the Dalaverse

Done. All done. That's a full seventy-nine pages, 12-point, Times New Roman font.

And I have Methods homework to do so I don't even have time to gather my thoughts. But I do want to thank everybody who hung on for the ride. Don't be alarmed when I slobber all over you.


"For Want of a Nail" Chapter Nineteen:


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 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 descent 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 will do it,” said Norrington. Someone shoved a coil of rope into his hands and he fumble for the key to the irons in his pocket, 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 had barely 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 painfully 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 dumbfounded 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 to the side 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, but 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, 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 a little while.”

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 baby.”

“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. “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 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 the 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.