the Dalaverse

18.

“You chose quite a day to pretend to be ill.”

Groves glanced up at Gillette, who was shedding his coat with a smile. Less concerned with what put it there than with the way it made his eyes crinkle, it took Groves a moment to register his words. “Did I?”

Gillette nodded as the wig, cravat, and shoes went the way of the coat, tossed onto a chair in the corner. He lowered himself over his fellow lieutenant, kissing him at the V of his open shirt. “We caught Barnes in the middle of his operation, and would you guess who was sitting at his very table?”

“The pope?” Groves latched onto the hips wriggling against him and bit at Gillette’s ear.

A pleased shudder went through the other man. “None other than Captain Jack Sparrow.” He sat up to pull his shirt over his head, so he didn’t notice right away that Groves had gone still.

“What?” he asked, eyes wide.

“Didn’t even put up a fight,” said Gillette smugly. “I threw him into the cell myself.” He paused with the shirt clenched in his hands, staring at a pale-faced Groves. "Tom?"

Groves ran a hand through his dark hair, exhaling slowly. “Poor Gabriel,” he murmured.

Blinking quizzically, Gillette replied, “What on earth are you talking about? He’s been after Sparrow since his last escape!”

“Andrew...” Groves hesitated, wrinkling his nose at the headache this was likely going to bring on. “I have something to tell you.” Gillette opened his mouth to speak and it was immediately covered by a broad palm. “But first I want you to remember that you love me, and promise you aren’t going to shout...”

~~~

Will’s concentrated pacing was interrupted by the slamming of the door to the smithy. “We are no longer speaking to my father,” Elizabeth called through the open door to the house.

“He wouldn’t listen to you?”

She rubbed a hand across her brow, mouth twisting bitterly. “Oh, he listened. He listened until I started to lose my voice and we were both in tears. But he won’t do a thing.”

Will brought her into his arms, dropping his chin down on her head. “Don’t be angry with him. We didn’t expect him to be able to help.”

Elizabeth squared her shoulders and smiled slightly. “I did, however, pick up a couple of strays we might find useful.”

Behind her, a plain-clothed Lieutenant Groves came in, biting his lips nervously. He was closely followed by Lieutenant Gillette, who was an alarming shade of pink. The first thing Will did was blink in surprise. He’d never spoken with Groves, but it was a well-known fact that Gillette and Elizabeth despised each other. Something about mermaids was all he’d ever been able to deduce from the dark muttering she hid behind her fan whenever they passed him in the street.

Then he remembered that they were Norrington’s men and the muscles of his jaw clenched. “What are they doing here?”

“We’re here to help,” said Groves quietly.

Will took up his pacing again. “Help with what? There’s nothing to help with. We’re not planning anything. Why would we be planning?”

Elizabeth shut her eyes. “Please calm down, Will.”

“I will not calm down!” Will paused to stab a finger in the direction of the lieutenants. “They’re his and they’re in our house –”

Before she got the chance to argue, they were interrupted by a tremulous call of “Hello?”

~~~

Elizabeth had never seen someone go into shock before, but she thought it must look something like Norrington did as he staggered through the door. He was pale and shaking, resembling more than anything the way Jack had looked when they’d brought him home at the onset of his illness. His eyes ran over each of them in an unfocused manner, seeming not to register anything.

Beside her, Will started forward and she grabbed him by the arm, aware of the righteous fury coursing through him. “Don’t, Will!”

“What have you done?” Will hissed at Norrington, glaring at Groves and Gillette too as they hesitantly stepped forward. Their urge to protect their commodore was obvious, but the way he seemed to look through everything must have unnerved them as badly as it did her. Instead they started shouting at Will, who was only too happy to respond in kind.

“Look at him, can’t you see he’s got nothing to –”

“How dare you speak to the commodore so!”

“I have the right to close my own door to –”

Elizabeth sidled out between them as they closed in, making a soft sound of alarm. Norrington had quite suddenly sat down on the ground, his elbows propped on his knees and the heels of his hands pressed against his eyes. As she knelt down beside him, she saw that he wasn’t weeping, but he was taking shallow, sharp breaths as though his chest would implode.

“Oh, Gabriel,” she murmured, putting her arms around his rigid torso and drawing his head onto her shoulder. Two weeks ago she would have been uneasy attempting to comfort him, but a squalling infant had greatly improved her ability to rock anyone quiet. “Hush, it will be all right...”

Gradually the raised voices at her back faded away until the only sound was Norrington’s ragged breathing and the uncomfortable foot-shifting of the other men. Ignoring them, she took him by the arm and started to rise slowly to her feet. Norrington followed her seemingly without thinking, still hiding his face.

“We’ll go upstairs for a moment, how does that sound?” she said soothingly, holding tight to him for fear that he would stumble into the wall if she turned him loose. She caught a bare glimpse of the faces of the others as she led Norrington past. Groves was solemn, while Gillette and Will, though still shooting suspicious glares at one another, looked grudgingly contrite. Will met her eyes as she looked at him, an earnest question in the way he bit his lip. She smiled faintly to reassure him and waited patiently as Norrington paused to negotiate the stairs.

She took him to the nursery, where Estrella was tidying around Morgan's cradle. A quick word sent her scurrying out, casting wide, curious eyes at Norrington.

Will could barely fit in the oak rocking chair and Norrington in his uniform was an even tighter squeeze, but they managed. He bent where she nudged him and dropped down into the chair, looking mildly startled when it moved to and fro beneath him.

He was an absolute wreck and she wasn’t sure how to begin putting him back together, if she could do so at all. When it came right down to it, they didn’t know each other very well. Their courtship had been short and the tenuous friendship following it strained. She’d trusted him with Jack’s life but she did not trust herself to say the things that would put a stop to his trembling.

She would try, though – for his sake and for Jack’s, she would try her damnedest.

“Please look at me, Gabriel.” Kneeling before him, she took his hands in her own, rubbing warmth into them. The shame and anguish in his green eyes tore her heart when he lifted his gaze from his lap. “I know it wasn’t your fault.”

“How? How do you know?” His voice was a hollow shell.

“Because of the way you look at him,” she said simply. “Because you love him.”

He shuddered at that. She lifted a hand to his face, running her thumb along his cheekbone and straightening his wig ever so slightly. The baby began to whimper and Norrington jumped, looking over at the crib. Elizabeth stood, wincing at the creak in her knees, and picked up a fussing Morgan. Norrington’s eyes followed her as she made a slow circuit of the room until the cries softened and faded out. When she got back to the chair, he seemed calmer, his face clearer.

“Jack said he knew you were going to have a daughter,” he said.

Remembering that he’d been frightened of the baby before and having a sudden, inexplicable hunch, she asked, “Would you hold her for a moment?”

Norrington’s brow creased, but he allowed her to settle Morgan gently in his arms. Morgan squinched her mouth up in a frown but stayed quiet, her brown eyes intent on his face. He let out a long, slow breath and relaxed further.

Elizabeth suddenly remembered why she’d thought to hand him the baby. Will had told her a story about how Jack had gotten supremely drunk the night before their wedding. He’d been sent outside to feed Diego and it had seemed to sober him up. She was momentarily disturbed that she had just compared her offspring to a donkey, but if it worked, she wasn’t going to complain.

He looked up at her suddenly, his eyes bright with what looked like worry. “Why are you doing this?” he asked hoarsely. “Why are you being kind to me?”

She smiled at him, reaching out to stroke her daughter’s soft cheek. Morgan was trying gallantly to stay awake in order to stare at her new companion, but her eyes were beginning to close. “You’re family now, as much as Jack is. And I ought to still be repentant for breaking your heart – although I have to say, you’ve recovered quite nicely.”

The look on his face said that he was not going to forget those words, even as the mention of Jack caused something to flare and burn in his eyes.

“Stay up here for as long as you like. Will you put the baby back to bed before you come down?”

Norrington nodded, catching her hand as she turned away. “Thank you.” Sincerity made his voice quaver. She leaned down to swiftly kiss his cheek.

To her relief, the men had become civil enough to sit in the den, though Will’s left leg was jiggling nervously.

“Is he all right?” Gillette asked anxiously. His concern for Norrington raised his esteem in her eyes, though she would never have admitted it to his face.

“He’s watching the baby,” she answered, leaning against Will and pressing his restless knee down with the palm of her hand. “Has everything been worked out between the three of you?”

“You could have told me,” Will muttered. Elizabeth caught Gillette shooting Groves a similarly sulky look and she had to bite down on a sudden giggle. No wonder Norrington had felt comfortable confiding in them – or at least in the less neurotic one.

“We can have this argument later,” she said firmly. “Right now, we have a rescue to plan.”

“It’s not going to be easy,” Groves broke in.

Will shook his head. “Apparently Norrington received an extremely virulent letter from a prominent admiral last time Jack was scheduled to hang.”

“It was ill-mannered,” said Gillette, crossing his arms over his chest. “A threat, more or less, stemming from a personal grudge. Releasing Sparrow would be grounds for a court martial.”

Elizabeth chewed on her lower lip. “My father must have been aware of it.”

“And there are the new rules to remember: no public executions of notorious criminals,” Groves added with a polite nod at Will, who grimaced. “The gallows will be heavily guarded. There’s little chance of you or his crew getting close, even if we were to help you.”

“It will have to be an inside job.”

All four of them looked up at once as Norrington came into the room, still pallid but with a new gleam of purpose in his eye.

“Yes, but that would only confound our problems,” Groves argued. “We’d be stuck with a conspirator and a condemned pirate –”

“You mean to get him out yourself,” said Will, looking at Norrington sharply. The other man nodded, sitting down in the last remaining empty chair. He looked weary and resolute.

“I would not ask it of any of you,” he said slowly, avoiding their eyes.

Gillette was staring at him, his mouth open in shock. “But sir – even if you can get him safely away –”

“When I do,” Norrington corrected gently, “I shall – how did you once put it, Mr. Turner? – accept the consequences of my actions.”

Elizabeth looked at Will beside her. His eyes were fixed on Norrington. They understood each other better than she would ever understand either of them. Her hand crept over her husband’s and tightened.

Groves was shaking his head. “There has to be another way –” he insisted.

“I’ve allowed you both to second-guess my choices in the past,” said Norrington with a raised eyebrow. “I would not suggest trying it now.”

The two lieutenants exchanged unreadable glances before they both looked down in compliance. The chill she felt rattled her bones.

“Gabriel –”

“It’s as good as done,” he said, staring at the wall.

“Actually,” she snapped, angered at his fatalism, “we’d have to have an legitimate plan for that to be true.”

“We need help,” Will clarified. His eyes narrowed for a moment. “Didn’t you say that the other men you took today denied Jack’s involvement in the gambling scam?”

“Yes,” said Gillette, cracking the knuckles on his left hand. “They all swore he’d never been in before today, and that he was just looking for a drink and an honest hand.”

Elizabeth’s eyes went to Groves, who was looking like he was on the same wavelength that had made Will sit up very straight. “Isn’t that interesting?” he said slowly.

“Well, Jack’s never robbed anybody in this town, they’ve no reason to...” She trailed off as the solution hit her as well.

“They like him,” said Gillette, sounding mystified. “The townspeople like him, is that what you’re saying?”

“Precisely,” said Norrington, a new fierceness in his tightly-drawn expression. “In fact, it is my suspicion that they like him well enough to carry this through.”

Fifteen minutes of planning, including some scribbling on a map of the town and a brief, strange argument between Elizabeth and Gillette about where the most suitable horses could be found, and the brainstorm had borne what they all hoped would be effective fruit. Each with a task, they set out from the Turner household, leaving a slumbering Morgan completely oblivious to the risk her parents were about to take to save the life of her godfather.

~~~

“We’re devils and black sheep, we’re really bad eggs...really, really, spectactularly stinking rotten eggs...”

Jack sat in the dank cellar room which had been expressly commissioned after his last stay in the Port Royal jail. He supposed he ought to feel flattered. He supposed he ought to feel something about his own imminent demise. He’d always thought his life was supposed to be doing that famed flashing thing people were always going on about.

But when he closed his eyes, all he could see was the look on Norrington’s face when he’d come into that bar. The thought that he’d be robbed of the memory of that stricken expression in just a few hours was almost a comforting one. Of course there was the chance that he’d see it in an endless cycle for the rest of eternity, but Jack preferred not to think of that possibility now any more than he had for the first forty years of his life. If he was damned, he was damned, and it would be the one situation Jack Sparrow couldn’t charm and wriggle his way out of.

No, not just the one – Norrington was another. He had the freedom to admit that now, ironically when any hope of physical freedom was gone from him.

He wished he could have taken Norrington sailing on the Pearl, introduced one to the other. But that thought, too, led down a useless path. What was the conversation they’d had this morning about wishes? He’d been half-asleep and Norrington had been dismissive. If wishes were horses – no, if wishes were ships. Well, the Black Pearl was a wish made real if ever he’d seen one, even if her captain had not proved the same to a certain commodore.

The clank of heavy shoes coming down the stairs interrupted his chain of thought.

“I’ve said all I have to say,” he called out, guessing it was a guard with a priest come to save his immortal soul. Bugger that; they could have it, if they could find it. Asking Norrington might be a good start.

But the man stepping down with a lantern in his hand was not one of the slack-jawed prison guards.

“Fancy a rescue, Captain Sparrow?”

It took Jack a moment and a squint in the dim light, but he managed to recognize the young lieutenant standing with a hip cocked against the wall – the one who’d brought him bread and water in the hold of the Dauntless months ago.

A slow grin twitched across his face. “Drink up, me hearties, yo ho...”


19.

The morning of Jack Sparrow’s execution looked to be dawning bright and clear, though the sky was still too dark to tell for sure. Norrington remembered the first time, the light breeze and how it had not been so unearthly hot. He hoped today’s weather would be similar. Each movement he made upon waking struck him as a last: the last time he would rouse himself from this bed, the last time he would dress in these clothes, the last time he would feed a mewing Ned. It was too broad a concept to accept; the only thing he could think of was Jack. In just hours he’d be free, and after that, what happened would happen. Having the weight of the decision lifted form his shoulders was actually something of a relief.

Groves and Gillette met him just outside the fort, the former toying nervously with a sleeve while the latter looked grimly determined. He tried to give them a smile and they tried to return it, but none of them succeeded very well.

“Everything is ready?” said Norrington very quietly.

They nodded. Gillette cleared his throat. “I just want you to know, sir, that it has been an honor serving you.” Groves nodded in agreement.

Norrington swallowed hard. “And it has been likewise an honor having men such as yourselves under my command..”

For a frightening moment he thought Gillette was going to hug him, but Groves put a light hand on his companion's elbow. “I believe we have an execution to attend.” Faintly whispered, his lips barely moving: “And prevent.”

He waited at the gallows as they went to fetch Jack, not trusting himself to go down and see him in that damp cell. Hopefully it hadn’t brought on a cough.

After a few minutes Jack was being led forward, his hands cuffed behind him. A thousand things he wanted to say died on Norrington’s tongue. Jack looked exactly as he had on that morning he was first supposed to be hanged, dark-eyed and calm, seeming not to care about the noose swinging above him or the burly executioner awaiting his ascent to the platform. His eyes met Norrington’s briefly as he climbed the stairs. No one who did not know him would have noticed, but there was a brief flicker of something – recognition, acknowledgment, resolution. Norrington had no chance to respond to it because the executioner was dragging Jack forward, looking like he wanted to lose his breakfast. Jack really had managed to get around town.

This was it – the opportune moment, as Jack would say. Norrington took a step. “Wait,” he said sharply. “It is customary to bind the condemned man’s hands in front of him.” The nearby marines nodded; it was true. The executioner, whose name he had never bothered to learn but whose wife Jack had probably flirted with at some point, shot him a hateful leer for a moment before he forced his face into a blank mask.

“I'll do it,” said Norrington. Someone shoved a coil of rope into his hands and he fumbled in his pocket for the key to the irons, willing his fingers to steady. Jack looked at him nonchalantly.

“If you’d be so kind as to hurry it up, Commodore. I’ve got an appointment to keep, savvy?” He smirked at Norrington and there was muttering from all around them, some of it amused, some of it affronted.

“I wouldn’t be so confident if I were you, Sparrow,” he said icily. “That appointment’s got to be met in a warmer climate than this.”

“Aye,” said Jack with a sigh as Norrington found the key. He spoke over his shoulder as Norrington turned him to unlock the manacles. “That’s why I’m leery o’ keepin’ him waiting, mate.”

Turn the key – there. It would have to be done now. He could see Gillette holding the horse out of the corner of his eye, an easy jump from the platform. A shove against the executioner, who would be too surprised to block it, and –

He found his wrist yanked as Jack spun more quickly than he would have believed possible and then there was a hand freeing the pistol from his belt. He was abruptly facing the small shocked crowd of his men, pressed back against Jack with an arm across his windpipe. The thought occurred to him that that was a smart move – he would have been expected to order them to shoot Jack regardless of his own safety. But what the hell was going on?

“Any man makes a move and the commodore here gets to make his own little trip,” Jack was snarling, slicing the pistol through the air at the soldiers, who leapt back. He awkwardly crab-walked Norrington to the edge of the platform. And there was no doubt he’d thought about being in Jack’s arms again, but this was not quite what he’d had in mind.

Although, dear God, was that – no, Jack couldn’t possibly be aroused by all this.

Jack tugged on him and Norrington was no longer turning red just from his restricted breathing.

He caught the dumbstruck expression of Gillette holding the horse – carefully constructed, of course – for an instant as Jack levered them down into the saddle. Norrington let out a puff of air as his throat was released and he slumped forward. With a kick and a yell, Jack spurred the horse into a burst of speed, and there was no longer any need to worry about embarrassing arousals because this saddle was definitely not built for two.

~~~

Gillette stared after them as Groves came up beside him. “Well, will you look at that.”

“Indeed,” said Gillette. “After them, I suppose?” Only Groves saw the sardonic quirk of an eyebrow. They split the contingent in two and took opposite paths out of the fort.

~~~

“This way?” Jack muttered in Norrington’s ear as they came to a crossroads.

He barely had breath enough to answer with the erratic pace of the horse. “Yes. Jack, what –”

“Haven’t got time for a chat, love. Just try not to pass out on me and all will make sense in due time.”

“Stupid – wordy – pirate...” The horse jumped over a wayward wooden crate and Norrington, slammed into the pommel, began to turn green.

~~~

The men following Groves skidded to a halt as they reached a fracas in the middle of the street, just outside the baker’s cottage.

“Look at what you’ve done to my father’s carriage!” Elizabeth Turner shrieked at the top of her lungs, accompanied by her nurse and an equally irate infant. Her husband, a tall coachman, and the commodore’s housekeeper were busy tossing rolls at members of the baker’s family. Everyone was covered in flour from a few burst bags that had fallen out of the baker’s wagon when it collided with the governor’s fine carriage.

Groves turned to the flabbergasted men. “It looks as though we’ll have to go around, then. Onward!” Chickens invaded the disaster zone, pecking at bits of biscuit and squawking indignantly, as Groves retreated down another street.

~~~

“Sir, are you certain this is the way to the docks –”

Gillette drew himself up haughtily. “I don’t believe you have ever chased Jack Sparrow through the streets of Port Royal, Mr. Mauthus. I know the evasive snake unfortunately better than I’d like, and I know he would go this way.”

It was only fear of the kidnapped commodore’s punishments for disrespect that kept the men silent when they hit a dead end two minutes later. They were all quite fond of their rum rations.

~~~

“It’s here, no?”

Norrington could only groan and cling to the sweat-soaked horse’s neck as Jack hauled back on the reins. Jack clucked his tongue. “Forgive me.”

“For – what?” Norrington gasped out.

“For this.” Jack shoved him hard and he tumbled to the ground, striking his head on a rock.

Jack crouched next him as he blinked stars from his vision. “Sorry, sorry –” Kisses all over his face, messy and quick. Jack pulled away to study the cut on his brow. Norrington reached up woozily to wipe away the blood threatening to drip into his eye, but Jack grabbed his hand.

“Has to look presentable.”

“What –” Jack was kissing him again, nibbling at his earlobe, pressing lips to the tip of his nose. “What just happened?”

He caught Jack’s face in both hands, stilling him but for the grin stretched across it. “Change of plans, mate. Think I was gonna let you go down for me?” Scooting forward into his lap, Jack nuzzled at his neck. “On me, yeah, but that’s somewhat different.”

Norrington tried to slow his breathing, but Jack’s roving kisses were not helping. “But I was – I was prepared –”

A sudden stop, black eyes gazing intently into his own. “I wasn’t.”

The tightness in his chest eased even as a new ache began to take its place. He wrapped his arms around Jack, who responded in kind, holding a rough cheek to his own.

“A few minutes more,” Jack murmured. “We’ve led them on a merry chase.”

Norrington found the parted lips and kissed him deeply, drowning in the sensations of eagerly delving tongue, drinking in the taste of treasure. Jack was breathing shallowly when they broke, his chest rising against Norrington’s, his hands clutching Norrington’s shoulders.

Kissing his closed eyelids, Norrington whispered, “I suppose this is goodbye.”

Jack shot to his feet as his eyes opened. “You –” He pointed wildly at Norrington. “You are still an idiot!”

Mystified and hurt, Norrington got up as well, somewhat gingerly. He suspected that riding would not be an enjoyable activity for quite some time after this morning. “There’s no need to insult me.”

Jack heaved a frustrated sigh and pulled him close. “I will be back in three weeks,” he said very slowly, as if he were indeed speaking to an idiot. “I’ll come at night, and I’ll sneak up to your room, and say hello to the kitten, and we’ll have a bit of a sport before I steal you away to warm my bed for awhile.”

It was not the first time Jack Sparrow had rendered him speechless, and he doubted very much it would be the last. The most logical course of action, then, would be to kiss him again, since his lips were pouting and it would be three weeks before he’d get to ravish them for it again.

“Hmm,” Jack breathed against him. “I’ve a mind to take you with me now, ‘cept then there’d be no one to watch over the whelp and the spitfire and the bairn.”

“I have to do it?” Jack nodded, distracted by the curve of Norrington’s jaw and lowering his mouth to it. Norrington let out a small noise against his hair. There were hands moving down his back, hands on his sore backside and oh, they were amazingly soothing... “They won’t listen to me the – the way they listen to you...”

Jack grinned, his eyes lighting when Norrington met it with his own smile. He gave Norrington’s arse a little squeeze. “They’ll learn. And I suggest we put a stop to all this revelry for the moment, because there’s not enough time for proper attention to the poor commodore’s frayed nerves.”

He was coming back, but first he was leaving. Norrington’s grip tightened. “Jack, I –”

“Me too,” said Jack before he could finish. His face was animated, but his eyes were sober enough to match the import of his words. “But don’t say it now, ‘s bad luck. Save it for when I’ve got you begging and panting on my lovely ship.”

Another bruising, burning kiss and he was darting away, running full-tilt down the beach. Norrington closed his eyes and touched a hand to his mouth, startled into a squeak when he was suddenly seized and kissed again.

“Love you.” Jack gave him one final peck, a last wicked grin, and took off again.

Norrington stood there sputtering for a moment. That lying, thieving, pillaging, selfish son of a –

“Jack!” he bellowed, not daring to run after him, since he was already to the water. Jack turned and waved amidst the sun-flashing waves. Then he dove back under, heading for the Black Pearl lurking around the corner of the cove.

Save it for next time, would he? Well, it wasn’t going to be Norrington doing the begging when he got his hands on Jack Sparrow again, that was for certain.

He spent a few minutes planning giddy revenge before a pair of lieutenants trotted up to him, followed by twenty or so gasping men. The Pearl was making good time, speeding away from their waters with all the grace Jack was so proud of.

“Damn,” said Groves blandly. “They’re out of range. What a shame.”

“All right, sir?” Gillette asked, noticing the barely-felt cut on his temple.

Norrington watched the speck of black on the horizon, narrowing his eyes against the sun. “Better than I ever believed I could be,” he said, the hint of the smile Jack had spent so much effort coaxing out of him breaking across his face.

He'd caught a pirate and he'd let him go, the promise of return stretching between them. It was a promise worth the risk, worth his career, worth his own life -- but after today, he couldn't quite fear that possibility. Whatever manner of luck Jack had was his now too, as much as the man himself. They would take that luck and make the most of it, for as long as they could, come wind and water and biting, scratching kittens.


END


Nailverse Outtake, Sometime After Chap. 12 and Before Chap. 15:

Pirates Sail and Lost Boys Fly


Norrington was surrounded by peaceful slumberers, but he was too intent on watching them to rest his own eyes.

Ned was in his lap, against the knees he’d pressed tight together. Norrington had never seen a cat sleep flat on its back, legs flopped carelessly out. Annabelle had generally favored a hunch-backed crouch, feet tucked neatly beneath herself, that he thought of as “the pudding.” The only thing he could think to compare Ned’s aimless sprawl with was the man beside him.

Jack slept like a small child, one moment taking up more space than a man twice his size and the next shrinking, his knees up to his chin and his arms wrapped around his legs. He had no qualms about climbing aboard Norrington as if he were a cushion with limbs, or twisting around so that his feet kicked at the pillows and Norrington’s own head. Right now he was on his stomach, one leg hanging off the bed. Careful not to disturb the kitten in his lap, Norrington reached out to tug him more securely close.

After a brief grumble Jack relaxed again, stretching out alongside him and sliding an arm around his waist. Norrington stroked Ned’s throat with one hand, feeling a faint purr thrum against his fingertips, and straightened Jack’s hair with the other. He could blame the tangled mess for his being continually tormented by a pouncing orange menace. Ned had found his ideal hunting grounds and he was not limited to striking during daylight hours. It was usually only Norrington himself shocked awake by sneak attacks in the dead of night; Jack had an irritating tendency to sleep through them.

An eye popped open and Jack fluttered long lashes at the kitten.

“Finally tuckered out, is he?” He lifted his head to rub his nose in Ned’s soft belly, jerking back before back legs could kick his face in reflex.

“He’s had a long day of scampering about,” said Norrington, opening his arms to let Jack scoot in against him.

Jack tucked his head under Norrington’s chin. “As have we. Or a long night, rather.”

Norrington pressed a smile into Jack’s dark hair. “Indeed.”

“So why aren’t you sleepin’ then?” Jack inquired, his hands running over Norrington’s body with a proprietary air. “I mean, I could try for one more go, but a body can only last so long...”

Norrington squeezed that undeniably welcome body to him. “No, I’m exhausted enough that you just might finish me off.”

“Would be quite the way to go, though, eh?”

“Aye,” Norrington replied with a quiet mocking laugh.

Jack swatted him on the arm and pushed himself up to look Norrington in the eye, his face grave. “Sleep,” he commanded, waving a hand around. “Obey your elders.” Norrington obligingly closed his eyes under the fingertips smoothing out his brow. After a moment, Jack pinched his ear. “You’re not asleep.”

“Your hand smells like oranges,” Norrington told him reproachfully.

Jack snatched it back, flashing Norrington a guilty grin as he opened his eyes. “I might’ve sampled a few.”

“They’re not ripe yet,” he scolded.

“Well, I didn’t say they were any good,” Jack replied, hooking his arm around Norrington’s neck and drawing him down again. Somewhere in the midst of drowsy kissing, a jostled Ned abandoned them, leaping off the bed with an reproachful mew.

Norrington released Jack’s mouth long enough to murmur, “You’ve upset the master of the house.”

“Bah,” said Jack, flicking a tongue out to bathe his bottom lip. “Not a sight for kitty eyes, anyway.” A hand skimmed down to his waist and hovered before Jack shook his head slightly. “I really am that tired,” he admitted, giving Norrington a regretful stroke. It was telling enough that Norrington felt only the barest twinge of reaction.

“I like this too,” he said, dropping another gentle kiss on Jack’s full lips, suddenly embarrassed at coming across as having such a raging sex drive that not even the notoriously randy Jack Sparrow could satisfy it.

Jack snuggled closer to him and ran a thumb across his cheek. “Aye, nothing wrong with being worn out for a worthy cause.” He turned, settling back against Norrington, who slipped an arm around him and breathed a contented sigh against his nape.

A thump warned them of Ned’s arrival on the bed. Instead of launching himself at the two half-asleep men, he wriggled between them, pawed at the pillow and Jack’s beads a few times, and finally curled up to sleep, making a nest out of black braids and rubbing his head against Norrington’s nose.

“Still not entirely certain we shouldn’t stew him for dinner,” Jack grumped, flinching as partially sheathed claws kneaded his neck.

“Hush, he’s only a baby,” Norrington replied, catching Jack’s hand. “And you were the one who brought him home.”

“Suppose I did,” said Jack, yawning widely. “And he’s taken to you as badly as I have. Sweet dreams, commodore o’ mine.”

Mine, Norrington thought in sleepy triumph, even as he said, “I’ve no need for them just now.”