Rags of Time
Part 7
by
Disclaimer: Not mine, none of it. Claim no ownership and make no money. I just like to play with them. Sorry!
The chill had began to settle in to the Caribbean evening. Norrington pulled his coat tighter across his chest as the breeze brushed his loose hair across his face. He scuffed his boot on the rock he sat on, looking at the sand. The tide was coming in; soon the stretch of beach would be half its size. He'd been here half an hour, waiting as the sun set lower, waiting to see a lantern bobbing its way across the surf.
Sparrow probably wasn't even coming. It had been over a month since the man had arrived in his bedchamber in the middle of the night. Over a month in which to think their way out of this. Think of all the reasons why they should not meet again.
James had decided not to come tonight; to leave a note in a bottle on the tideline. He had even written the note. But there was some pull to Sparrow; he was gravity. He was the pull of the tide, stroking the shore, smashing the rocks. Perhaps it was in his eyes, the depths there, his blinking heavy and slow like a cat, the curve of his mouth as he spoke, the way his brow moved to distract from his dancing hands. His sashaying self-assured walk—everything else in orbit around him, moving to his bidding.
He'd spent the last weeks caught up in some storm that raged in him. He'd never known passion and fulfillment like he had found with Jack—weeks later the memories sparking flashes of desire through his insides like flames, catching his breath, distracting him entirely.
And then the panic would grip him, the fear of discovery, of being betrayed, of it being an elaborate trap set up to ruin him. And with it the panic of not being able to see him again—to live the rest of his life knowing he would never again know the thrill of that intimacy, the desire to possess and be possessed, the need to release those waves that were beyond what he had thought his body was capable of feeling.
And the panic of the likelihood of Sparrow being brought to justice; if he were caught anywhere in neighboring British waters he would be brought to Port Royal to hang. Norrington would have to attend.
The tide made its way higher up the beach, hissing against the rocks. He heard the barnacles popping, the screeching of the gulls, noises amongst the palm trees behind him.
And then the distant slap of oars upon water. The sky was dimming, the sea now too dark to make out anything but ghostly shapes, the white slice of gulls through the air. He stood and squinted, tried to see the origin of the sound. A dark shape came around the spit of rock; he could only distinguish it for its movement. As it got closer he saw it was an unlit rowing boat.
He stood still against the rock as the oars were tucked in and Sparrow's unmistakable figure dropped out into the surf and began dragging the boat ashore. James didn't want to go to him, didn't want him to have come here. Didn't want it to have happened because he knew he wanted it so much.
Jack must have already seen him there against the rock. He made an elaborate gesture for James to go to him to help him drag the boat up past the tideline. James found himself moving before his mind had given him permission to.
He splashed into the shallow swell of the encroaching tide and stood before him. The dusk still gave them light enough to see each other clearly. Jack smiled, though his eyes were dark, and he placed a hand on James's forearm in greeting. James also smiled, though embarrassed and uncomfortable suddenly, self-conscious but unsure why.
"Hello, Jack," he said quietly.
"James." Sparrow nodded, somewhat formal but for the smirk.
Together they dragged the boat up the beach and tied it off to the rock James had leant against. They stood beside each other, looking at the boat. James checked the knot again, to make sure it was tight enough. Then checked the mooring line, made sure it was strong enough. Jack placed his hand on James's shoulder, tugged him backwards and turned him to face him. James didn't meet his eyes, only looked down, suddenly fascinated by the beads that were tied to the braids in his beard. Jack reached out his hand, gently held James's face, fingertips brushing against his neck. James looked up, shy and unsure, feeling most unlike himself.
And found Jack's eyes. Black and glistening like liquid tar, deep and falling.
"Hello, James," he whispered, moving closer so his hip pressed against Norrington's, his chest against his arm. "Glad you came."
James closed his eyes, inhaled sharply at the touch, felt his head spin beneath it.
"You had no lantern on your boat," he said quietly, just for something to say.
"Had to make sure you didn't have the militia out waitin' for me, didn't I, luv? Seen you arrive half hour ago from out there."
"So you didn't trust me, then?" James asked, realising the stupidity of the question before he'd even said it.
"Course I trust you, luv. Just don't trust the world. Got to be ready for whatever, savvy?" Jack smiled, lighthearted despite the weight in his eyes. James was waiting for the awkwardness, waiting to feel the pang of shame at what he thought was their sordid little meeting. Jack saw it in the way he kept looking down.
"James," he said quietly, holding his waist to stop him turning away. "James, love, look at me."
James grew tense under his grasp, but looked up into his eyes, still restrained and unsure.
"I'm glad you came," Jack said slowly. He brushed a hand against James's cheek again, kept his hand there. Jack slowly made up the distance between them and gently touched his lips to James's mouth, waiting to make sure he didn't pull back. He pressed closer, licked at James's top lip until he relaxed and opened his mouth slightly, kissing back. Jack's hand slipped up under James's coat, ran his fingers bluntly up over his spine to make him shudder in that delicate sweet way he'd discovered last time.
James felt the swell in his chest, his breath quicken as he pulled Jack closer, felt his reservations slip away. He moved back from the kiss, resting his forehead against Jack's as he smiled.
"I'm glad you're here," James whispered. He felt Jack smile against his cheek before he stepped back.
"Right then, luv," Jack said, clapping his hands together. "Where's this little fishin' hut of yours, then? Hope you've brought something to eat, I'm starvin'."
They made their way back from the bay, walking uphill through the dense palms and ferns. Jack chatted the whole way, spoke about where the Pearl had sailed in the last month, who they had encountered. James stopped him every time he tried to tell him how much they had stolen from various ships.
"I do not want to know, Jack," he said sternly, swiping at a large fern.
"It weren't an English ship, luv, she was Portuguese, the Sucessor."
"Oh, that was you, then. I did wonder." James stopped suddenly, turned to face him with a quizzical frown.
"What on Earth did you do with the goats?" he asked.
"You definitely don't want to know that, luv."
James shook his head and rolled his eyes as he carried on.
It wasn't really a hut so much as a small stone-built building. James had always appreciated the peace of the place; there was very rarely anyone anywhere near this part of the island as it was only accessible by foot—the swamps that surrounded it were too unstable for horses, and the bay too small for anything much bigger than a rowing boat.
They went inside, James bolting the door more out of habit than need. The contents of the building were humble but comfortable—a table and chairs beside a small stove, a few shelves of cooking equipment and some books, at the far end a bed surrounded by a heavy curtain beside the largest of the windows. Laid out on the table was bread and fruit, and pots of cooked meat and fish. It was all very nice, very proper. There was, however, one very important thing missing.
"James, where is the rum?"
James laughed quietly as he removed his boots and coat.
"Don't fret, there is some in the cupboard."
Jack was there before James's coat was hung up. He made a happy sound as he retrieved a bottle, pulling a chair out at an angle from the table and reclining in it. James looked at him with a fondness on his face he wasn't aware was there. Jack looked just like a cat—with the ability to loll and drape himself anywhere and still look comfortable.
They ate while Jack kept making James laugh and roll his eyes and raise his brow in kind disbelief. James found himself slipping back into the ease of Jack's company as though his previous misgivings had never been. And it felt good to be here with him, it felt right.
James talked about the strange politics and complicated social etiquette of grand balls, the subtle communications of lady's fans. Jack smiled and nodded, humoured him as though he didn't know already. Best save those stories for another time anyway.
It was darker now, and Jack watched as James lit more lamps. There was always a stiffness in the way he moved, his Naval discipline so ingrained in him it formed part of his body. And yet here he was—practically the lover of the region's most notorious pirate. An interesting dichotomy that, one that came down to choice. Very interesting.
"You don't get any runaways up here then, luv?" he asked, his mind already forging the idea for exploring that issue.
"You mean runaway slaves? I've come across a few up here over the years, come from plantations to the southwest. They came up here on their way inland to find the nearest Maroon colony, I imagine." James busied himself clearing up the dishes, placing them in a large pot of water by the stove.
"So I guess you rounded 'um back up, then, back to their masters." Jack took a long drink of rum, calculating eyes watching James's reaction as his hands stilled in the water.
"No. I let them be. It has only happened a few times. Each time they saw me approaching and made off towards the swamps. I didn't feel the need to pursue them, none of them had done any damage to this place, had only stayed here a few nights."
"S'your duty to bring them to justice though, luv, is it not?" Jack asked, leaning back in the chair and taking another drink.
"They belong to their masters, not to the Navy. It is not a duty of mine."
"'Cept they run off and join the Maroons and start another uprisin' against the British. So why not stop them?"
"If they choose to participate in another uprising then so be it. But there are plenty of Maroon colonies who are happy with their lot and do not pose any threat to the Crown."
Jack was quiet for a moment, sipping at the bottle, watching James finish cleaning the bowls.
"So you let them have their choice?" he said at last.
"All men deserve the right to choose their fate, and are judged by that choice accordingly." He turned to face Jack, hesitated on his next words. "The slaves—they are given no choice, only forced into their present situations. If they have the courage to escape it, then I do not want to be the one to deny them that choice."
Jack held his gaze in silence for a long moment before he took another sip, still holding his eye.
"You have too strong a conscience for a commodore of His Majesty's Royal Fleet."
"My conscience is simple—those who choose to break the law should be brought to justice."
"What of those who have no choice, who have to steal to eat?"
"There is always a choice, Jack," he replied, lowering his head slightly and smiling that smug patronising smile Jack hadn't seen since their time aboard the Dauntless. "I know of many people who have bettered their lives without breaking the law. Poverty is no excuse for crime."
"Spoken like a man who's never known the real sting of hunger, luv," Jack said, with more bitterness than he had intended.
James looked at him, expressionless.
"Why are you trying to antagonize me, Jack?" he asked blankly.
"Am not, luv," said Jack, smiling and opening his arms, setting the rum sloshing in the bottle. "I just want to know why you're here."
"And how do you hope to determine that by this unusual conversation?" James asked, sitting down at the table again.
"Already did. You're here cuz you chose to be here, and seeing as choice and free will is a concept you hold dear to your morals and conscience and nature, that's the very best reason there is. I'm here cuz I want to be. You're here cuz you choose to be. Even though we're breakin' the law."
"I do not agree with that law, although I am forced to uphold it. Relations between two men when neither is taken advantage of is not wrong in my eyes. I do not agree with a law which does nothing to protect and only serves to condemn."
"That's a very noble sentiment, luv, but I was thinkin' more along the lines of a Naval officer fraternisin' with a notorious pirate. I'm sure there's a law against that somewhere."
James paused, lowered his gaze to the table.
"Yes. Yes, there is," James sighed, rubbing his hand against his forehead.
Jack grinned, golden and glinting in the lamplight, and gestured the bottle towards James. James took it with another sigh, and drank deeply.
Prev ::
Next
Leave a Comment
(If you're commenting about a specific chapter, please mention that.)
Read Comments
(Warning: May contain spoilers!)