Passages

Chapter 8

by

Garnet

The other man looked at Jack for a long thoughtful moment, then turned his gaze on Norrington.

"An what say ye to that?" he asked. "What might ye have to offer, in order to ransom this other from me own tender embrace? Will ye take his place here? Give your own life for his?"

Norrington straightened. He hesitated, glancing over to Jack, both bared bone and dark eyes unreadable, though he thought he detected a faint disquiet about the man all the same. As if the pirate feared his answer.

"Well?" Barbossa urged. "What say ye?"

But, before Norrington could answer, the faint cry of a raven brought the other man's head up to stare at the sky. The mist around them seemed to swirl thicker for a few moments, and the deck moved slightly beneath their feet, as if a wave had abruptly washed up out of the darkness.

"I say," Jack commented then, glancing back past Norrington's shoulder. "That we've a bit of company."

"What be the meaning o' this?" a familiar voice suddenly demanded.

Norrington turned and saw a familiar figure as well, striding across the deck of the Pearl, a good dozen or more pirates in tow.

Unlike the other Barbossa, this one was dressed in a worn coat and his shirt was stained and looked to have seen hard times of late. His fingers were bare of gold and his teeth were yellowed, and rather less pointed. Still, his eyes were sharp enough as he came to a stop and appraised them all.

"What do ye imagine," the other Barbossa responded, and suddenly his voice had changed, even as a shadow suddenly fell across the deck—as if they'd found themselves beneath the wing of some great bird for a moment, large enough even to blot out the moon itself—and when Norrington glanced back at him, he realized that the man in black velvet clothing had somehow transformed while he hadn't been looking.

For he found himself starting at a smallish man now, a man with long straight dark braids and sun-bronzed skin. Smooth of skin and with eyes even darker than his hair. While a familiar looking tri-corn hat was on his head, resting upon an equally familiar red scarf. Oddly enough, he looked very much like a very young Jack Sparrow.

Despite the fact that a raven sat upon his shoulder now, black feet clutching at his captain's coat. A black beak dipping towards his ear, as if to whisper secrets to him. Or perhaps to steal the silver and pearl earbob dangling there.

"And might this be your true face?" Norrington asked, not attempting to hide the scorn in his voice. He was growing weary of all these games.

The young Jack shrugged. "As real as any other."

And, with that, the man raised an eyebrow and the lanterns hung over the deck flared up, the flames turning briefly blue, before returning to yellow again.

But the real Barbossa was stepping forward smartly now, obviously unimpressed, pulling his sword free of its sheathe the next moment. "Damn ye," he said. "Why have ye brought me here again? A bargain is a bargain, an I have kept me end of it."

"True enough," the other replied. "But justice is not so simple a thing as that. A bargain was made and struck with thee, Captain—blood for the life, souls for eternity—however, one of the hearts ye saw fit to give unto me has found a champion, you see. One who refuses to let him go lightly into the dark. An as he has found his way here, to my own very gates, I have decided at the last to grant him the chance to reclaim that heart. Consider it the price of me own amusement, if ye will."

Barbossa's eyes narrowed and he glanced over at Norrington.

"You," he said. "Come for his soul, have ye? I never would have thought it of ye. A King's man to dare for the likes of a pirate. Ye must be mad indeed."

"No doubt," Norrington replied dryly.

Those pale eyes caught the light as Barbossa raised his head a little. He put the tip of his sword to the deck and leaned on it, giving him a pensive look.

"Aye, mad," he said in that entirely too amiable tone of his. "Or mad with lust, I must think. Well I know Jack Sparrow has a warm place in his own heart for ye, Commodore. But what be your excuse? I can't see as bedding pirates would be to your usual liking. Or else ye'd be hanging rather less of em, an pegging em instead."

Norrington straightened a little. He gave the other man a cool smile.

"Jealous, Captain?"

The man's face didn't change, but those eyes suddenly regarded him with a seemingly grudging respect.

"Not so much," Barbossa replied softly.

But Norrington turned back to the other man. "Who are you, sir?" he asked. "Really?"

Those familiar black eyes met his and he gave a half bow, but it was a thin-edged mockery of Jack's usual nonchalant charm and grace.

"I be the lord of these dark lands," he replied. "Or a face in the mirror anyway."

"Then it is you that I have come to speak with."

"Then ye be here in vain," Barbossa put in. "For this one shall not bargain with ye." And he turned back to the other man. "Blood were given ye, blood enough to seal the bargain. We put a town entire to the sword an fed ye well."

"Aye," the younger Jack replied, soft as sin, sauntering forward. "Ye did feed us well. But twas not a town entire. For ye did spare two, that I know."

Barbossa frowned at him, then spun around to look at his men.

They all shrugged and smiled and in return, but none of them looked decidedly guilty. Barbossa scowled at the lot of them.

"Ye promised me blood," the other went on, moving closer to Barbossa and his men. "But did ye not make clear the rules o' the bargain with your own, Captain? Did ye not tell them—no quarter, no mercy, no parole. To leave no survivors."

"I told em," Barbossa answered, and now all his men were looking guilty, or at least unsure of what their own captain might be about to do to them.

"Then perhaps ye be not the man ye led me to believe," the young Jack said, one hand coming up now as if to stroke down Barbossa's sleeve. Almost, but not quite touching it. "Perhaps I needs must seek me justice elsewhere. An return ye all to the earth from whence ye came."

He turned away and looked right at Norrington, who returned that dark gaze with a cool look of his own.

"But, in the meantime," the younger Jack said, nonchalant as you please and with just a hint of a smile, displaying pure white teeth without a hint of gold. "For the two who were spared, deliberate or no, two of your own be now lost. Savvy?"

And, with that, two of the pirates abruptly folded and fell to the deck below, their bodies crumbling into dust and yellowed bone and tattered rags.

Almost as one, the remaining men backed away, clearing contemplating escape, but the mists were thick now around the deck of the ship and seemed quite impenetrable. A few of the pirates cursed, but softly, as if fearing to call attention to themselves.

But Jack clearly did not share their fears. He walked up closer to the man who looked so much like him—or so much like he normally would look—and cocked his head.

"That were fairly enough done," he said. "Yet I have seen your games an I ask ye again, let the Commodore here go. He knows naught of this. Tis of no matter to him."

The young Jack gazed over at Norrington. "'S truth," he said. "He be a bit... fresh, at that. Still, he came here of his own free will an accord an I shall hear him out. Considering I have not yet had his answer to me question."

The real Jack shot him a glance as well.

Norrington squared his shoulders.

"What is it you want?" he demanded.

The young Jack made an expansive gesture, then took a couple of swaying steps towards him and fixed that dark gaze on his face.

"Why, just the blood of those who destroyed me own heart," he replied softly. "What this one swore to bring me. An, now that ye be here, will ye pledge to grant me the same?"

"The treasure of Cortez," Norrington said softly. "Yes, I have heard the story. And so you require your revenge, sir, upon the Spaniards. Those who broke their word and took the gold and murdered your people."

"Aye," came the quiet reply. "That which I am due shall be mine."

"I see."

And the skeletal Jack was shooting him warning glances, long bony fingers slyly moving in their usual dance to attempt to command his attention, but he fixed his gaze back on the other Jack.

"Well, I daresay, I can promise you there shall be Spanish blood enough in these next few months, perhaps even years, enough to slake the thirst of any... godling."

The man gave him one of Jack's most pensive looks. "Will ye now?"

"Yes," Norrington said evenly. "Surely, that is worth something to you. Far more than whatever... deal you struck with these... pirates."

Barbossa let out a sharp breath from between his teeth.

"An ye would break our accord?" he demanded. "What manner of justice is that?"

The young Jack spun on him.

"Justice," he said, the accent all but dropping from his voice, leaving it oddly hollow and sharp at the same time. "You would demand justice... I would take care, my good Captain. You have already failed to hold up your end of the bargain once already, and, for that matter, what a man may consider just may not necessarily be what a god would consider just. And you are no god..."

To his credit, Barbossa simply crossed his arms, not backing down for an instant.

"All the same," the pirate said. "We sealed a bargain between us. An this be no part of that."

The younger Jack stroked his chin, clearly considering. "Well, now," he said slowly, thoughtfully. "It may yet be that we shall all get what we deserve. For this be the place for it, if nowhere else. For endings and beginnings. And let none say that I am not a fair god, even if few remain to call me to account."

He turned and looked at them all slowly, making as much a production out of having their full attentions as much as the real Jack would.

"So, I say good sirs," he said. "Let us then a wager make. For is that not how gentlemen such as we resolve our differences?"

Norrington felt he could have disputed that sentiment on several accounts, but before he could say anything, Barbossa frowned at the man.

"An what sort of wager might ye have in mind?"

The young Jack shrugged. "Why, a duel of course. Between yourself and the good Commodore here. Being, that it is, that each of you have seen fit to make me an offer of what I most desire. So, I say, amuse me, good sirs. Take blade to each other and whosoever shall win, theirs shall be the accord I shall pledge myself to. My own word upon it."

Cool blue eyes turned to him, and Norrington felt his spine stiffen and his jaw tighten as Barbossa clearly took stock of him and the possibility of engaging him in combat... and, clearly, found him wanting. Or, at least, he distinctly gave that impression.

Still, it was not with eagerness that the pirate captain turned back to the young Jack.

"Shed blood for your pleasure, you mean to say," he commented. "Do you not?"

The other man stroked the breast of the raven on his shoulder with the very tip of one finger.

"Blood," he said pensively. "Aye, in truth, tis the coin of this realm. Blood gained you entrance and blood may find you passage free again. It is, of course, entirely your own choice—to live, to die, to risk all for what you desire most. But then, is that not life? To risk, to dare, to dream..."

The other Jack wavered, as if about to speak, but his counterpart gave him a quick frown.

"Tis not your voice I seek," he said. "For well I know what your answer to that question would be, Jack Sparrow."

"Then I must imagine ye know mine own, as well," Barbossa said.

Two sets of dark eyes turned towards him. The pirate captain met them in turn, then inclined his head towards Norrington.

"Your word?" the Commodore inquired.

"Aye," the younger Jack replied, not at all sounding perturbed at having his honor questioned. "A God I may well be, but there are rules even for Gods. Sad to say."

Barbossa nodded. Cool blue eyes regarded him. "So that leaves ye, my good Commodore. Will ye cross blades with me then? For though my mettle has been sore tested in the past, yet I cannot rightly recall how many years it has been since I have met my match."

"Being unable to die you mean," Norrington commented. "A bit unfair that, wouldn't you say?"

Barbossa simply shrugged. "An advantage is yet an advantage, an who is to tell a man what he may or may not make usage of. For well ye would take advantage of your own, if it came to that. For what fight be fair when some poor pirate sloop but faces a great ship such as your Navy would set against her. Blow her out of the water, ye would, an never think twice about it."

"I know the value of mercy," he responded.

"Do ye?" Barbossa said. "Were that the same mercy ye showed to Jack then? For if tis, then I would rather forgo it, thank ye all the same."

Norrington drew himself up, even though all he wanted to do in that moment was wince away from the image that the other man's words had raised in his mind.

Jack dangling from that rope... the uncertainty in his own heart...

"I shall fight you, sir," he said and was pleased at how firm his voice was.

He raised his blade and suddenly that drew back sharp memories as well—that hot, clear day at fort when it had first been presented to him, how proud he had been, and how nervous at the thought of approaching the fair Elizabeth, and how even more shocked and horrified he had been when she had fallen. Only to be rescued by a wanted criminal of all people, a dripping wet and shockingly insolent pirate.

That day had changed his life. In ways he had never expected. It remained to be seen, what else would unfold from that singular meeting upon the docks of Port Royal. And, suddenly, he found himself welcoming that thought.

For if a pirate could be a good man, then he...

He could be another man entire. Live another life entire.

"I see ye have recovered your sword, Commodore," Barbossa commented dryly, moving towards him with a grace belied by his height. "Yet I fear that it shall do ye little good."

"If you're quite ready," Norrington countered, ignoring the taunt. He took up position, moving to balance on his feet.

Instead of answering, Barbossa swung his gaze to Jack, the skeletal face betraying no feelings at all, though those dark eyes stared back coolly. Barbossa looked into them for a long moment, before he finally turned to the other Jack.

"An what one does here...?"

The younger Jack Sparrow shrugged, his own black eyes not cool, but eager enough. He smiled, his teeth mockingly white.

"One world may readily reflect another," he said. "Aye, truly to the death it is then, if ye be both agreeable to it."

The pirate captain swung back to him, those blue eyes studying him from head to foot and back again. Seeming almost to judge him less as an opponent, than as a rival.

Norrington gazed back steadily, somberly, well aware that this was a dangerous man he was facing, and not simply because of the fact that Barbossa was clearly ruthless and chary, but because he was fighting for his life and so much more.

That much more including one Jack Sparrow.

"To the death then, sir," he said, the question less a question than a polite statement of fact.

"To the death," Barbossa repeated, his own tone making it quite clear just whose was intended.

And, with that, he stood up straight and lifted his own blade, balancing easy enough on the deck himself, his height and the reach of those long arms making Norrington entirely aware of just what advantages the other man might have over him. Still, his own heart was well resolved, his will forged of good Navy steel and English oak, and he had never been himself a fickle champion of the arts of the blade.

"As ye wish," the young Jack said, lapsing back into his old accent, not at all sounding surprised.

"An what about what I may wish," the real Jack said, stepping forward with upraised bony fingers and a sway of tattered sleeve. He walked past him, seemingly ignoring both him and Barbossa, and right up to the one who wore his own visage. Black eyes looking demandingly into black eyes, and seemingly unconcerned at the audacity of confronting a being who styled himself a god.

Instead, Jack put a finger right to the other's chest and tapped it twice.

"Have I naught to say about this?" he demanded.

The younger Jack looked neither taken aback, nor offended. Though the raven on his shoulder ruffled his wings and gave a soft, rough cry.

"An what would ye have of me?" the other Jack said softly.

"I can fight for me own self," came the reply. "This has naught to do with them."

The younger Jack lifted his head slightly, dark eyes narrowing. "A man who ye killed an a man who killed ye... an yet now both would kill for ye. It seems ye be not telling the whole truth to me, Jack Sparrow. But then, was ye who once said that not all treasure be silver an gold. To which I agree. An to be the proving o' that, I shall give to the victor of this little battle, not only their own lives, but that which was rendered onto me this night. The keeping o' your own soul. Much as it pains me to give it up."

Norrington watched Jack frown at that, and his own chest clenched. He took several long breaths to ease it, and then bent his gaze back upon his waiting opponent.

Who appeared unmoved by the terms which had just been set before them. Though, somehow, Norrington well suspected that was a lie. A suspicion which was suddenly confirmed, as those smoke blue eyes looked deep into his own, and the pirate captain gave him a mocking, albeit entirely proper bow, before drawing himself up straight again. Drawing himself to that impressive height. The corner of his mouth curved upwards.

"A fair enough wager, Commodore," he said serenely. "For a fair enough soul... the soul of a pirate. An will ye hang him again, once ye have him back? Once ye tire o' him."

"That, sir," Norrington replied firmly. "Is none of your concern."

A full smile was his response and a crooked tilt to the head. As the smile turned sly, those pale eyes cruel.

"Aye," he said. "Most fair. An most sweetly willing. As well ye know."

It was meant to be an even crueler jib, and Norrington did flinch inside at it, at the implications. But when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the real Jack wince and look away, he found his own heart turning to an even more steely resolve.

Sweetly willing... he doubted that Jack would have ever given himself willingly to this man, let alone found any pleasure in it. And when the pirate looked back at him, dark eyes staring imploringly out of naked bone and the tattered rotting remains of braid and cloth, he found himself smiling slightly at him in return. Reassuringly.

Jack blinked at him a moment, but then his head tilted sidelong and one hand rose slightly, as if he would reach out to him. As if to reassure him in turn.

And Norrington turned back to Barbossa.

"Well, sir," he said. "Shall we proceed?"

***

Jack stared back and forth between Norrington and Barbossa as they lifted their blades to each other. He started forward, only to be hauled up short as fingers closed on his shoulder, one of them poking through the cloth of his coat to hook around bare bone and hold him fast.

"Ah, Jack," a voice whispered directly in his ear. "Be it not a grand sight? Two such gentlemen willing to fight for what they believe in, willing to die for it. How ye must inspire them, an ye but a lowly pirate from an even more lowly beginning."

Jack turned his head and looked into eyes almost exactly his own. Yet, as he stared into them, he saw something moving deep inside them, a glitter as if of gold, of candle flame, a dreadful sort of amusement that thought nothing of a man's life, nor of his inevitable death.

The clash of metal sparking across metal drew his gaze away, but he suddenly felt cold inside, so very cold, as if all those naked bones had turned to ice. He watched as the Commodore and Barbossa traded a first series of blows, then paused to circle each other, clearly taking measure of each other's skills.

Barbossa made some comment to the other man, but Jack could not hear it. Though he could well imagine, since Norrington's face grew even more formidable in response.

He instinctively jerked forward a little as they began again, steel flashing pale and deadly by moonlight, as the other pirates almost fell over themselves as they scrambled out of the way, but strong fingers held him back.

"Remember your place now," his own voice breathed. And, even as Jack strained to follow the fight, he found himself swaying in place, that dreadful cold intensifying. As if that simple touch was stealing the last of his life away.

As if through a haze, he saw Barbossa launch several quick cuts, but Norrington parried them with seeming ease. The Commodore then pressed the other man, his own style clearly more utilitarian than his opponent's, but impressive all the same. Quite impressive.

A sharp spike of admiration and relief made the cold pull back slightly, and Jack managed to straighten up a little. He blinked and his vision cleared. Just in time to see Barbossa give him a quick unreadable look, before he started in on the Commodore in earnest, driving him back with both that long reach and with sheer viciousness.

Norrington fought back hard, giving ground only reluctantly, but well Jack knew what he must be feeling, what he was facing. For a moment, he found himself again in that cave on the Isla de Muerta, felt the pain and dull shock as the blade sliced right through the heart of him. Something fluttered and flinched deep inside him and he found he was shivering all of a sudden, quite unable to stop.

"Something amiss, Jack?" a quiet voice asked, but it was more mocking than anything else.

A wave of dizziness swept over him and he fought to keep his eyes open, to watch the men before him, even as he heard a familiar roar of approval from the host of gathered pirates. The sick feeling grew as he saw that Norrington had stepped back and was clutching at his right arm, a bright smear of blood on his fingers.

"What will ye give me then," that voice went on. "To have your Commodore win. Will ye stay with me, Jack? For if ye would but render yourself unto me, freely and of your own accord, then I shall end this and do what ye bid me to do with those who fight for ye here. Death or life, to keep them here forever, or to release them to the world above. Come now, Jack... well ye knew it was always about ye, it was always in your own good hands. The fate of these two men an your own fate. But surrender yourself to me an ye shall have whatever ye desire."

"Aye?" Jack breathed. "What I desire, ye say...?"

But there was only one thing in all the world that he desired, though to others eyes they may seem two things. His freedom and his ship. And to pledge himself for all eternity to this being, this God of an alien netherworld, would serve to grant him neither. But yet to let the Commodore die for him, when he was already dead... when his soul was already forfeit.

He could not bear to think upon that, either.

The assembled pirates were taunting Norrington now, laughing at him, but the Commodore was standing straight again. He gave Barbossa a nod, as if to acknowledge first blood, and then was back into the fray. And his style had abruptly altered from what most saw in a Navy man, even in an officer of many years experience, to something more approaching that of a true master of the sword.

Now, it was Barbossa's turn to retreat, though he fought for every step of ground. Finally, he was pressed back against the rail, and only then did he find an opening and manage to slip to one side. At which he raised his blade in a fleeting salute, those blue eyes turning to that deadly pale hue that Jack knew only too well.

"Say ye shall stay, Jack," that voice whispered, only to alter the next moment. "An this shall all be over."

Jack glanced away from the fight, to see that the man holding him back had changed once again. He found himself looking into warm brown eyes, not those of Bootstrap, this time, but akin to them all the same.

"Stay with me, Jack," Will Turner said, the raven still upon his shoulder peering at him, as well. "And I will be whoever you wish me to be. I shall give you whatever you want."

Jack turned away from that familiar face, that familiar smile.

"Ye cannot give me what I want," he said.

"No?" Will replied. "Now, who's being the stupid one, Jack?"

And Jack suddenly felt the cold sweep over him again, deep and deadly. He slipped to his knees and only those ruthless fingers hooked into his shoulder kept him from tumbling full down upon his face on the deck.

Distantly, he heard metal ringing upon metal, the shouts of the assembled pirates. But he didn't have the strength left to lift his head. He shuddered as he tasted dirt in his mouth, and the memory of having to dig his way free of his own grave was suddenly real and immediate.

He found himself sinking beneath it, sinking into darkness so heavy that he doubted he would ever be able to find his way free of it again...

Only to hear another voice, to feel hands touching him, the beat of another's heart against his own.

"Jack... don't leave me. Don't you dare think of leaving me..."

James...

And even as he thought it, the man's mouth was upon his, warm, so very warm, and dragging him back to life as it had once reclaimed him before. Snatching him back from the very edge of the abyss.

Jack held onto that voice, that feeling, and somehow managed to open his eyes again, to straighten up slightly.

Across the deck, as though through a mist, he watched Norrington—his James—turn and thrust, the sword sliding in neatly through Barbossa's defense, to pink him in the left shoulder. But the pirate captain ignored the injury, responding with a feint and thrust of his own that almost caught the Commodore full in the stomach.

The other pirates roared in approval and disappointment. Their own uncertain future clearly forgotten as they eagerly watched one of their own face a long-time enemy.

Jack's own doubt and foreboding at the whole duel only returned threefold as the two men danced back and forth along the deck, deadly blades flashing, both stained with hints of red now. But then blood was what this place delighted in, what its dark God demanded. Why should this God give them up—give any of them up—whether either Norrington or Barbossa won the day? To be sure, he had said that even Gods had to obey certain rules, but he had not said which rules he was so bound by.

Jack doubted not that it was a deliberate mislaying of the facts.

Yet even as Norrington cut close again to Barbossa, slicing the edge of his sleeve this time, he realized that the man holding him back—the man who currently looked like Will Turner—had let something slip, after all.

...well ye knew it was always about ye, it was always in your own good hands... the fate of these two men and your own fate...

And had he not said, earlier still, that if he had not desired so to live, then no God could have raised him from the depths of that bone yard. Aye, desire then was the key. The desires that lay in the heart of a man, what he could do and what he couldn't do in order to lay claim to them. What he might dare all for the having of it.

To risk all was something of which he understood fair well, and always had.

Jack looked away from the duel, full into the face of his captor.

"End this," he said softly. "End this now."

An expectant look filled those brown eyes, turning them more wicked than Will's ever had been or likely ever could be.

"You will give yourself over to me, Jack?"

"No," Jack replied. "I will give myself freely to the man here who would love me best, whether he wins this fight or no. To stay if he stays, to go if he goes. To face life with him, or remain here in the lands of the dead. It is to his hands that I would surrender myself an not to ye. To him, an to no other."

A scowl was his reply. An insidious cruel whisper that had nothing of Will about it. "And how do you know who loves you best, Jack? Or, in truth, if either of these men love you at all? Both of them have been your enemies. Both have wanted your death. I am the only one who wanted more to give you life. Who granted you that life. And yet you spurn me. Jack..."

Another raucous cheer and Jack swiveled his head around to see that Barbossa was pressing Norrington hard again—the taller man smirking as his blade work drove the Commodore back and back—until a too shade to slow parry allowed the pirate captain's sword to snake in. Another brilliant blossom of red appeared, this time high on Norrington's shoulder.

Jack winced, and if he had had a stomach at this moment it would have been turning slow cartwheels inside him. As it was, he caught his breath as he saw his James' face suddenly grow pale. A bad wound, then... and one that Barbossa would, no doubt, quickly turn to his advantage.

The being next to him seemed to know it, too.

"Time grows short," he hissed.

Jack gazed back into that familiar-unfamiliar gaze. "Ye say ye would give me to one o' them—well, I say that I know ye lie. That ye cannot do so without me own blessing upon it. That well ye may be able to keep me here for a time—for I be dead to the world above—yet unless I surrender it to ye, ye cannot have me soul. Is that not so, 'Master Turner.'"

"Think you that I cannot?" That voice was still quiet, sounding easy natured even, but those brown eyes were looking a bit angry. "You forget your place, Jack Sparrow."

Jack shook his head. "I've not forgotten. Anything. Threats ye have made to me, and placed temptations before me... why else, but to make me do as ye wish, to convince me that I have no power here."

Oh, aye, clearly angry now. But another clash of metal stole Jack's attention, though he felt those fingers in his shoulder tighten, tighten hard enough to crack bone. Not that it hurt. Exactly.

What hurt more was seeing the set look upon Norrington's face as he desperately fought for every step, for every lost inch, despite the beads of sweat upon his forehead now and the growing stain upon his shoulder. What hurt was watching Barbossa's eyes gleaming with triumph as he cut closer and closer to the other man. As he chased him across the deck and finally had him cornered against the ladder that led up to the quarterdeck.

Norrington stumbled on the first step, then caught himself. He backed up the stairs, parrying the ruthless cut that Barbossa aimed at his legs.

Equally ruthless fingers abruptly hauled him up and dragged him after the two combatants.

"Come now, Jack," his captor said. "Let us watch the end, shall we?"

As he reached the top of the ladder, Norrington somehow rallied himself, holding Barbossa off for a few precious moments, but then something seemed to run out of him. He fell back, looking bone-white now, blood running the length of his arm now, blood dripping off his fingers to pool upon the black boards of the Pearl.

He ended up at the taffrail, breathing hard, and his eyes briefly slid past Barbossa to catch and hold Jack's own. And there was apology in their green depths, and hunger and hurt and a mute fierceness of spirit, but no fear. No regrets. No accusation.

Then Norrington turned away again as Barbossa came at him again, clearly intending on finishing this with all speed.

But somehow, through the flash of blades, the furious serious of feints and thrusts as Norrington fought his last battle, Will Turner's most well fashioned blade somehow twisted inside Barbossa's guard at the last and stabbed deep into the pirate captain's side. But, even as Norrington drew it free again, clearly aiming for a more telling second stroke, Barbossa's own sword came down on the guard and smashed it entire from his hand. The blade clattered to the deck, even as the taller man laughed and his roundhouse fist knocked Norrington to the floor after it.

Barbossa glanced down at his wound, then frowned. "Damn ye, man," he said. "This were me best shirt."

"My apologies," Norrington somehow gasped. He forced himself up a little, a bloody hand pressed to his shoulder. There was blood on the corner of his mouth now, too. But, again, there was no fear on his face as he looked up at the other man, even as the tip of Barbossa's sword came in to press upon his neck, to tilt his face further upwards.

But, rather than kill the man straight off, the pirate captain turned his head to gaze upon the man next to Jack. One eyebrow went up as he clearly recognized the new face the being was wearing, though those blue eyes remained chillingly cold.

"Have we granted ye enough amusement then?" he asked. "Or do ye wish me to draw this out further, your Lordship? For, well and away, I can make a man last a good while before he finally succumbs, especially a man such as this."

Those fingers finally unhooked themselves from Jack's shoulder. Will Turner stepped forward, one hand curled around the hilt of his own pretty sword.

"Finish him," he said. "And you shall have what you desire, what you have always longed for. Even when you dared not admit it, not to others and not to yourself."

Dimly, Jack realized that the other pirates were filing onto the edges of the quarterdeck now, surrounding them. But Barbossa ignored them, as he ignored the man at his feet, choosing instead to gaze at Jack. Who stared back at him, and oddly felt pity stir in him at that moment. Pity and dim regrets of his own.

It was not all upon the other man that things had gone so ill between them.

Barbossa blinked, then turned back to Norrington. Who gazed calmly up at him, even as the tip of that blade drew a thin line of blood at his throat.

The pirate captain paused, then let out a sharp burst of air through his teeth. He abruptly stepped back, and let his own blade tumble free to the deck.

"Nay," he said. "I'll not do this. For this be not what I want."

The figure of Will Turner seemed to grow strangely taller and thinner as he grabbed a hold of Barbossa's arm and spun him roughly around, the raven upon his shoulder taking reluctant wing at the action, cawing angrily as it flew up into the rigging overhead.

"Are you a fool," he snapped, his own voice sounding just as hoarse. "Kill him, Captain. Kill him and take your rewards."

But well Jack knew the stubborn look that Barbossa granted the man next to him. He shrugged off that hand and deliberately stepped away and straightened to his full height.

"Nay," he said again. "For ye do not have the power to grant me what I most long for. I know that now. Ye never had that power, and I am a fool for having believed in your promises. Your trickery. There is naught here but the grave for me. And well ye would do to return me to it."

There was a roar of disapproval and shock from the rest of the assembled pirates, but the figure next to Barbossa raised a hand and it died abruptly. A tiny figure shot through their feet and ran towards the man. He put down an arm and the monkey climbed rapidly to his now empty shoulder and then handed him a familiar gold coin. Which he took and rubbed between long impossibly thin fingers.

And when he turned to face them all again, he was no longer Will Turner, nor yet a young Jack or Bootstrap, nor even Barbossa. But a tall man with brown skin and feathers in his hair and paint upon his face. A heavy gold and gem-encrusted necklace circling his neck and matching gold bracelets upon his arms.

Dark paint lined even darker eyes as he stared at them, as he stared at them all. A beautiful face, but for the harsh slant to his lips, the deep-etched line between his brows.

"Very well," he said. "You shall all have what you have asked for... and damn you for it."

And, with that, the mists around the ship parted and the moon shone down, full and bloated white. The other pirates turned instantly to bone and rags, but it didn't stop there. They sank down slowly as the rot and decay continued, as their bones began to fall apart, as the remnants of muscle and sinew parted and tumbled them down to the deck below.

Jack fought to remain standing, and saw Barbossa doing the same. Unwilling, despite his words, to just give up without a struggle. But then the icy feeling closed in around him once more, and he felt his bones cracking, surrendering, and then the planks of the Pearl were directly beneath him and it was all he could see.

"No," he heard a distant voice exclaim.

And then there was something warm on his face as he felt himself rolled over, lifted up.

"Jack," a voice breathed. "Hold on, Jack. Don't let him take you."

Somehow, he found a last lingering bit of strength and knew what he had to do, all that remained to him to do.

"He... can't. Only you... James..."

There was the soft cry of a raven in warning, the hiss of that damned monkey, even as Jack managed to lift a hand, all yellowed-bone now and so fragile, so desperately fragile, and take Norrington's warm human fingers with his own.

He pressed them to his chest, then grimaced as he pushed them even deeper, feeling ribs crack and give way as he forced the other man's hand inside him. As he felt the last lingering bit of warmth inside him falter and begin to die.

"Jack?" Norrington sounded shocked and appalled. He tried to pull back, but Jack would have none of that.

"Nay," he breathed. "Tis the only way... trust me, mate... trust... me..."

***

"Jack... what?" he asked. Just before Jack forced his hand even deeper and his fingers suddenly touched something warm and small, something that quivered in his grasp.

Jack shuddered all of a sudden and this small gasp escaped him. His dark eyes betrayed a liquid pain.

Norrington hesitated, his fingers loosening slightly.

"Take it," the other man breathed. "Bloody, take it... please, James..."

"Jack..."

Again, those eyes flickered, the spark in them fading. Even though they remained fixed upon him.

A shadow fell over the both of them. And Norrington felt a hand suddenly drop to his shoulder, felt strength enough there to crush his own bones to dust.

"Go on," a voice said. "If you dare."

Still, he hesitated, until that skull tilted back, beads falling down across bare bone, falling from unraveling hair that could no longer keep them safe, and Jack gave him such a look of mute appeal and need that he could do nothing more than acquiesce to him. Grant him whatsoever he desired, even if he desired his own heart in return.

Again, he tightened his grip around that fluttering thing and felt those other fingers tighten on his own shoulder, fingers dabbling in the blood there, sharp pain spiking through him until his own vision went black around the edges.

But he fought the sensation back, staring down at Jack, who was just lying there now, tumbled and still and silent. Waiting. Not making a sound, this time, as he began to pull whatever he had caught hold of out of that splintered chest.

Those black eyes boring into him as his hand slowly came free of the other's body, denying him nothing. Though one bony hand briefly rose to curl at the air, before sinking down again.

Even as Jack slowly began to fold into himself, hardly more than a tangle of rotting clothing and broken bone now. His mouth slipping open, and this bare breath of sound coming out at the last, less than a name and yet more than a simple gasp.

Before he crumpled completely down to dust.

"No," Norrington said.

His own voice sounded impossible in that silence. The dust was scattered upon the deck before him, dust upon his own clothes and skin, all that remained of Captain Jack Sparrow. And it was not enough, not nearly enough.

He closed his eyes, then looked up at the moon, at the unforgiving sky. And then looked at the man standing over him. Who but raised his fingers from his shoulder and licked the blood off of them with a delicate tongue.

Before shrugging. "His choice," he said. "And I shall honor our accord, Commodore. So long as the blood of our mutual enemies flows into my lands. And, perhaps, a wee bit longer. If it amuses me."

He flipped the coin at him and Norrington caught it with his free hand without thinking. It felt cold and somewhat oily, but he clenched it tight all the same.

The other man smiled, displaying filed teeth. "Aren't you going to see what you've won?"

"What I've won?" Norrington felt his voice break and somehow managed to stitch himself back together.

"Aye," the other said, sounding frighteningly amiable now. As if well-pleased by the turn of events, or at least making a jolly good go of pretending to be. "Go on then... tis a most fine thing. One that would stir many a man to envy. And even, mayhap, a God or two."

Norrington looked down and then slowly, cautiously, opened his hand. The hand that had stolen something vital from Jack. That Jack had forced him to steal.

Tiny, so very tiny and fragile-seeming, a little brown bird sat within the frame of his fingers. It's heartbeat like rapid scattershot and its feet pricking his skin like tiny needles.

Ever so carefully, he lifted his burden closer, until his own breath touched ever so lightly upon its feathers.

"Jack?" he asked softly.

Sharp black eyes turned towards him, fixed on him, pierced him. Before the sparrow shifted and ruffled itself up and settled down even more firmly into the cup of his palm. As if it felt safe there.

As if it had come home at last.

And Norrington found himself laughing just a little, laughter just on the edge of tears, before dizziness suddenly washed down around him, as blood loss caught up to him, blood loss and dreadful joy and exhausted relief sucking him down until there was nothing but darkness.

Though he closed his hand again around that priceless gift even as he fell, even as the world tumbled away to nothingness.

***

He blinked, but everything seemed grey, and salt and grit stung his eyes.

But then the moon floated into view, half obscured by a reef of dark clouds, and then he caught the glimpse of the flare of a torch. It burned across his vision and he was forced to half-shut his eyes again.

Only to find a face suddenly looking down at him. A vaguely familiar face, though, for the life of him, he couldn't quite remember from where.

"Captain Sparrow?" the man asked, and his own eyes were full of honest enough concern. Which was even more of a puzzlement. Especially, now that he considered it, he did know the man. One of Norrington's officers, though what he wore now had little of the Navy about it. Nor anything much of a gentleman.

"Captain Sparrow?" the other asked again. "Can you hear me?"

"Aye?"

His own voice sounded odd to his ears, and he had to resist the urge to look around to see who else could have spoke in his stead.

There was a shuffling movement beside him, then a quiet moan, and the face went away. And now the concern in it was crystal clear.

"Commodore? No, sir... please lie still for the moment. I'm not sure what's happened, but it appears that both yourself and Captain Sparrow are yet alive at the very least."

"John...?" That could not have been Norrington, but that Jack feared it was.

He tried to lift his head to look for the other man, but the world immediately took the opportunity to spin around him, while his stomach proved contrary enough to head in the opposite direction. He sank back down with a soft moan of his own and closed his eyes tight again.

And a moment later a warm hand settled on his forehead, before calloused fingers crept down to touch his neck. He could feel his own heart beat against them, fluttering wild as a caged bird.

"Jack?"

He knew that voice and could not help himself; despite the dizziness that consumed him, he pried his eyes open and managed to turn his head, this time. Enough to see that Norrington was lying right next to him, his own face looking pale as smoke. His eyes smudgy black in the dark and mildly desperate.

Their gazes locked and, somehow, Jack managed to smile. Not one of his best, but the best he could do. The other man didn't smile back—not in the least—but his mouth parted and a soft sound escaped him. Partially disbelief and partially exasperation. Just before his eyes warmed, and warmed Jack in return. Enough that he could honestly enough really smile.

But then that smile faded as he tried again to push himself up and suddenly realized just what was holding him down. A body. Lying face down and still, with one hand outstretched between himself and the Commodore.

Jack knew those fingers and suddenly he couldn't bear it. He couldn't bear the weight of the man upon him and he struggled to free himself.

Groves, he recalled the name abruptly, immediately moved to his aid and rolled Barbossa off—the body flopping limply to its back, open eyes staring upwards—and then the officer was helping him sit up. Again, the world spun and something sour moved to fill his throat, but he swallowed it back down and eventually everything settled back into its proper place again.

"Dead?" he asked.

Groves nodded, then grimaced. "As far as I can tell. Though I would not care to speculate on how, or whether they shall remain so."

"Smart lad," Jack commented.

It earned him a sharp look in return, before the other man gave a rueful smile.

"Fair enough, Captain Sparrow."

"Jack," he corrected, finding himself warmed by the man's tone.

A pure smile was his reward, before the officer turned back to Norrington. Who was looking at the two of them as if they'd suddenly grown second heads, and tails to boot.

"Sir," Groves said, his voice taking on a more formal manner. "I'm not sure what's happened here, but I am relieved that the both of you seem to have recovered somewhat. Not so the rest, though they all collapsed at the same time as you, sir. And none of you breathing."

Jack saw Norrington nod at this rather alarming bit of information, then struggle to sit up himself. Groves moved to him as well, but the Commodore waved him off and, with a show of sheer stubbornness, pushed himself to his knees and then to his feet. He swayed and almost fell, but then forced himself straight.

Jack considered making the attempt himself, but as he shifted the ache in his chest gave a sharp twinge of complaint, and he decided the sand would do him for a time yet. He pressed the heel of his hand against it, massaging to soothe the pain away, and the movement must have caught Norrington's attention.

"Jack, are you...?"

He nodded. "Tis nothing much."

But even as he said it, part of him told him that was a lie. Even though he had no clear idea what the truth was right now.

He looked back at Barbossa's body, then frowned and shifted back a little as he realized that a mist had risen up around it, around all the still bodies of the remaining pirates.

Groves saw it, too. He glanced around in concern and surprise. "Sir, do you see?"

Jack pushed himself desperately away as the mist thickened and then the bodies began to sink, going down into the earth as if the ground had turned to water beneath them. As if it was hungry to swallow them up.

"Jack?"

Norrington's voice was sharp, and then two hands hauled him up and away. One was weaker than the other, but both were determined and kept him upright, even as he half-lifted his feet, peddling them desperately, as if that could stop the earth from taking him, as well. But, clearly, he was not what it wanted tonight... for the ground remained solid beneath him and a few moments later the mist began to clear again.

A cool, oddly sweet-smelling wind suddenly shifting in from nowhere and blowing it clear. As if it had never been.

As if the bodies of the other man had never been. Or had never been meant to be here anyway.

"Captain?" That was Groves, again. Clearly forgetting for the moment that he had granted him the dubious rights of his Christian name.

Jack shook his head, then shook himself free of their hands. He looked around, seeing a good half-dozen of Norrington's men still standing. All of them looking dazed at what had just happened. Looking rather lost.

Even though they had, no doubt, seen many a disbelieving sight these last few days already.

Norrington started to turn, to go to them, but Jack caught him back. He looked into the other man's eyes and suddenly it was as if the world dropped away entire. Leaving him feeling strangely both comforted and set adrift at the same moment.

And, for once, no words came to him. No words of any real consequence, at least. But Norrington's eyes answered him all the same.

Slowly then, quite deliberately, Jack let his fingers—real and firm and flesh once more—loosen their grip on him and surrendered him back to his duty, such as it was.

***

But no one did, and he didn't leave.

Instead, he just sat there. Leaning back against a piece of driftwood as if he hadn't another care in all the world. With his legs stretched out before him and his hands lying loose in his lap. As he watched the dim horizon, imagined the stars turning slowly overhead, charts and maps of other far away places and of an even more distant future, and not thinking. Not thinking about the morning. Not thinking about what was to become of him. Of what he had shared with the good Commodore.

Feeling the memories of what had happened in that... other place, slowly begin to fade, bits and pieces of it trickling away like sand between loosely cupped fingers.

All but one memory. All but one thing.

The fact that Norrington had come for him. Had saved him. Had fought for and been willing to die for him.

And that, because of that, he was still alive. If he was alive. To be sure, he felt alive. But he had learned that the line between the living and the dead wasn't as always clearly drawn out as most thought. Or, maybe, even as most hoped.

Norrington settled on the sand next to him and leaned back against the same bit of driftwood with a small sigh.

There was silence for a long moment, then the other man murmured something softly.

"Aye?" Jack asked. "What was that, mate?"

"Two ships in as many months, Jack," Norrington said, as if he had been privy to the man's thoughts, enough to skip to the middle of a conversation between them.

Jack raised a finger, but didn't look at him. He didn't dare, not for that moment.

"It were not your fault they were destroyed. The Admiralty would be stupid to blame ye. An even more stupid to lose ye, at the start of a war like this."

"You give me too much credit, I'm afraid." Norrington's voice was quiet, resigned. "Yes, we are most probably already at war with Spain or near enough to, and His Majesty is in dire need of all the ships he can muster. No, if I return... I shall most assuredly swing. And, Jack, unlike you I shall not live to tell the tale."

Jack glanced at him, but the other man was staring out across the sea. "Not that I wish to die. Most especially like that, but ..."

Jack heard the pause like the knell of a bell, knowing full well what it meant. His reply was soft all the same. "Then do not."

Norrington's eyes turned back to him, the look of resignation and determination in them making Jack's heart skip a beat. The man was a fool, an honorable fool, but a fool all the same. Still, he would not—could not—leave it at that. Not only did he not have the slightest leaning towards seeing his James upon the gallows, but he had no intention of letting the other man do the gallant, but gallantly stupid thing of offering up his own neck to save his good name. Not that there had been anything gallant or honorable in how they had stripped Norrington of his command in the first place and cast him in the role of scapegoat.

"Ye'd be mad to return," he said. "And I madder still to let ye."

"This is not your choice, Jack."

"Think ye so?" Pointedly, he looked back across the strand to the fire, his eyes fixing on the man sitting opposite it, studiously cleaning and loading one of the pistols he had claimed from the dead. Studiously ignoring them. "I daresay there be another here who agrees with me. If ye will not listen to the words of a pirate and a scoundrel, then at least heed the advice of one o' your own."

Norrington's gaze followed his own. "Leftenant Groves is loyal to a fault."

Jack shook his head. "Nay, not so. For in such loyalty as his there be no faulting a man. Ye did not desire to be brought low and, for certain, ye do not deserve to be finding yourself upon the block. I'll be admitting to ye, James, tis not a pleasant prospect, nor even a dignified one."

The other man's eyes snapped back to his. "Jack..."

He put two fingers briefly to Norrington's face, then let his hand drop again, before any of his men could see. "No, I've not said that to cast aspersions upon your character, nor to remind ye of what has come before. Of what once lay between us an kept us apart. For that time is no more. An if ye be not James to me now, then I mayn't be Jack to thee."

"You are a pirate, Captain Sparrow," Norrington said quietly. "And that will never change."

"Aye." Jack heard the lightness in his answer, but felt his heart sink down all the same. It was true enough, and yet...

"And I could no more deny that than you could," the other man went on. "But I would... I would have you be Jack to me. No matter what the future may hold, I want that. I don't want to go back to how I felt before."

"Then don't," Jack breathed. Then, unable to resist and uncaring of what the others might see or imagine, he caught the other man's face between his hands. "Please, James..."

Green eyes stared back into his own, as if seeking salvation there. An answer to all doubts. A way to make it all come out for the better. And Jack found himself smiling, for if Norrington could believe in him, could believe in the legend of Jack Sparrow, then sparing him his own downfall was the least he could do for the man.

"You went down into the dark for me," Jack said. "I won't be forgetting that."

***

"But ye will do what ye will do," Jack said. "An no man may gainsay that. Least of all one such as meself. A bloody pirate."

Norrington put his hand briefly to Jack's chest. The heartbeat beneath his fingers felt both familiar and reassuring. Dark eyes looked at him, ever so serious for once. He saw a hint of his own face reflected back in them, mixed in with the glow of the distant fire.

"Jack..."

The other man shook his head. "No, James," he said. "If I may yet call ye that. Until the morning comes, at least. Until ye march off with these men of yours. Back to what ye know. Back to who ye were."

"What I know," Norrington repeated. "All I know is that it will never been the same again. Even if, by some miracle, I return and retain not only my life, but my commission... I can never be that man again."

Jack blinked at him. "An what man might that be?"

Norrington gazed steadily at him. "The man who hanged you. Who believed that no pirate could be anything but a murderer and a thief, let alone could ever be a good man. The man who took a lifetime to gird himself up to tell the woman he loved that he wished to wed her. The man who put duty above all things, even sometimes his own sense of truth and honor. The man who wanted to run you through, just for daring to do what he could not."

Jack smiled ever so slightly, his teeth even more gold by firelight. "Aye, but ye did not. An all o' that be behind us now, James Norrington. The only question that remains be that of the future. Which is in your own good hands."

He looked away from that smile. Even though all he wanted to do in that moment was to smile back. To pull Jack towards him and kiss him hard enough to bruise. To gaze into those enigmatic eyes until he could find a different man within them, a man who had once held a tiny sparrow in his palm and known it for the miracle it was.

There was a most gentle touch on his arm.

"But ye must do as ye must," Jack said. "As all men must."

And, with that, he got up and stumbled off into the dark.

***

Jack just wished that he felt like enjoying it rather more. But he had spent a restless night, huddled off by himself between the twined roots of a tree and trying to keep warm. He had found himself dropping off now and then, only to startle awake what felt like moments later. Sometimes at sounds. Sometimes because he was simply mindful that his continued freedom on this slice of beach depended, in part, on the sufferance of the men at the other end of it. Not that he honestly thought that Norrington would come to arrest him again. Let alone this Lieutenant Groves, who seemed more pleased than perturbed at having been in his presence.

And there had been dreams, too—or, at least he imagined they had been dreams—those few precious minutes he had spent asleep. The sensation of drowning in dark waters. Familiar laughter. The sense of someone standing over him, bending down to touch him, whispering his name...

Leaving behind the smell of flowers and salt and tar and blood.

He wouldn't go so far as to call them nightmares, but the morning found him more tired than he liked.

Especially since the very last dream had left the lingering taste of dirt and dust in his mouth. As if someone or something long dead had dared to kiss him in his sleep. Strong hands holding his face and a beard brushing his lips as a mouth closed on his... and then let him go again.

But he didn't want to think about that. Not now anyway.

Instead, he slowly forced himself to his feet and stretched out every muscle, feeling every last year of his age in that moment. He was getting too old to sleep in a tangle of roots and dampish sand. A nice feather bed was sounding good to him right now, a nice feather bed and several wenches to warm it. Or, mayhap, a rather willing former Commodore.

Speaking of which...

Jack peered around the bole of his tree and saw that the navy men were still sleeping, curled around the remains of the fire. All but Groves, who was sitting on a piece of driftwood and gazing out to sea.

Jack wondered if the other man was enjoying the dawn rather more than he was, especially since his stomach took that occasion to remind him of its rather empty state. To be sure, the best thing for him would be to wander off in search of breakfast and not come back. To find a ship to take him from this island and back to Tortuga, where he could proceed to find said feather bed and willing wenches. And, possibly, even a way back to the Pearl herself.

But yet, he couldn't bring himself to just leave.

He glanced down at his feet and shook his head. "Come now, lads," he mumbled. "Why an can ye not just take me away from this place? For tis naught but foolishness which keeps me here, I have no doubt."

His naked toes just wriggled happily at him, which was no help at all. With a sigh, Jack fished inside his shirt instead, pulling out his compass. He rubbed his thumb across the worn black wood and smiled to himself, before popping it open and staring intently inside.

"Aye," he said. "A boat and breakfast, or breakfast and a boat... I wonder..."

"Wonder what, Jack?"

Rather than looking up right away, Jack looked down and saw a pair of rather scuffed boots buried in the sand. And then a set of long, finely turned legs tucked into worn and rather stained breeches... and, oh aye, a more than reasonable size bulge at the crutch of them which earned a momentary pause and smile, before he continued upwards, to find that Norrington had by now crossed his arms over his chest and had this rather bemused look on his face.

The Commodore looked even more tired than he felt, but was a grand sight for all that.

"Why I wonder if your own good self, sir," he replied. "Would like to join me in a repast this fine morning, what else?"

"I can't do it," Norrington said.

Jack felt something fall inside him, but he smiled all the same. "Breakfast, ye mean?"

"No, Jack," came the soft reply.

"Ah, well..." He made to turn away, snapping his compass shut at the same time, but a gentle grip stopped him and pulled him round again to face a pair of desperately green eyes.

"No, Jack," Norrington repeated. "I mean I can't... I want to go with you. Not back to Port Royal."

"Do ye now?"

"Yes," the other man said simply, quite earnestly. "I have found upon a night's reflection—upon all night's reflection—that I do not wish to die. And, even less, do I want to relinquish what I have found. What I have... experienced... with you, Jack."

"Aye," he replied, and could not keep the pleasure from his voice. Nor the smile from breaking out upon his face. He wanted to kiss the man in that moment and damn everyone, those of the Brethren and Navy both, if any of them would think any less of himself and of the man before him for it. He may be a pirate and Norrington a King's man only newly turned to contemplation of a far sweeter trade, but well he could feel the change in the wind, the sea-change that seemed about to come over them both.

Together... only God and the dark Mistress of the Sea might know what they might do, where they might go, what adventures lay before them and what would transpire on the warm slow nights spent on some distant shore. Or aboard his own dark mistress, his Pearl.

"We should be going then," he said. "A'fore any of that lot wake and quite ruin what looks to be turning out a most pleasant day."

But Norrington seemed to be waiting for something, because he glanced back at his men, and then returned to looking at him. His eyes both reflective and determined at the same time, staring into his own as if he expected to find their future laid out within them already. As if something in Jack's eyes might make it easier for him to leave all he had known.

"Jack..." he said softly, ever so softly.

And Jack sighed and put a hand to the other man's face, rubbed his thumb over his lips gently.

"No more words, James, my love," he said quietly. "Aye, tis a hard thing ye do now. Well and away, I'm aware o' that. But if your mind be made up, then all that remains is to take that first step, an all the rest will come easy. You'll see."

Norrington's eyes closed for a moment or two, then opened again. He nodded. And Jack pulled him close for a kiss after all, light as God's own breath and twice as sweet as any treasure he had ever known.

But Jack was almost insufferably calm and sure of himself as ever, and oddly enough he found comfort enough in that. Even as they walked through the morning and well into the afternoon, taking a rest only the once, after they had crossed a stream that had served to quiet their bellies, as well.

Jack seemed to know exactly where they were going, oddly enough. Norrington saw him flip open that black compass of his every now and then and stare intently into it, and now he knew that it was not useless, after all. Still, he didn't feel overeager to ask any questions of the man or even of himself; it seemed enough, for the moment, just to be with Jack, walking into some as yet unknown future.

Though, perhaps that was just an indication that his decision just hadn't sunk in yet. That he would never see his home again. That all he had been was behind him now, getting farther and farther away as the day wore on. That he was no longer a Commodore, nor even a Naval officer... but simply himself for once. For once in a long long while. With nothing but the clothes on his back—stained and torn for all that—and the sword that had been forged for his hand and no other.

He wondered if Jack could understand what he was feeling. If Jack had ever had to give up some former life, once upon a time. Most probably, he had, though somehow he imagined that the pirate would not have agonized over it as much as he had last night. Laying there, exhausted, but wide-awake, staring up at the stars and feeling every breath trickling in and out of his body. Remembering the first ship he had sailed upon, as a ratty young Midshipman, and how elated and terrified he had been the day he had made Captain.

Almost as elated and terrified as the day he had proposed marriage to Elizabeth. Which had begun to seem like forever and a day ago.

He wasn't exactly terrified now, despite his lingering trepidations, but as he surreptitiously looked over at Jack, he realized that part of him was almost oddly elated. It may be insane and the whole world might look askance at him for it, but he had fallen in love with a pair of black eyes, the swaying grace of a slender body, and the careless purity he sensed lived in Jack's heart. Despite all the bluster and pretences towards being a scoundrel among scoundrels.

Abruptly, he noticed that Jack had stopped and was glancing back at him.

"James? Come an have a look, will you?"

"Look?" he asked, moving forward.

Jack nodded ahead of them, and Norrington realized that they were standing on the top of a smallish hill, one overlooking a secluded cove. The white-sand tiny beach below curved away to the north and he saw what he thought were banana trees at the far end. Plus another stream trickling down over a rock cliff into a crystal blue pool of water.

It looked idyllic, and as Jack smiled right at him, he couldn't help but smile back. And then he followed the other man down onto the sand, their footsteps the only ones looking to have graced it in forever.

Several hours later, with an evening meal of roasted bananas and yams inside him and Jack gathering palm fronds to create a makeshift bed by the small fire he had started, Norrington realized that not only did it look idyllic, but that it was. He idly thought that he could quite get to liking this life, at least if it meant sharing the hours with Jack. Who had spent the time while their food was cooking, regaling him with tales that alternated between being improbable, amusing, and shocking.

He had finally wound down to silence as the sun had set, the moon taking occasion to rise in the west at the same time. A pale orb in the night sky, one that painted the sand a shade near silver in color and make Jack's eyes look somehow even darker, more mysterious, as he looked at him from across the embers of the fire.

"Ye've been a bit quiet these last hours, James," the pirate finally said.

"Might it be ye are already regretting and wishing ye had not come?"

He shook his head.

"Just thinking," he replied. "If you must know."

"Ah, thinking," Jack said, making it sound like a concept foreign to himself. "Could be a bad sign, that. Are ye sure ye wouldn't rather be doing, my good man? It seems more your forte."

As if to illustrate the point, Jack walked around the fire and plunked down next to him and aimed a warm, thorough, immensely pleased with himself and the world smile right at him. It made his heart beat fast, then faster still as Jack's hand found its way to his thigh.

"For we, my good man," the pirate continued. "We are alone at long last and have food enough and water and a fire and all of infinite possibility before us. Now, what could be finer than that an less to be thinking about?"

"Why, when you put it like that... "

Jack shrugged expansively. "Why and how else should I put it then? That we are but stranded on some beach without a single shilling between us and your old naval friends no doubt to return in but a few days to hunt us down, arrest us, and escort us from thence to the gallows?"

"Something akin to that, yes."

"Well, you're forgetting one thing, mate."

"Am I?"

Jack took in a deep breath and his smile grew even more pleased with itself.

"I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."

Norrington nodded. "Oh, I know that very well, Jack. I do indeed. I'm just not quite as cognizant of the rest. For example, how we are going to escape from, as you put it, my 'old naval friends.'"

"Leave that to me," Jack replied expansively, and not at all surprisingly.

"I imagine I shall have to," he said. Normally, it would have irked him to leave so much to someone else, to place his fortune in the hands of another, but on this night he found himself just letting go. Tomorrow might see him feeling differently, but tonight... tonight, he found clever fingers slipping steadily higher on his leg, until they could trace along the waist of his breeches.

"I do wonder, though," he said all the same. "Whatever happened to the Dauntless, now that pirates Barbossa bargained for... did they disappear, as well?"

"Hush now," Jack replied, and suddenly those fingers had found their way not to his breeches, but into them. Thief's fingers, light of touch and strong of grip and making good use of both of those talents as they closed around his prick, heat upon heat, and stole pleasure from him.

***

He let his fingers tighten a tad, even as he frowned at the man. "This, ye mean?"

"No," Norrington replied. "Well, yes... but what I mean is the fact that I have just walked away from everything I ever worked for."

Jack stroked a finger across the head of the other man's prick, smiling as he felt the growing wet there.

"'O course it is," he said quietly. "The best things in this life are insane, or else they'd not be worth doing. Savvy?"

Green eyes stared into his own, almost challengingly, before Norrington made a quiet sound and his hips arched up a little.

"But that be not madness," he added, enjoying the feel of the other man growing in his hand. Hard as iron, hard as good English oak. "But pure common sense. An the fact that ye could not see to resist me charms."

"You think... entirely too much of yourself... Jack Sparrow." Norrington swallowed hard.

"Do I now?" Jack replied, his fingers stroking longer now, quickening slightly, making those green eyes melt into something even darker. The firelight caught in them, even as Norrington leaned forward and kissed him. Lightly, sweetly, serenely. As if they had all the time in the world and madness and common sense enough to enjoy it.

"I must make a confession, Jack," he breathed, as he drew back a little. As he glanced down at the pirate's hand buried inside his breeches, then covered it with his own. Jack paused in his affections.

"Aye?"

"You make me feel young and foolish, when I have rarely felt so. Not even when I was a lad. My father was a strict man, Jack, and he did not tolerate indiscretions of any kind. Youthful or otherwise."

Jack shook his head. "Then ye be long overdue, mate."

"Am I?" Norrington asked. "Well, I must be sure to make up for lost time then, mustn't I?"

And, with that, he took Jack and pulled him bodily on top of him and kissed him properly, thoroughly, with enough force and passion and hunger that Jack had to wonder how much of it was born out of certainty and how much out of desperation. He felt the strength of it down to his toes, and somewhere near the end of it, just as Norrington pulled back again, both of them gasping for air, he realized that a hand had somehow found its way into his breeches, as well.

He rubbed his cheek against the other man's, rough against rough, and then nuzzled at his ear.

"Aye, an now that ye've figured that out," he mumbled. "An ye have a most partial bit of meself in your hand... have ye decided ye would like most to do with it?"

Norrington's little laugh warmed what was left of him that wasn't already quite warm.

"I daresay I have an idea or two," the other man replied.

"Glad to hear of it," Jack said. "For else I'd not know what we'd be doing with the rest o' this night, unless ye've of a mind to hear more tales of the East Indies an how I found me way onto an isle once, filled with women, each one more beautiful than the last, an how they had not seen a man in nigh on ten years."

"Jack Sparrow," Norrington said somberly. "To be entirely honest... "

"Eh?"

The other man pulled back a little to look at him, a small smile playing about the corner of his lips, his tone mellowing. "I rather had something else in mind to while away the hours than listening to you talk, no matter how entertaining your words may be."

"Ah," Jack replied. "Well, if ye are of a mind to be honest, then I am more than of a mind not to disappoint."

Norrington gave him a quick kiss and a sharp look. "You may be many things, Jack, but you've never been a disappointment."

"An ye have a way with words, as well, my dear James," Jack replied. And gave him a kiss back, one that was neither quick nor sharp, but lingering sweet. They then fumbled together, struggling with each other's breeches and shirts, hands getting in the way of hands and kisses taking liberal occasion upon the flesh displayed as each article of clothing was shed.

Leaving them twined together at the last, Jack half sprawled across the other man and both of them breathing hard and Jack laughing as Norrington flopped back into the leaves and sand and gave him a mock glare.

"There's something sharp under this bed, Jack," he complained.

Jack shrugged. "There's something hard upon it. Or, rather, two somethings if my eyes don't deceive me."

"And what do you propose to do about that?" Norrington asked, a bright glint to his own eyes that had little to do with the firelight shining in them.

"About the rock under your backside," Jack replied. "Naught. But, as for the rest..."

And, with that, he made good his word and took the other man nearly whole and entire into his mouth, which was no mean feat, but something he had been considering half the day and a good deal longer, if he had a mind to be honest himself. Norrington let out a soft breath, half of surprise and half of sheer pleasure, and sank even deeper into their makeshrift bed, despite his previous discomfort.

Jack sucked hard, then more gently, enjoying the sounds the other man made in response to both. Fingers trailed down the side of his face and he left off to briefly catch and kiss them, as well.

"Jack..." Norrington breathed. "Oh my... oh dear Lord..."

"Now, now," Jack warned. "Don't be taking the Almighty's name in vain. We might be wanting Him on our side, ye see."

As if to prove his point, he licked across the other man's hand and then placed it full upon his own prick. Norrington's fingers closed on him quite obligingly, strong and warm and moving ever so slowly and Jack gasped and let out a goodly curse himself.

The other man tilted his head, a sly smile on his face.

"What were you just saying, Mister Sparrow?"

"Ah," Jack said. "Twas naught to be mindful of."

The smile faded then and Norrington's voice took on a more somber timbre, though his hand continued its gentle work. "What do you want from me, Jack?"

"I?" Jack asked. "Naught but what ye be willing to give."

"What if I don't know what that is?"

Jack couldn't help but smile at that—at the uncertain tone that revealed rather more of the shy boy than the other man probably realized, the serious, yet shy boy that James Norrington once must have been. It sparked a smile in response, still uncertain, but Jack was warmed through by it. Norrington had probably not the first clue about the devastating effects of that particular expression upon his normally dour face, a look that even he was not immune to, if truth be told.

Not that he intended to tell the man that. Not for a good many years, anyway, and not without a lot of convincing.

"Aye," Jack said softly. "But I have no doubt that ye will in time. An for now, I have no complaint. Except, perhaps, that I'm in sore need of a kiss from a certain once Commodore."

"A kiss?" With a shade of evident disbelief.

He waggled his eyebrows at the man. "Well, for starters."

***

The stars tumbled overhead, the moon spinning hard, even as his own blood pounded in his veins until he thought he would burst apart. The waves upon the shore sounded more like they were inside him, a rising tide, rushing and rushing, white sand and foam and Jack would know about the sea, wouldn't he? He would know about how to rouse a man to near madness and beyond.

What it was to walk the edge of everything and nothing.

As he laid there, spread out upon cool leaves, cooling sand already seeping through, Jack's mouth full set to work upon his prick, whiskery and prickly in places and smooth and hot and slick in others, licking him up and then washing him down again. Black eyes half-hidden by darkness and their own lids, as if the other man yet kept the best secrets for himself.

Secrets, he now suspected he might wish to know. That Jack might wish to teach him.

Eventually. Inevitably. If he proved himself worthy enough.

He had been one kind of a man and now, perhaps, he would be another. And, if that was his lot in life, then what better companion, what better teacher, in that than one Jack Sparrow?

Accordingly, once Jack had done with him, he turned tables on him and tasted pirate flesh once more. Those dark eyes now bared to him, reflecting back tiny bits of the floating moon, as the other man stared up at him, his mouth open and sweat beading on all that brown skin. Sweat that he licked up, that he followed across bone and muscle and scar until he might have had it all, except that it led him to an even greater prize.

Jack's prick. Jack's lust for him. Jack's need.

And he wasn't anything close to being as practiced at this as the other man certainly was, but Jack seemed to have little complaint. Indeed, he seemed to have few words for once. Not that his soft gasps and sharp little whimpers and twitches weren't telling enough all on their own.

Or how the pirate's fingers grasped at the air, threaded themselves briefly into his own hair, before flying away again, as if they not only wouldn't stay still, but that they couldn't.

His hips rising a little, then arching even higher, before Jack stopped breathing altogether and if Norrington hadn't known just why he might well have been concerned. As it was, he was both slightly bemused and somewhat pleased with himself, as he swallowed down Jack's spendings as tidily as he could manage.

And licked his lips after.

To the other man's even more bemused look. Those black eyes sated now, and warm and wicked and tender all at once.

Before the pirate gathered him back to himself and held him tight. Tight enough that Norrington could barely breathe, not that he made any complaint of that himself. As Jack hugged him close, their limbs a tangle, damp pirate breath gusting into his ear, until he found himself sinking down into exhausted slumber.

***

Jack rolled over and yawned. Still, this was their third morning upon this small stretch of beach and, if his compass did not lie, quite probably their last. Which was a good thing, since they could not afford to linger here forever. Not without chancing getting their necks stretched.

He pillowed his head on his arm and looked at the man sharing the palm frond bed with him. Norrington was asleep, his mouth open slightly and a strand of hair fallen across his forehead. Hair the color of warm chestnuts, and soft as a woman's to the touch. The only soft thing about the man, unless you counted the few places where his skin was smooth enough, where the sea and sun had not roughened it like Jack's own.

Aye, three days in nothing but their own company and he was as enamored as ever by those green eyes and that fleeting smile, and might have sworn to the fact that Norrington felt the same towards himself. It was enough to make a man believe in miracles, unless he already believed in them every day, that is.

If he had to thank anyone, even an angry Aztec God, for this, then he would. Far better to be lying here, watching the sun rise on a new day and listening to quiet breathing next to him, then to find himself rotting away in the ground.

Jack sucked in a deep breath himself, smelling salt air and, slightly more faintly, their own mingled sweat. It made his prick stir and he fondled it for a moment, before sitting up and shading his eyes to stare out to sea.

Ah, yes... just in time to see them breakfast...

Jack looked back at Norrington, still soundly asleep and so relaxed for once that he almost seemed boneless. He smiled, a small private smile, feeling highly complimented by the sight. It would be a shame to disturb the man. But disturb him he must.

"James?"

Not surprisingly, there was no response.

"Jaaaamesssss..."

"Mmmm...?"

That face twitched briefly, then surrendered again.

Jack bent down and put his mouth to the other man's, stealing his breath from him. Again, there was no response for a long moment, before Norrington finally stirred. His mouth opening a little more beneath his as he made this inquiring noise.

Jack pulled back a bit, but only to rest his chin on the other man's chest.

"James, love," he said. "What say ye to a grand new undertaking? One that shall put your talents to good usage, and also provide ye with both wealth and adventure alike. Not to mention, the company of me own good self."

Norrington still didn't open his eyes, but a fine line appeared between them.

"Jack," he said. "Just because I'm not on the King's shilling anymore, doesn't necessarily mean that I wish to become a pirate instead."

"Does it not?" Jack asked.

"No," Norrington replied. "But, yes."

Now, it was Jack's turn to frown. Even as the other man finally opened his eyes to gaze up at him. A serene look, followed by an almost boyish smile. Kind and teasing at once.

"What I'm saying, love," he went on, that smile growing even more impish as he drew deliberate emphasis to the endearment. "Is that I'm saying yes to wealth and yes to adventure, but most of all—and damn the rest, if I can't have the last—yes, most indeed, yes, to your own good company, Jack Sparrow."

Norrington's words were quietly said, but he might as well have been shouting them for the impact they gave. As Jack felt his breath catch and his own damnable heart skip. And he was entirely too pleased in that moment to argue with the man, yet he couldn't quite believe what he had just heard all the same. After all, he had been caught out before by sweet promises, by men who had pledged their hearts to him, only to turn and offer his own up on a plate, instead.

"Be careful now, James," he said. "Lest men imagine ye to be a pirate an a wicked man, much as me own self were judged."

"Oh," the other man replied, his manner turning suddenly somber indeed. "Well, we can't have that, now can we."

Jack felt his heart shudder again, though not in a good way, this time. He started to pull back a little, but Norrington reached out and snagged a tumbled down braid and caught him, kept him close. Those eyes studying his face as if he had never truly seen it before, or as if he wanted to keep this precise moment in memory forever.

"What I mean to say is," he continued, sounding half serious and half teasing. "Don't let them imagine. For I go where you go. Wherever that may lead us. And if you insist on being a pirate, Jack, then I must insist on being one, as well. Though, I quite refuse, in all honesty, to let you put sundry tidbits and trinkets in my hair."

Jack smiled as well, with pure relief and unremitting joy.

"What about a nice ink, then?" he asked. "A lovely little sparrow, perhaps?"

"Somewhere dignified, no doubt?"

Jack made a face. "Well... to be sure..."

"To be sure," Norrington echoed. "Oh, to be sure." And he reached up to pull Jack's mouth back to his own, only to frown when Jack shook his head.

"Not now, my love. For we shall be keeping company soon enough."

"Company?"

And Norrington sat straight up, his eyes drawn unerringly to the sea and to the tall ship turning to take up anchor just outside their tiny cove. To the jollyboat being lowered to the waves, a good dozen men climbing down into it.

Men that had nothing of the look of the Navy about them.

"Jack," he said, his voice begging the question.

He shrugged. "Can I help it, mate, if I have chanced to lead us to a cove oft frequented by those of a rather unsavory nature. One that quite matches me own."

"Pirates," Norrington muttered, in a tone that spoke more of having occasion to hang such rather than of giving them friendly welcome.

"Now, now," Jack said, getting to his feet and waving at the on-coming boat. "Be civil now, James. For ye be looking at our own saviors, come to take us far from this benighted shore and the thought of being dragged back to Port Royal in chains."

Norrington got to his feet as well, smoothing down the remains of his shirt and straightening back to his full height. His hand went to his sword and remained there.

"Do you know them?" he asked.

Jack squinted at the ship, studying her lines, even though he suspected he knew just who it was had come tripping over them in one of the favorite hidden coves of smugglers and scallywags alike. She was a brig of twenty-six guns, and flew no flag. Not that it took much in the way of effort to puzzle out just what flag she normally sailed beneath. He would have known her by her color and markings alone, by the stripe of blood-red paint upon her sides, but the figurehead—a rather well-endowed maid of the sea with a tail of curled scarlet and black scales—was even more a dead giveaway.

"Only by reputation, mate," he replied. "So, why not let me own self do the talking, aye?"

He garnered a glare for that, but Norrington said nothing as they walked down the sand. The jollyboat was just pulling in, the men piling out of it with pistols and cutlasses at the ready. The man at their head was tall, a whole head and half taller than Jack, and rail-thin. His hair was bright auburn and curled in gentle waves down about his shoulders and he wore a coat of russet and blue with glinting mother-of-pearl buttons.

The pistol he pointed right at Jack had nothing of the dandy about it, though. A perfectly serviceable weapon and one that had seen plenty of service, he had little doubt of it.

"Stand," the other man said, his grey eyes steady. "Your weapons if you dare please..."

Jack raised his hands, then sauntered forward another step or two. "There be no cause for that now," he said. "For what ye see before ye be but two gentlemen o' the sea, brethren lost upon a dangerous shore and in sore need of avoiding damnation."

The other man had raised his pistol slightly at Jack's approach, but at his words the look on his face softened ever so slightly. "Damnation we have well enough of, and rum besides... to tide us over till Judgment Day come. And who might I be addressing, now that we know we be brothers by wind and by tide?"

"Ah," he said, feeling Norrington come right up to his shoulder, his breathing slow and steady despite the simmering violence still in the air. A good man to have at his back then, as much as by his side. "Well, me own name be Captain Jack Sparrow. An this be me own good mate, Jamie McDonough. A fine seaman to be sure, and an old friend 'o mine."

He felt more than saw Norrington start at the name.

The man before them gazed at the former Commodore and frowned. "Pardon me, but he doesn't look Scots."

"Ah, but appearances may be deceiving, mate," Jack answered easily enough.

"There is that," the other man said, lowering his pistol. The other pirates followed suit, some of them baring yellowed teeth in friendly, though feral smiles as their Captain reached out a hand. Jack took it with his own, feeling the quick strength of the other man's grip and choosing to answer the test in kind.

"Jack Sparrow," the red-haired man said. "I have heard of you."

"An I of ye," Jack replied. "Sweet William. An if I may, I would beg a favor from ye. Passage aboard your lovely ship, to whatever port of call ye may be going to, but preferably to me own favorite place upon this earth."

William Sweet smiled, displaying ever so slightly filed teeth, and nodded. He gave Jack's hand an extra sharp squeeze before he let go of it at the last.

"Tortuga it is then," he said. And, with that, he turned to his men, his voice taking on the crack of authority that Jack was sure Norrington would well recognize.

"Come on then," Sweet said. "Look lively. Fresh water, mates... fill up those casks and then scurry back. We've wine and wenches waiting for us, and well I know you have coin enough to buy both. For a day or two, anyway. Which is about as much any of you are good for, as well I know."

Even as they jumped to obey him, he turned back to Jack, but his eyes were on Norrington as he leaned in closer to the both of them and lowered his voice.

"You did say you would be owing me a favor then? Did I hear you aright, Jack Sparrow?"

"Captain Jack Sparrow," Norrington said, surprising both the other man and Jack himself with the almost serene clarity of that comment.

"Aye," Sweet said in response. "My apologies, Captain." His eyes studied Norrington a second time, even more closely, before he turned away and gestured in the direction of the waiting jollyboat.

As for Jack, he could feel yet another sort of quiet appraisal was being laid upon himself, as they rode the waves out to the waiting ship and climbed aboard her. But Norrington remained prudently silent until the men ashore were back with the filled casks of fresh water, and they were finally underway again. The brig sliding out to sea with a grace that did not come near to matching that of his own Black Pearl, but welcome enough for all that.

It was then that Norrington sidled up to him, as he stood near the railing and watched the island fall away behind them...

"Jack?" he asked, his voice soft. "How could you possibly have known my grandmother's maidhood name?"

Jack turned away from the sea, to look into eyes only slightly less tempestuous.

"Is it not a fine name then, for a buccaneer to bear? At least, until ye earn one a bit more fearsome in nature. More akin to your own."

"I doubt that my grandmother would have exactly been pleased by that analogy, Jack," Norrington said. "But you haven't answered my question."

"Aye," Jack answered. "That I have not."

"Jack..."

Jack smiled, watching as those green eyes warred between consternation and dry amusement, before they warmed into something that made him wonder if and when they would manage to be alone together yet again. Either here, or once they had finally made port in Tortuga. Where, he had little doubt of it, he would soon hear tell of his own fine ship and find a way back to her.

The best of all worlds, that was what he wanted and what he had few concerns would come to him. Eventually. Inevitably. So long as he believed, and lack of belief had never been a problem of his nature.

Oh, aye... his own sweet Pearl surging beneath him and his own dearest James ever close to hand...

"James," he said, sliding ever so slightly closer. Close enough that he could slip a few fingers in beneath a tear in the man's shirt and lightly stroke that tender pale flesh he had come to know so well. That he had touched and tasted by moon and firelight only just the evening before, and fancied tasting many times in future.

"Jamie, me love," he continued. "Some things... well, they be but a mystery, an best left at that. Savvy?"

Norrington's eyes drifted ever so slightly shut, and suddenly a hint of a smile edged one corner of his mouth.

"Tortuga, Jack?" he asked, as if that had been answer enough for him, after all.

"Oh, aye," Jack replied in all seriousness. "Tortuga."

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