Rags of Time
Part 9
by
Disclaimer: Not mine, none of it. Claim no ownership and make no money. I just like to play with them. Sorry!
Captain Jack Sparrow had always loved the sea. From the first moment the briny air had touched his lungs his body had heard her calling to him. He may well have only been a baby, but his body still remembered. At least, he knew it did. The sea was a constant, an absolute. Infinite and eternal, an ever-changing perpetual, an abiding, enduring, perennial, immutable—well, she was just always there, wasn't she. The only true companion a man could ever have, the only thing that could always be relied on. He'd known days when the sun hadn't risen, seen things that shouldn't be possible. But the sea had always been there. Had always been the way to go, her breath stroking at his skin, calling him to her, promising to take him away from a life he would gladly leave behind. Promising him his freedom.
The past was not a place he visited. His childhood was the shadow of a storm on his mind's horizon, nothing more. He left it alone and in return the past did not trouble him. His reputation preceded him—he had no need to recall the details of something as meaningless as the truth of his previous life.
Jack was not a sentimental man. He made his life very simple. Complicated things got left behind. Put the sea between them and him. Which is also what he did with anything or anyone that threatened to upset his life's happy equilibrium. He had fought hard to get it back, his Pearl and his life, and he wasn't about to give it up.
He stood now, at the bow of his Pearl. Feeling her slice through the water, the wind lifting and throwing his hair around his face, flicking his coat to slap at his legs, blowing his breath away from him so breathing became a conscious effort, no longer instinct.
James was just that, he realised then. A thing that stole his breath—made his instinct stall, made all of his unconscious movements through his life suddenly harder so that he questioned them.
The first time, he had ignored it. Sitting in the man's bed, watching him breath in the dark. He knew he should leave, get back to his ship. He heard his instinct say so, however quietly. Back to his life, his world. The one in which he fled from the commodore, waving his hat and blowing a kiss to him down the scope, just out of range. He'd stayed because he'd wanted to. And he always did just what he wanted.
Generally, though, he did not want to share a bed with a man who was sworn to kill him and all his kind.
But he had ignored that. The best thing about instinct was that it did not need to be questioned. It had always served him well. His instinct told him he wanted something—he tricked and smiled and connived and seduced and stole and charmed his way to follow his instinct until he got what he wanted.
It was the second time that had jarred him.
Waking up on land always jarred him, made something small right at the back of his head shout out not good, think for a fraction of a second that he was back in England. The sunlight had struck him through closed eyes, and he realised then he was in James's bed in the odd little house he seemed to keep as a retreat on the northeast side of the island.
Jack had turned his face into the shade without opening his eyes, realised his face was now buried in soft thick hair and inhaled the smell of James. He'd made some kind of mm-ing noise and rolled over to mold his body to the curve of James's back to doze off to sleep again.
And that's what had jarred him. That familiar, constant, ever-present instinct to leave and return to his ship was not there. Instead it said to stay, to wrap arms around that broad pale chest and pull him closer, hold a hand over his heart and feel the steady thud, wonder at the contrast between tan and white skin.
His eyes had shot open at that, seen only brown shine, soft as pelt. He sat bolt upright, unintentionally waking James, who'd looked up at him with an annoyed thick frown, sleepy eyes not ready to see the day.
"What is it, Jack?" he asked, his voice heavy in his throat.
Jack had only stared, wide eyed, stared at his face as though seeing it for the first time. Smooth skin, heavy graceful bones, thin sharp lips, pretty jaw. The increasingly questioning look in those eyes, green like a hillside, like England.
"Jack? What's wrong?"
Jack's mind kicked back into gear as he swayed his head slightly.
"Need a piss." He'd hopped from the bed, got tangled in the bed curtains on his way to finding his coat, wrapping it around him as he went outside. He'd heard James lay back down, shift his weight in the bed to fall back to sleep. Jack had found a stone to sit on, stared out at the palm trees, felt the cool morning breeze against his closed eyelids.
Now the strong sea breeze blew against them, whispering wordless sounds into his ears like secrets. Asking him the same question the most outspoken members of his crew had begun to. Why do we keep so close to Jamaica? Why are we not following the trade routes as usual? They didn't complain too much; to keep them busy during his trips to see James he had dropped most of them ashore at Tortuga. But he could see the questions forming in their eyes, the itch to get out on open water and hunt down some fat merchant ships.
He'd turned, looked over his shoulder at them. Watched them about their business, scrubbing, stitching, scurrying in the rigging. Followed each in turn, his feline mind set to determining how each was likely to react to another change of course, who would be likely to jump ship when he sent them ashore again, how many were loyal enough to take his orders without question. Who he could easily do without or replace.
Their last haul had been good; the Portuguese ship had been well stocked. They had taken on a good lot of gold from the Portuguese colonies. Plenty of wine and rum. It was, however, beginning to look quite bare in the hold. Which probably explained the furtive sharp glances the crew were sending his way as he surveyed them.
Jack lowered his gaze, wrinkled his nose, screwed his lips up tight. Turned back towards the sea.
It was a sorry state of affairs indeed when the sea herself could not distract Captain Jack Sparrow from his worries.
James sat at his desk in the fort, blankly staring at the papers in front of him. He had been doing so for at least a few minutes, and had no idea what was written on them. His mind was very much elsewhere. Specifically, in the bed at his fishing hut. More specifically, it was in the process of reminding his body of exactly what was going on the last time he was there.
He'd woken again once Jack had come back inside, saw him knelt beside him on the bed staring at him with a strange distant look on his face. His eyes were intense as they'd held James's, till he leant down suddenly and took hold of James's face, long fingers cupping his jaw and cheeks as he kissed him with deep urgency, mouths pressing hard together. They'd spent the next hour with bodies pressed together, hands and lips and fingers searching and finding each other's secrets till the intensity of their passions had lifted, released. They had lay there then, Jack's arm under James's shoulders while his free hand danced above their faces, illustrating stories and words. James laughed, Jack watched his face, the sharp corners of his mouth against the soft curve of his cheek, the light crinkling of the skin around his eyes. They let the morning sun pass over them to midday, the shadow of the wall stroke across their bodies on the bed. Till Jack's face darkened, whispering something James didn't quite catch as he said he was leaving. 'In that the world's contracted thus.'
A knock at the door snapped him out of it. The clerk entered, followed by a red-faced huffing man. James felt his stomach sink.
"Ah, Mr. Brooks. How nice to see you again."
"Shoddy, Commodore. Shoddy and unacceptable. I am most unsatisfied with this whole situation..."
The man droned on about some petty issues he had with another merchant resident in the harbour, claiming the number of guards on duty in the harbour should be increased, quoting rules and regulations as though he thought James was ignorant of them. He looked like some affronted chicken, puffing and pacing before the desk; the image suddenly reminded James of the chicken story Jack had told him while they were aboard the Dauntless. He barked out an unexpected laugh, stopping the man in his tracks, and only just managed to disguise it as a cough.
"Commodore, what is the meaning of this?" the man demanded.
The words suddenly hit him. What was the meaning anyway? James was suddenly fed up with the whole thing. He was sick of paying lip service to fat wealthy merchants, being forced to bow to their will and use Navy resources to pacify them just for the sake of appearance. Sick of bending over backwards to ensure the Crown received a percentage of their profits to keep the Admiralty's cellars well-stocked.
"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about, Mr. Brooks," he replied, his sudden apathy deepening the arrogance in his tone.
He saw the rage rise in the man's face; he practically trembled.
"I demand that you increase the guard along the docks!" The man's fist landed heavily on James's desk. James dropped his gaze to it, saw the knuckles white with tension.
"Get out of this office, Mr. Brooks," he said quietly, returning to the paperwork in front of him. He refused to look up at the man again even as he ranted and eventually made to leave.
"Just wait until the Governor hears of this, Norrington. I will not be spoken to in that manner! I will not be dismissed like some errant schoolboy..."
Alone again, James rose from his desk and stood by the window, looking out to the horizon. Thinking Jack was there somewhere.
Jack had left the Pearl docked in Tortuga; even if half of the men jumped ship, the Pearl was always easy to re-crew. The little boat he had acquired had made good time across the water to Jamaica. He'd left it tied up in the little bay where he had met James last time.
Now he stood in the garden of James's house, the heavy scent of lilies hanging in the dark air. There was light coming from James's upstairs study; there were also lights in the servants' rooms, so Jack couldn't sneak in through the kitchen as he had done previously.
He spotted an upstairs window open and scaled the wall, inching it open quietly, and slipped through the gap. He was in one of the spare bedrooms, and crept slowly across the room to open the door slightly, see where he was in relation to the study. He cursed under his breath as the door handle creaked, froze for a moment. He cursed again when he heard tentative footsteps on the stairs.
Bugger-bugger-bollocks. He jerked around like some kind of marionette, looking to see if there was anywhere to hide in the room. Seeing none, he paused, hearing the steps get closer, grabbed haphazardly for his pistol, then his sword, but left them both where they were. That would be no good.
"I'll hear no end of it if I kill his butler..." he muttered. With that he saw the fireplace, exclaimed triumphantly under his breath and grabbed the poker.
He positioned himself behind the door, poker raised above his head, an unwilling wide-eyed expression on his face. He heard the steps stop outside the door, saw the door inch its way open.
Then the door was pushed open suddenly, and Jack saw the cocked pistol first, pointed directly at his chest, and it was only as the poker was halfway towards its target that he managed to stop it, seeing that it was James who held the gun.
"Christ almighty, James, you scared the life out of me." Jack exhaled heavily as he lowered the poker. James's stony expression softened.
"You did just clamber into my house. Who else were you expecting to find?"
"I thought I was going to 'ave to knock out your bloody butler."
"The staff stay downstairs in the evenings." James smiled lightly, put the pistol back into his belt. "I was going down to fetch some paperwork."
"So you just wander around with a loaded pistol all night then, hey?" Jack motioned towards it incredulously.
"As do you." James's expression was somewhat detached, Jack realised. He suddenly wasn't sure if he was actually welcome. "What are you doing here, Jack?"
"Just came to see you again is all. Don't worry, no one's seen me." Jack smiled, all seductive charm and eyes and lips. He leant the poker against the wall with an exaggerated motion, sidled over to James and pressed his body to him. "Don't say you ain't missed me, luv," he said, looking up at him through his eyelashes, the kohl exaggerating the contrast between the dark and whites of his eyes, even in the dimness. He felt James's body tense at his touch, heard him inhale sharply. James's eyes closed slowly as his lips twitched up and finally smiled.
"I wouldn't give you the satisfaction, Jack," he said sarcastically. James brought his arms around the other man, pulled him closer. He took off Jack's hat, rested his face against the bandanna, inhaling deeply the smell of his hair. "You smell of earth and air and the sea," he whispered quietly.
"S'called freedom, luv."
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