’t certain at what precise moment in the fantasy he fell asleep, but he had definitely not reached its inevitable conclusion when shouting and pounding on the bathroom door awakened him.

The water had turned to ice around him and it seemed to be inside him too, running through his veins. He tasted blood as violent shivers caused his teeth to knock together with his tongue between them.

There was silence on the other side of the door, then a great solid thump before it flew open. Norrington landed hard on his hands and knees.

“You locked yourself in, you idiot!” he panted.

Jack was too wary of biting his tongue again if he tried to answer. His efforts to move succeeded only in one hand reaching out of the white tub.

Norrington got to his feet and grabbed Jack by the shoulders. His face was tight with worry and a touch of fear.

“You must get out, you’ve been in there for nearly an hour – ”

“C-can’t move,” Jack stammered, clenching all the muscles in his body in an attempt to still their shaking. It didn’t work.

He found himself lifted under the arms and hauled upright. When he stumbled, they both nearly took a fall on the blue-painted tiles, but Norrington managed to keep his balance. Jack pressed his face into Norrington’s neck, aware that he was unable to stand under his own power and not caring. Norrington’s skin smelled of talcum powder and ink.

The air hit Jack’s body with the force of gale winds. He hadn’t been this cold since he was a boy, huddled in front of the stove in January and dreaming of warm tropical climates...

Without a word Norrington lifted him carefully, one arm going under Jack’s knees while the other clasped firmly about his waist. Jack was mildly amused at the tableau they formed: Norrington ever the stalwart hero, carrying Jack like he was a damsel in distress – if such damsels were blessed with certain facets of male anatomy and went about naked as the day they were born, and soaking wet besides. It would have been the perfect time to put his plan into action, had he not been concentrating on just staying conscious. He gave up the struggle only when Norrington deposited him in bed, tucking the blankets securely around him.

~~~

The very next thing Jack was conscious of was a damp cloth being pressed to his brow. Its first touch was cool, but it warmed to his skin within seconds, and he knew that things were very bad indeed.

He was no longer shivering like a drowned cat. His head was clear but his muscles ached, and his fever was a hurt in and of itself. It felt like a tangible thing inside his head, searching out the still-sane parts of his mind and burning them away. He kept his eyes closed as he tried to fight it.

The cloth left his skin and Norrington’s fingers pressed under his jaw, checking his pulse. They were toughened fingers on hands that had known hard work, probably hard sailing. Jack had felt that when Norrington had gripped his hand the day Elizabeth nearly drowned. He appreciated those hands on his body, even in such a cursory manner as this.

“Sparrow?” said Norrington. He sounded anxious. After a pause during which Jack failed to respond, he tried again, the name coming surprisingly softly: “Jack?”

At this Jack opened his eyes. The light in the room was dim, which was good. Norrington was peering down at him, looking pale and frightened.

Jack touched his tongue to his lips; they were cracked and dry, but he wanted no water. He could tell his stomach would reject even that.

“Is it – how do you feel?”

Jack stared straight up at the ceiling. Norrington’s eyes were full of pity and Jack wanted none of it, but neither did he have the strength to scandalize him out of it, or to make him angry enough to forget it.

“Everything...hurts,” he whispered, astonished at his own admittance. It seemed illness loosened his tongue better than any drink might have.

Norrington reached out as if to take Jack’s hand, but he reconsidered and snatched it back to his lap. “Your fever’s so dangerously high,” he said, the customary calm of his well-bred voice totally gone. “If I could only send for a doctor –”

“No,” said Jack. His teeth clenched as his left thigh spasmed; he bit his tongue once again and focused on that pain to the deficiency of the others. Norrington caught his faint whimper, however, and this time he did fold Jack’s hand in his own.

“Tell me what I can do,” Norrington said desperately. “I’ve given you medication, but...”

Jack shifted his gaze to Norrington’s frantic face. He knew this offer was only made because Norrington hated to lose control of anything, but he did not want to face the demons in his head alone, not when he was helpless like this. He would have given anything to have Bill at his side, or Will, or Elizabeth. Norrington would have to substitute, inferior substitute though he would be.

“Talk to me.”

He didn’t hesitate before replying. “What shall I say?”

Jack closed his eyes again, seeing colors dance and swirl like the northern lights against his lids. “Anything. Just talk.”

“I – I have a cat,” said Norrington haltingly. “Did you know that? Probably you didn’t...well, anyway, I have a cat. Her name is Annabelle. She’s fat and gray, and she hasn’t caught a single mouse in the past five years. I brought her with me from England. My officers made fun of me behind my back, but I wasn’t going to leave her. She likes anchovies and cheese...Sparr–Jack? Are you...”

“I’m awake,” Jack murmured. “Keep babbling.”

“I do not babble. Do you keep cats on your ship? I think it’s a benefit to people to keep a pet. Perhaps it’s silly to dote on an old cat, but I haven’t got much else to dote on, have I? Don’t answer that.”

Somewhere between the realms of sleep and awake, Jack smiled. Norrington kept talking, and he kept his light grip on Jack’s hand, until Jack’s temperature dropped a few degrees.

He started to pull away, but Jack’s fingers tightened around his.

“Your name, good Commodore,” said Jack without opening his eyes.

Norrington shifted in his chair, but he stayed.

“It’s Gabriel,” he replied in a quiet voice.

The faint trace of a smirk appeared on Jack’s lips. “Gabriel. Pretty,” he mumbled, only half-aware of what he was saying. “Strength of God, angels and baby Jesus and whatnot.”

“No, I’m only me,” he heard Norrington protest faintly, before he fell off the edge of sleep and heard nothing more.