A Bout of Flu
by Marquesate

* * *

Rear Admiral James Norrington was aggravated and miserable at the same time. His foul mood made him scowl at Captain Groves, who busied himself near the fire.

"If this wretched cold is going to stay any longer I will personally oversee the execution of anyone in Port Royal who happens not to have fallen victim to this dreadful influenza!"

His voice sounded awfully nasal and he sniffled, which turned the effect of his angry words from threatening into comical. Groves had to try very hard not to chuckle.

Craning his head backwards to cast a look at the bed ridden man, he tried to reason with Norrington as seriously as he could possibly manage.

"Sir, I do believe that we won't have enough gallows to hang all those relatively innocent citizens."

Returning to his task, the captain suppressed a grin and continued heating the metal poker in the blazing fire. It was hot in the room, but the Rear Admiral was still shivering and had felt chilly earlier, even under all those blankets.

"Innocent?!" Norrington's rant was cut short by a mighty sneeze and he grabbed frantically for the fine linen handkerchief to blow his already reddened nose.

"And besides, in God's name, man! Will you stop calling me 'Sir' at every turn? After all, is there anywhere on this body of mine you don't have knowledge of in the most intimate ways?"

He scowled at the broad back of his subordinate in question, whose shoulders appeared to quaver slightly, as if he were working very hard to suppress laughter.

"No Sir, I believe not, but you are, after all, my superior and shall always remain so." Groves' voice sounded forced and Norrington was convinced now that his suspicions had been confirmed.

He meant to growl angrily, but his blocked nose and sore throat turned the menacing voice into a croak. "What is so godamned funny, Captain?"

"See?" Groves didn't try to keep the grin at bay this time and allowed it to spread across the sharp features of his handsome face.

"You, yourself, called me by my rather officious rank and title right now. I dare say as much as I know every 'nook and cranny' of your body, Sir, I am utterly convinced that the same can be said for you."

Holding the red hot poker firmly in his hand, Groves turned back to face the Rear Admiral. He was delighted to see a flush creeping into the face of his superior and best friend, which painted a brighter crimson over the man's fever.

"I suppose so." Came the irritable reply, followed by a hacking cough. It was soon drowned out by the loud sizzle of the mixture of strong ale, brandy, lemon juice and several spoonfuls of honey that the Captain was heating with the hot poker until it bubbled merrily.

Satisfied with the temperature of the concoction, Groves set the poker aside in the brass fire stand and walked over to the bed.

"Here you go. Drink it as hot as you can." He smiled into the glowering face of the other man, who spat back, "Do not mother me! I don't need your pity."

As rude as the answer might have sounded, it only made Groves grin and shrug, pushing the tankard into Norrington's hands.

"Just drink Sir. I believe we have been friends for enough years to allow me some 'mothering' as you so eloquently put it."

"I hate being ill." Norrington growled and coughed but dutifully clamped his hands around the hot mug, wrinkling his nose at the strong smell. "I just hate it."

"I know." Groves sat down at the edge of the bed and smiled, but he was merciless and gave the hands that held the hot beverage a gentle prod. "Drink Sir. As hot as possible."

Norrington sniffed and scrunched his sore red nose with the pathetic grimace of a man who was condemned to death, and not just felled down by a major bout of cold; including fever, running nose and bellowing cough.

"I always knew you had a cruel and ruthless streak in you." He muttered, still procrastinating, but at a stern look, including raised brows, from Captain Groves he merely mumbled, "Ever since that Samuel Williams incident."

He didn't dare to continue protesting. Norrington knew that look and while it had amused him many times over the last eight or more years, he did not fancy being on the receiving end of it. Squinting his eyes and wrinkling his nose in disgust, the Rear Admiral bravely charged his foe and swallowed sip after scalding sip of the vile but potent brew.

Scrutinised throughout by Captain Groves whose lips seemed to twitch continuously with a source of mirth Norrington would rather not know about.

At long last he was finished and had emptied the mug. "Will you let me off the hook now or do I have to court-martial you?"

Groves just nodded with an ill disguised grin, holding a hand out for the pewter vessel.

Norrington scowled at the amusement of his best friend and occasional lover. It was an attempt at mending his wounded pride, because being bed ridden, ill and made a mockery out of on top of it, was too much to bear. Granted, he had a vague idea of just how ridiculous his petulant behaviour might be, but he preferred not to think about it.

"Blasted cold. I wish I knew who gave me that one. I would hang, draw and quarter the offender!" Handing the empty tankard back to the captain he continued complaining after a bout of coughing.

"No, that's too good for the vile creature. I would..." He never managed to finish his dark threats when they heard voices downstairs, one clearly belonging to his manservant, the other was somewhat muffled.

Norrington raised his brows in confusion before he was forced to sneeze again, blowing his nose loudly in the aftermath.

"I will enquire about the visitor." Groves stood up with a smile at the sick man in the bed and turned towards the door.

Before he had reached it, they heard a cacophony of sneezes, followed by coughing and a most creative string of curses that would make the hardiest tavern wench blush.

"Oh no..." Groves breathed out and held onto the mug in his hands as if it could save him from the inevitable.

The door flew open the next moment and none other than Jack Sparrow stumbled into the room, flailing his arms in the most flamboyant fashion and nearly being blown over by a series of sneezes.

"Damn you!" His voice sounded very much like the Rear Admiral's. Nasal, blocked and quite pathetic, and definitely no less irate.

His outburst was followed by another mighty sneeze, while desperately rummaging in the folds of his clothes for a kerchief to wipe his nose before he'd be reduced to using his coat's large cuffs.

Norrington stared at him from the bed. Offering one of his pristine handkerchiefs without a word, which Jack grabbed immediately after crossing the room with a few angry strides. The blowing of his own, petite nose was equally thunderous as the other man's had been.

"Good day, Captain Sparrow." Groves said dryly into the short span of relative quiet between coughing fits, several heartfelt sniffles and a few more sneezes. Walking to the door he closed it, empty tankard still in hand.

"Commodore Sparrow." Jack insisted, influenza or not, some things had to be done right. "Commodore!" Cut short by a fit of coughing that doubled him over. Wild long hair and trinkets flying everywhere.

"Of course." Groves replied with a grin that was meant to be apologetic, but didn't fully succeed in being sufficiently sincere. He couldn't quite hold back his amusement.

"Commodore Sparrow." He nodded to the privateer. Remembering with added glee, that last he heard, the former notorious pirate still resented having to fly the Union Flag & Jack on both the Black Pearl and the Swallow.

Turning to the silently staring man in the bed, who had been doing nothing but sniffling loudly now and then, Groves gave a small bow with a flourish of his hand which he had to have copied from Jack Sparrow himself.

"Sir, may I present to you the most likely candidate for your intended hanging, drawing and quartering?" He smirked.

"What?!" Jack protested, wriggling out of his coat to point a bejewelled finger at Norrington. "It was 'im who gave me that blasted cold."

He snuffled and stomped closer towards the bed where an outraged Rear Admiral was about to let out a barrage of protests, but was stopped by his own coughing fit.

"Look luv, I appreciate you wanting to share evr'thing with me, but really, that went too far."

Jack was all indignant misery and grumpy annoyance, but he nevertheless leaned closer to the feverish man on the bed and checked his temperature with a calloused palm across Norrington's forehead.

Groves, who watched the scene with a secret smile, thought that no matter how harsh Sparrow's words might sound, they would never mask what had to be nothing short of true love.

He was soon to be proven right in his assumption, when his superior replied in outraged consternation.

"It was you who gave me that damned cold, and none other. After all, do you see Captain Groves ill? No you don't! Besides, stop treating me like a small child! Take your grubby hands off me."

He glowered darkly at Jack, but at the same time his own hand went to brush the worst of the long, black mane, which was only streaked with a very few grey hairs as yet, out of the other's face. Checking Jack over with unspoken concern, in a very similar fashion to Jack's own examination of him just now.

"Gentlemen!" Groves was all smiles. The pewter mug had been placed on the table and he stood now in his best manner, hands clasped behind his back.

"Does it really matter who inherited this bout of influenza from whom?" His smile was entirely too bright and far too healthy, without the faintest trace of the debilitating symptoms of the common cold.

Jack looked at James. The Rear Admiral gazed back at the Privateer Commodore.

They shared an imperceptible nod, accompanied by a flash in red rimmed, sea green eyes and a corresponding spark in khol- and red rimmed black ones.

"I suppose it does not, my dear captain." Norrington concurred in the smoothest voice he was able to muster in his current state, while Jack sat down to take off his boots.

"Nay luv, it doesn't." The latter smirked and sniffled, causing Groves to get the uncomfortable feeling of having been just a little too self-satisfied. As a result, he feared he was about to become the centre of a yet unidentified conspiracy.

"Well, that is good then." He said with a smile that was toned down and carefully devoid of any smugness, inching towards the door.

"Ey, where are ye tryin' to get to, Cap'n?" Jack kicked his boots under the bed and stood on bare feet to unwrap the fairly new sash, definitely less ragged and cleaner than the one he used to wear years ago.

"Indeed, Captain." Norrington was all smiles and sniffles, dabbing at his sore nose.

"I would think, now that I am about to sweat out this dreadful cold, thanks to your secret concoction, you would extend this kindness of yours to our dear friend Commodore Sparrow, wouldn't you?"

His eyes, albeit teary and puffy, were twinkling with mirth and a very ill disguised wickedness, as he observed Jack drop the sash unceremoniously to the floor. For once refraining to comment on the other's perpetual untidiness. Instead contenting himself with watching Jack deftly unbuttoning the breeches, completely unconcerned by ensuing nudity as always.

"Uhm.. I..." Groves stammered, staring from one flu ridden man to the other. TWO cantankerous, aggressive, miserable and bad tempered men who coughed, sneezed and demanded absolute failing attention, every hour of the day and night? "I have to.."

"Nonsense, my friend." Norrington positively smirked, "I am certain that any of your other duties can wait until you have nursed two prominent figures of the Caribbean back to health."

His superior really had learned far too much from his lover of many years, Groves thought with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

He groaned when Jack dropped the breeches, stepped out of them and in nothing but his relatively white shirt, clambered back onto the bed and climbed over the man who was already lying in it.

Presenting a rather enticing view in the process, Jack finally slipped under the piled up covers, shivering and grunting at the effort of moving, while every bone in his body seemed to ache with this almighty cold.

He shuffled until he lay comfortable at Norrington's side, who had been prodded and rearranged in the process.

To his credit, Norrington had not pulled a face and was quite obviously very used to being more or less gently pushed around until he provided a comfortable pillow for Jack.

The latter snuffled and sneezed again, until he lay propped on his side with his head on James' good shoulder, who immediately reached for the many braids and started to undo the thickest.

Groves watched with fascination and a feeling of warmth, how the movement of Norrington's hand in the other's hair was almost unconscious.

Jack hadn't been wearing dreadlocks since the unfortunate 'accident' with some fire or other a couple of years previous. Instead, when the mane had grown back to its original length, he was wearing it in free tresses and braids of different thickness. Trinkets continued to be woven into it, and he still kept it in check with the ubiquitous bandanna. He had never mentioned the reasons why he hadn't gone back to the dreadlocks, but Groves knew the answer now, privy to one of the most tender and comfortable scenes he had ever witnessed.

Apparently without thinking, Norrington began to card his long fingers through the thick black hair once he had undone the braid at the back, stroking through the mane. Sparrow seemed to have anticipated and fully expected the caress, quite contently blinking at Groves with a wicked grin.

"I suppose you are right." Captain Groves sighed deeply and exaggeratedly put upon, resigning himself to the fate of nursemaid.

Looking from one sniffling face to the other, all of his earlier smugness was gone. He shrugged his shoulders and turned once more back to the bottles and pots on the table, reaching for the basket of lemons.

"Ye know what, luv?" He heard Jack croak behind his back, while busying himself with the arduous task of preparing another hot drink that would force the fever out of the second body.

"'e really IS a pretty Officer!"

Groves had to bite his lip to keep himself from chuckling softly, when he heard Norrington's answer, delayed by a series of coughs.

"Oh no Jack, no pilfering allowed in the British Navy. I don't steal from you, and you don't rob from me."

Perhaps, Groves thought, his fate wasn't all that bad and would probably turn out to be quite entertaining.

He was cutting the lemons and began to squeeze them into the pewter vessel, when his shoulders shook with renewed, suppressed laughter at the following mighty sneeze.

Then he smiled broadly at the rather heart warming answer, which came wrapped in a deep, content sigh.

"'Tis alright luv. Jus' checkin'. Yer Navy enough for ol' Jack."