For Want Of A Nail

Chapter 11

by

The Dala

He couldn't remember ever being so bored and listless in his life. Mrs. Perry was a bosom companion as far as housekeepers went, but there was a limit to how long she would put up with him. Conversely, Jack could only watch Will and Elizabeth nestle and coo at each other and the unborn babe for so long.

The study entertained him up to a point, but fussing with Norrington's things eventually grew tiresome as well. Occasionally he scripted conversations between himself and the absent Commodore, which were not nearly as satisfying now that he'd seen so many sides of the man and found him more difficult to predict.

Within a week of his recovery from the relapse, he was so anxious to get out of the house that he was fully willing to risk being caught and arrested with no Norrington around to protect him or tell him he was being an idiot. After a considerable amount of planning and some good old-fashioned wheedling, he convince Mrs. Perry to help him concoct his disguise. Three days later, a distinguished gray-haired gentleman was seen leaving the Commodore's residence, leaning on a cane and nodding sternly to whomever he passed on the streets.

Jack had such fun developing a history for Norrington's visiting uncle Sir Charles that he entirely failed to notice his disguise was not working. It was only after a few days of gallivanting about Port Royal's more premiere establishments, purse fattened with Norrington's money, that he caught the indulgent little smirks Mrs. Perry gave him whenever he went out.

"What?" he said indignantly. "I'm dressed like a respectable citizen and y'can't see my hair or beard or anything. There's the teeth, yes, but not much I can do about that—"

The housekeeper chuckled. "Haven't ye figured it yet, Mr. Sparrow? Th' Gov'nor may have to hang a pirate as told by his station, but most ev'rybody else thinks on ye as our own. Long as ye don't rock th' boat, so to speak, no one'll say boo b'cause we're all eager to see the Commodore come home and find the pirate he most wants to catch livin' in his own home. It's a chase, y'see, that's too entertainin' to watch to want to see its end."

Jack stroked his false beard and considered this. So Port Royal thought of him as its local celebrity, did it? Surely then nobody would mind if he stopped in a tavern or two—he'd been avoiding them on account of Uncle Charles' most distinguished reputation. It wouldn't do to get Norrington in trouble, but as everyone thought Norrington was none the wiser anyway...

"You are a dear, darling woman," he told Mrs. Perry as he kissed her cheek, suffering a solid swat on his backside as he ambled out the door.

The bakery was his first stop of the morning, mostly to flirt with the baker's pretty daughter.

"Good day to you, Sir Charles," Mabel called out from behind the counter. Jack flashed her a dashing grin that made her dimple most attractively.

"Hello, what's this?" he said, catching sight of a large basket in the corner. As he crouched down beside it, a tiny orange paw reached up to bat at his swinging gray beard.

"Latest litter," was the reply. The mother cat, a fluffy tan thing with bitten ears, glared at him until he rubbed her chin solicitously. The kittens, mewling and tumbling over each other, sniffed curiously at his hand. The orange one who'd taken a shine to his beard latched onto his fingers and began kick back legs against his palm.

Jack lifted it out, wincing—tiny though they were, its claws and teeth were sharp. "Right devil of a thing, aren't you?" he told the orange kitten, holding it up to his face. The kitten went slack in his grip suddenly, blinking up at him with large amber eyes. He ran a thumb over the striped markings on its head and it arched its back against him, starting up a little trilling purr.

Mabel was watching him with a smile on her face. "They're just about ready to leave their mam," she said innocently. "Not sure what we're going to do with so many, especially that runty little lad there."

"You're not a runt, are you," murmured Jack to the kitten, which sank its teeth into his hand again. "Just sparing with your size. I'll bet you can slink into lotsa places your brothers and sisters can't."

The kitten merely bumped its nose against his palm.

Ten minutes later Jack left the shop with a sourdough roll in his hand and an undersized orange kitten clawing the bottom out of his jacket pocket.

~~~

Norrington favored Lieutenant Gillette with a strained smile. "In a way, as always, Lieutenant."

"Remember that we've promised to take you out drinking next week," Groves told him.

"And we will not take no for an answer," Gillette added, wagging a finger at him.

"Then I shall not attempt to refuse," said Norrington with a smile that came a bit more naturally. He watched the two men go off to see to docking preparations, marveling at their restraint. It wasn't due to his own stupidity that he'd failed to notice their closeness; they were genuinely good at keeping it hidden in public. Over the past few weeks they'd grown comfortable enough with him to share the occasional kiss, when the three of them were alone and they thought he wasn't looking. He surprised himself by finding it sweet, even if it did tend to make him turn pink.

Norrington wasn't entirely sure how it happened that he'd set out on this voyage with two lieutenants and seventy-two other men, and yet had returned from it with two friends and seventy-two men. He had resisted their hesitant overtures at first, but eventually loneliness had gotten the better of him and he had relaxed his rigid control over himself.

More than anything, the gradually easing camaraderie put to rest certain doubts in his mind. If he had ever thought that his responses to Jack were spurred by a mere desire for friendship and an interest in anybody who paid him the slightest bit of attention, he now knew just how wrong he'd been. Some part of whatever roil of emotions he felt toward the pirate came from the same place as his friendly inclinations toward Gillette and Groves, but far too much of it could not be so accounted for.

Not that it mattered, he told himself fiercely as he stomped down the gangplank, his mood suddenly darkening. Jack would be long gone by now, and the chances of him ever coming back and letting Norrington know about it were slim. Oh, he'd probably be here to see the Turners' baby in a month or so, but since he was well again, Norrington had no doubt that he'd see neither hide nor hair of him.

Epson opened the door to him with his usual air of gravity. The unfamiliar sounds of Mrs. Perry laughing in the kitchen greeted his ears before the woman herself ducked into the room, coming over to welcome him.

He didn't notice what she said, ignored her completely as she took the small knapsack from his hands, because Jack came out of the kitchen behind her.

If he'd caught the knowing smile on his housekeeper's face he would have been mortified, but he could not make himself look away from Jack. The parlor cleared quickly, without his notice, and the two of them were standing there alone, separated by the length of the room.

It was Jack who crossed that space, walked over to him and stood with one hip cocked.

"Welcome back, Commodore." His voice was quiet with an edge of amusement.

He'd dreamed of those words many times and come up with a great variety of responses. But all he could manage to say was, "You're still here."

Jack exhaled quickly, almost a snort of laughter. "Nothing escapes you, does it?" Teasing, gentle—friendly. "I'm afraid I had a touch of a relapse just after you left. Pretty bad, it was—thought I might die, but here I am still."

Norrington bit his lower lip in a couple of different spots, entirely unwilling to guess how they might proceed from here. Surely jumping on him and knocking him to the ground would be detrimental to his fragile health.

Jack clapped his hand to his forehead suddenly. "Almost forgot—found you a new houseguest." He went to the striped sofa and knelt in front of it, sticking his head and an arm underneath. Norrington felt his body shift forward involuntarily—he'd seen Jack bent over like that many times in his head, and it always ended the same way.

After a stifled curse, Jack drew himself back out from under the furniture, something cupped in both palms.

He offered the small orange kitten to Norrington with a grin. Astonished, Norrington took the wriggling ball of fluff, which immediately hooked claws in his uniform and clambered up to his shoulder.

"His name's Ned," said Jack proudly.

Norrington laughed softly as a cool nose poked in his ear. "Ned? That's what we called my brother Edward, until he reached fourteen or fifteen and decided he was too much of a man for such a name." He caught the kitten in his hand against and cradled it to his chest, feeling its heartbeat against his fingertips. "Thank you," he said, meaning it.

Jack glanced down at the floor. "Know it's not the same—"

"Jack." Norrington put a hand on his shoulder, hardly daring to believe his own nerve, but too moved by the gift to care. "Thank you," he repeated. Jack smiled at him again, a smile that was more grounded in his eyes than in the faint stretch of his lips.

Norrington yelped and released him as Ned bit his hand.

"Oh, yes, he does that," said Jack with a sympathetic wince.

They shared a late supper in the dining room, Jack supplying him with the latest gossip from town and Will's continuing panic attacks about the coming child. He demanded explicit details about Norrington's trip—about the weather, the water, the ship itself. Norrington fell into the conversation with an ease he scarcely noticed. Before he knew it the hour was late and they were standing in front of the door to Norrington's room.

Jack was looking at him in a strange, searching way, not with the open desire he'd previously displayed. Norrington had absolutely no idea what he was going to do—this scenario had never come up, at least not in his waking mind, as he'd been so sure that Jack would be gone when he returned.

"I missed you, mate," said Jack suddenly. Slowly his hands came up to either side of Norrington's face. Norrington could only stare into those dark eyes, unable to move, to put arms around him as he thought he wanted to do. He stayed still, barring the errant tremor, as Jack leaned in, stopping with his forehead against Norrington's, their heads not quite aligned. Norrington's lips were parted, breath coming shallowly between them, but Jack did nothing except stand there and... and be. Be with him, be touching him, be breathing against him in a rhythm that quickened to match his own.

Then Jack pulled away. "Good night," he said pleasantly, turning and entering his own room. Norrington listened to the door click shut and leaned his too-warm head against the wall.

He wished he could pretend not to understand. It was an offer, plain and simple, one that would not be repeated if he didn't do his part and accept it.

For awhile he tried to pretend as he tried to sleep, tossing about in the bed where he'd last spent the night with Jack by his side. He called upon every bit of will he possessed, but he found only that his will had reoriented itself when he wasn't paying attention. And in the end, there was only one choice he could make.

~~~

Norrington stood in the doorway, running a hand through his hair. He remembered being so nervous on the morning of his appointment to Commodore that he thought he might vomit. He had directed Elizabeth to the battlements because he wanted to be sick over the side of the fort, if it was going to happen.

This was a thousand times worse.

Jack was sitting up in bed, naked. Norrington was not surprised to learn that he slept bare in normal circumstances—or at least, circumstances as normal as their present situation would ever allow. He dug his bare toes into the rug, reluctant to leave the steadying presence of the empty hallway at his back. In the moonlight Jack's eyes were cast in shadow, rendering them impossible to read, but Norrington could see him cant his head to the side.

"What do you want, Commodore?"

He smiled ruefully. "I used to think I knew exactly what I wanted—comfort and security, a high post in the Navy, Elizabeth or someone else as pretty. Early retirement in England. Being a fitting tribute to my father's name. Now..." Crossing the room, his stomach tied in sailor's knots, he sat down on the edge of the bed, facing away from Jack to gaze out the window. "Now I'm not so sure.

"No," he corrected himself with a small shake of his head, aware of Jack's silent gaze on him. "That's not true. I want to seek out these feelings I'm having, I want to know what this—whatever this is, between us."

"I can't be stayin' with you." Jack's arms went around him from behind. "I don't belong here."

Norrington leaned back into that still too-thin chest. He had never realized that you could smell the orange groves from this room, but he inhaled the scent deeply now, feeling the rise and fall of Jack's breathing behind him.

"I know that, far better than you," he whispered. "This is—only a temporary solution. A little peace."

"I would give you that, if you asked." Jack's nose bumped against his own, a breath carrying between them. "But are you certain, mate?"

"Kiss me," said Norrington by way of an answer.

He closed his eyes and opened his mouth to taste the salty-sweet tang of Jack once again.

"Yes," he said, and pushed him back onto the bed.

Jack murmured "Gabriel" once, as Norrington brushed damp lips against his throat, and then he was quiet. Norrington had a chance to reflect that attention to the sensitive skin behind his ears seemed be the best way to get him to shut up, before Jack had his breeches off and there were no more coherent thoughts in his head for a long, long time.

Leave a Comment
(If you're commenting about a specific chapter, please mention that.)

Read Comments
(Warning: May contain spoilers!)