Another Bout of Flu
by Marquesate

* * *

It was five days later and Captain Groves lay ensconced in his bed with the blankets up to his chin. He felt miserable and close to dying, convinced the end of the world was nigh or at least that his days were numbered.

Yet another mighty sneeze wrecked his aching body and he groaned, fumbling for a reasonably clean and dry handkerchief.

He had thrown his manservant out of the room earlier and even the maid did not dare to enter, merely peeking through the door that she'd opened a crack, to be greeted by painful coughing and cantankerous complaints.

"I would rather die alone." Groves croaked to himself, his voice had almost failed him and the few words he managed were near impossible to hear. His usually smooth tone had been reduced to whispers and ridiculous squeaks, which made his already sore throat burn like raspy wild fire.

He wasn't a man prone to self pity, instead cursing the two perpetrators who were without a shadow of a doubt responsible for his current, terrible state.

Another fit of sneezes shook his shivering body and he glanced with trepidation at the dying fire. Due to his earlier loss of temper, his manservant would not dare to come back and stoke the flames.

He had practically thrown Richard out of the room and forbidden him to enter again unless it was with the heads of a certain Rear Admiral and a Privateer Commodore on a silver platter. He wouldn't even mind a wooden trencher, nor a pottery charger, as long as he'd bring the earthly remains of the guilty parties, Groves thought grimly.

Sniffling, he reached for yet another handkerchief, hoping that at least Lisa would risk poking her head in to bring some more freshly laundered linen kerchiefs.

He hadn't yelled at her, had he? He was usually a very reasonable man and a kind employer, but this cold had him in its clawed tentacles, making him feel ill, weak, sick and generally close to dying. No, he couldn't have shouted at the poor lass, because after all, his damned voice was gone and his throat hurt as if it were being flailed from the inside.

Blowing his nose, he tried to burrow even further into the blankets to get warm, but his feet still felt like ice. Blasted influenza! He had laughed last week, how foolish of him to believe he could play nursemaid to two unbearably grumpy men, finding it all amusing and entertaining and not be thrown into a bitter revenge in return.

Hearing noises downstairs, Groves frowned and strained to listen, but was unable to make out who it could be. Coughing, he decided to ignore anyone, and most of all the world outside, pulling the blankets over his head, determined to wither away all on his own.

He didn't want to see any living soul and least of all have to deal with them. He felt awful and was ready to shoot down anyone in flames who dared interrupt his misery.

Shivering in his white shirt, regardless of all those blankets piled over him and the fire still burning, albeit low. He was sniffling and at the same time struggling for air through the sore throat and blocked nose, thus failing to hear the footsteps that were making their way upstairs.

The first thing he became aware of a few moments later was a knock on the door to his bedroom. Precise and not timid as his maid's would be after his ill tempered outburst.

He meant to shout that he wanted to be left alone by the devil's name, but all that came out was a sad croak and a few pathetic squeaks, which made him hide even deeper under the blankets.

Was it so difficult? Couldn't he just be left alone? He did not want to be seen in this sorry state. Reddened, swollen, sore nose. Puffy, bleary, watering eyes. Virtually no voice, just a hacking cough. He couldn't bear anyone to catch sight of him like this.

He was a man who took great care of his body, but the looks he currently presented were not those he wished anyone to see and least of all the one man who at that moment opened the door and whose voice left no room for doubt as to who it was.

"Captain Groves!" The addressee didn't move, instead remaining hidden underneath the blankets and hating the entirely too cheerful voice, together with the man to whom it belonged.

"Leave me alone." He croaked out, straining his practically non existent voice, muffled even more by the bed clothes. "Go away!"

He fell into a coughing fit, nearly suffocating himself underneath the covers, refusing to even peek. No one would see him like this, suffering and puffed up, dreadful and ugly. Least of all his superior, best friend and occasional lover. Not in a thousand years and not even if he were to die of asphyxiation, as seemed likely if the insufferable man didn't get the hint and leave.

"Oh but my dear Captain." Norrington said in a voice that still had traces of the lingering cold, but was otherwise far too merry for his own good. "Where did the 'Sir' here and 'Sir' there go all of a sudden?" He chuckled and that made the man in question want to wring the Rear Admiral's neck.

"I said," Groves strained his voice to a screaming whisper, a quite pathetic sound, he feared. "Leave me alone! I look awful, feel even worse, and would appreciate being left to die in peace."

"Now that's the problem." Norrington answered, apparently setting something down on the table and taking the few steps over to the dying fire.

"You are aware, aren't you, that a cold can turn into an even worse influenza and that is, indeed, quite dangerous. You are my best Officer, and I won't let you die. Thus I came to the rescue."

Still too jolly. Far too animated and entirely too healthy, Groves thought with a frown and the urge to sneeze. Ruthlessly suppressing the need, he clamped his sore nose between his fingers, resulting in some loud sniffling and gasping for air.

He thought only a week ago that the Rear Admiral had been grumpy, cantankerous, annoying and altogether insufferable, but Groves had no idea what foul a mood he himself was in. A hundred times worse than either Sparrow or Norrington had been.

On the other hand they had each other to keep them company in their misery. Groves was not envious, nor jealous, it would never have been what he wanted and he was entirely and blissfully happy and satisfied with his life.

A content man, if only... if only his superior would leave the room so that he could search for a fresh handkerchief and blow his godamned, hurting nose!

"Are you still here?" Whispered hoarsely through a gap in the blankets at the side of his face.

Norrington hummed while stoking the fire, unabashedly ignoring the misery of the man in bed.

"Pardon me?" His voice all smiles and sunny brightness, it was too much for the coughing man, all he wanted was some peace.

"Am I asking too much?" Groves lost his temper, not that he had had much in the first place.

"Just leave me alone, SIR, will you? PLEASE!" He realised he was starting to sound desperate, if indeed he was being heard at all.

The sound of the fire crackling while burning away merrily brought a moment's flood of relief to him, shivering with fever despite the warmth. His body was aching in every bone and joint.

"Why?" Was the infuriatingly friendly answer, as if Groves had never ungratefully attacked the other. Said in Norrington's best velvet voice, the one he only seemed to use in those special moments, when friendship turned to passion.

Groves mused, instead of answering, with eyes squinted shut, nose itching, throat hurting, and burrowed beneath the blankets, that he had never wondered if he was the poor second choice for Rear Admiral James Norrington. It had never even been a question at all.

Norrington loved the notorious ex pirate and nowadays privateer, who now commanded two ships, no doubt. The truth was that Captain Theodore Groves had never intended to compete in the first place.

Their friendship had grown over the years and about eight years ago, when his superior had learned the meaning of desperation, left alone for months out of necessity by the man he wanted and needed, he had been offered and accepted physical comfort from his friend.

Groves sighed, wondering if he was going perhaps a little bit too far in his ill mannered irritability. He coughed once more and was still not willing to come out of hiding, but his temper was slightly soothed at those thoughts, despite Norrington's refusal to leave.

The latter's footsteps came closer to the bed and those elegant fingers began to pry the blankets off Groves' face, but they were snatched back with a vice like grip, not allowing the flu ridden face to be laid bare.

"Tell me why, my friend." The voice was even softer and practically purred into Groves' ears beneath the duvets. It made him shiver, and this time it wasn't from the cold.

He felt like moaning and berated himself that he was in fact leaning towards the ludicrous. Even in his misery he should perhaps gather some of his wits and stop treating Norrington like his enemy.

He sighed again and it made him sneeze, losing the grip on the hand and pressing a handkerchief against his face. He had to blow his nose badly, but he really didn't want to come out of the blankets.

"Because I'm ill, ugly, and I loathe it, Sir." He croaked, forcing the almost non-existent voice into a semblance of compliance.

Realising what he had said he added immediately, "I am utterly miserable, and blame you and Jack Sparrow for making me nurse you, only to grant me this blasted cold in return!"

That was it, he had said it, hoping that his superior would swallow the second part and miss the first. No such luck, he groaned when he realised just how perceptive and intelligent the man was.

"Don't be a fool, Groves." Norrington chuckled, the fingers back to where they were, peeling layer after layer off the hidden face.

"First of all I daresay that you cannot possibly ever be ugly and secondly, you would not look any worse than I did. A cold is a cold and while it is highly debilitating, it is by no means the end of the world."

Norrington smiled, though he didn't quite believe his own words. He had certainly been ready for some drastic actions, remembering faintly that he was willing to hang the entire healthy population of Port Royal. It made him wince, but only ever so slightly, and when he finally held the last blanket in his hands, he expected resistance. However, he did not get any.

Peeling the warm cloth off the face he peered down into puffy, swollen eyes that were bright red rimmed and teary, a sore reddened nose and the sound of wretched sniffles. He had to try hard not to laugh after all.

The look that Groves gave him was priceless. No puppy dog could possibly ever look anymore pitifully pleading as his friend did this very moment. Soft brown eyes large and wet, fixed in utter desolation onto the Rear Admiral.

"There, there. It's not that bad." Norrington stood and leant over him, smiling his biggest, warmest and most deeply felt smile. The one that made Jack's heart, according to his own words, beat ten times faster.

"Sir, you are my superior, but I would appreciate it if you didn't patronise me." The deeply grouchy answer came promptly, whispered from an awfully sore throat. It took only a moment for the heartbreaking puppy look to turn into a dark, irritated glare, when he continued.

"I'm not even that much younger than you, and I'd gladly hand the cold back. You've been too generous in bestowing the favour of making me feel like the personification of aching, chilled, snotty and sore misery."

Norrington grinned. He had tried very hard not to; had suppressed the quirking of his brows and the curling of his lips, but in the end he gave up and the grin blossomed into fullness. He couldn't take any of Groves' anger and bitchiness even remotely seriously.

He could sympathise with his friend though and he liked, as well as respected, the man far too much to be offended by anything.

He was playing with fire, Norrington knew. While he had accused Groves of having a ruthless streak five days previously, he knew that he himself had a wicked one of his own. He had learned from the best, after all.

"You really are not ugly, just a little less, may I say, handsome than usual."

His reward was a scowl that would have made even the nastiest, most brutal of notorious Navy Officers proud.

"Leave... Me... Alone...!" Groves pressed out, attempting to scoot back under the blankets, but Norrington's hand on the woollen covers and an assault of sneezes prevented any successful hiding.

"No my friend." Was the altogether friendly and far too bright answer. "No way, my dear Captain Groves. Your manservant refuses to enter your room since you threw him out earlier, apparently with threats from you of dire consequences to his physical health if he dared to enter again. The maid is currently too timid to bring your cold remedy either. Thus, I'd say, it is up to me to take care of you. Just as you took care of me last week."

Groves' sneezes finally died own and he thunderously blew his nose, before glowering at Norrington. His look of utter defiance and gloomy anger was truly spoilt by the redness and puffiness. No man could possibly look threatening, when his nose ran and his eyes were watering.

"Did it ever occur to you, Sir, that I might not want to be taken care of, and instead might simply want to be left alone? I was perfectly content in my lonely misery." He glared at the other who just smiled indulgently.

"In fact, my dear Captain, it did occur to me, but I decided to ignore it." Norrington straightened back up and cast a brilliant smile at the glowering man in the bed, moving to straighten the blankets and reaching to fluff some pillows. It earned him a coughing huff and an angry groan, but Groves didn't quite protest.

Norrington smiled to himself. There, he hadn't been wrong. Groves just fancied himself as the loner far too much to accept any help or consolation if he wasn't feeling his best, but like every other human creature, he did not completely resent the comfort and company offered to him.

In the end, the latter more or less dutifully scrambled back out of the nest of blankets until he could sit and let Norrington plump up his pillows. He never stopped frowning at the other man, save when the coughing started again and he almost choked on the hacking bellows that shook his body.

Not even realising, with his chest hurting, eyes running and sore throat aching with burning flames, that Norrington had sat on the bed beside his friend of many years and was soothingly rubbing his upper back in circles with a strong hand, while the other offered a fresh kerchief.

Now that felt actually quite good, thought Groves, but it wouldn't do if he admitted to that. Thus he only forced out a gruffly whispered, and rather curt "Thank you" and blew his nose again. Still panting for breath and sinking with a badly suppressed sigh of relief back into the pillows.

"I suppose I better prepare the vile but quite potent brew that your maid so kindly put together." Norrington beamed down at the other who rolled his eyes before closing them resignedly.

"Is it just me, or do I get the feeling that you are getting your own back now, Sir?" Groves' cracked one eye open a slit, to be presented with a grin that reminded him far too much of the occasional wolfish smirk of a certain ex-pirate.

He groaned and shook his head, whispering when his voice wouldn't reveal anymore. "If I may say so, Sir, on occasion I believe you have learned a little bit too much from Commodore Sparrow."

Norrington laughed and stood up to walk over to the table, where he began preparing the strong ale, brandy, honey and lemon brew. He had left the poker in the fire earlier and it was heating up nicely.

"You could be right, I am afraid to admit. It seems that all those years have coloured me and somehow changed me a little underneath the uniform." Scooping honey in liberal spoonfuls into the large mug, he glanced over at the sniffling other.

"You're not wearing your uniform right now. Does this mean that you are coloured throughout today?" Came the promptly whispered reply and it made Norrington laugh and shrug, stirring the mixture before walking to the fire to heat it.

"It must be the fever that's talking, my dear Captain." He smirked, a type of grin that Groves liked to see on his superior, because it was private and shared only with his one love, his best friend, and the Turner family. A very exclusive circle indeed.

The rest of the world had to make do with the Naval Officer's mask.

"I am not convinced..." Groves was stopped by another coughing fit and he gasped for air, groaning. He felt dreadful and figured it was easier to remain silent after all. Swallowing with difficulty, he cursed the soreness of his throat.

He was bored, he hurt everywhere, and he just wanted it all to be done and over with. Being ill was not enjoyable at all. He could never understand why anyone would look forward to being bed ridden and pampered by another. He couldn't bear it, even less than the Rear Admiral had done.

The brew sizzled and almost bubbled over. Norrington set the poker aside and just like Groves a few days earlier, walked back over to the bed, sitting down at its edge.

"I hope the mixture is as good and effective as the one you made for Jack and I." He smiled as he held the mug out to the other, who took it without further ado. Groves was thankful, there was no doubt, but he just didn't feel like admitting to it. If he did, it made him look weak, or at least according to his internal reasoning.

"I wish I could sleep." Groves complained with a shrug and set to sipping the hot brew. At least he was used to the taste, his mother had given it to him when he was little. Its familiarity made the whole experience more bearable.

"Perhaps this will help though." Norrington nodded and watched the other. He had never seen his friend so annoyed and bad tempered, not in all the years he had known him. He had to admit to himself that the grumpy misery was somehow endearing. As long as it didn't last too long of course.

"Just as you said last week, Groves, I think we have been friends for long enough to warrant taking care of another, though I have no intention of ever 'mothering' you." He smiled warmly down into the brown eyed glare, which melted very quickly and, albeit red rimmed and puffed up, blinked a couple of times slowly and betrayed a smile in their dark depths.

Norrington stood up after a while and walked back to the table, leaving Groves with his tankard full of flu remedy, which he sipped slowly but steadily. Looking over the supplies he frowned. Only two lemons left and no limes, he would run out too soon.

"I will see to the servant getting some more fruit for you. If you excuse me a moment." The sniffling man nodded and continued to work on diminishing the hot beverage, already beginning to sweat.

Norrington cast another glance at the red faced Captain of his and with a barely suppressed chuckle headed out of the door and downstairs to the kitchens. It took a little while for him to find the maid who had been working in the kitchen garden.

The girl promised to find the manservant as soon as possible, and offered Norrington, the discerning gentleman whom she had welcomed many times into the house, the bench underneath the banana bushes to wait upon, while she hurried towards the cellar.

Norrington enjoyed a few moments in the mild breeze, shaded by the thick, green leaves and thus completely missing the newcomer who seemed to have caught the maid before she managed to find Richard.

She had let the man in, a little captivated by his eccentric charm, and accepted his offer to find his own way to visit the poor, bedridden master of hers, because she had seen him before.

In fact, there surely wasn't anyone in Port Royal who didn't know at least some of the stories about the notorious pirate turned privateer and who was, even now, making his usual flamboyant entrance into the Captain's house.

Lisa watched this man with the same intrigue she always felt upon seeing him. This strange looking, oddly attractive privateer, who had come up with one of the greatest manoeuvres in naval history, saving the day of the Spanish battle, when the British Navy had been outnumbered twice over.

Against all odds they had smashed the Spanish line of men-of-war with the help of three privateer vessels, the Black Pearl, Sparrow's flagship, the Swallow, sailing under his colours, and the Equinox. The latter being owned by a former Spanish Commandante turned privateer against his own country and who was rumoured to have unnatural interests in the young captain of the Swallow.

The famous privateer was right now swaggering up the stairs, watched for another moment by the maid. He hummed his favourite tune to himself, the one that always made his Rear Admiral groan, cover his ears and beg 'No, not again, Jack!'

Upstairs, Groves had just finished the brew and was about to close his eyes, trying to get a few moments of peace and possibly even some sleep, when the door opened again. It was flown open with a lot more enthusiasm and bravado than he would have expected from his superior.

Consequently, he stared speechlessly at the man who had just entered and who carried a bottle of rum in his bejewelled hand.

"G'afternoon, Cap'n!" Jack grinned. He, too, had only a mild case of the sniffles left. Otherwise he was as bright and insane as Cotton's parrot on its best days.

"I 'ear ye weren't faring too well so I said to meself, 'Jack', I said, 'Teddy 'ad been so kind to me, I better go and return the favour with me mum's own cold remedy.'" Jack smirked at the sniffling man who belted into a couple of mighty sneezes before he was able to answer.

"Don't call me Teddy!" But Groves' voice was a mere whisper and he grimaced while Jack's grin turned even more wicked, teasing the man who had become a friend of his as well.

"Sorry mate? I can't 'ear you. What did ye say?" Stepping closer, he plonked himself onto the bed and bestowed the brightest, most gold glittering grin on the poor suffering man that he could possibly manage.

"I said..." Groves whispered, but Jack held a hand up and leaned so close that his hair fell down into the other's face, tickling the already itching nose. Groves had to hold back as best he could if he didn't want to sneeze right into Jack's face. He wasn't too sure though if he wanted to withhold after all, apprehensive why for all the Saints' good deeds he just couldn't be left alone.

"No worries luv, I know ye don't like your lovely Christian name, though methinks I can't quite understand why. Sounds cosy to me." He shrugged and waved the rum in front of Grove's nose, who frowned at it.

"That is your mother's remedy?" His indignant whisper was disbelieving though not disapproving.

Jack craned his head exaggeratedly and looked the bottle up and down as if he had seen it for the very first time.

"Nay mate." He smirked, "'tis for me. Me mum's remedy's a lot better. Trust me."

Groves brows drew together, but before he could utter his doubts as to the questionable extent of trust in these matters he could bestow upon the former pirate, may he be a friend or not, he was wrecked by another attack of awful sneezes.

Jack leant a little to the right, calmly put the bottle down beside the bed and shrugged out of the coat, all the while grinning at the man who by now was blowing his nose and sniffling miserably.

"So what is this famous remedy of your mother's?" Dabbing at his sore nose, Groves watched Jack with a kind of trepidation only those who knew Jack Sparrow for many years could come up with. Long suffering, expecting the worst, and equally fascinated all the same.

"'ang on luv, jus' a moment." The coat was finally thrown onto the floor and the bottle picked up. With a deft movement of his hands and a quick snap of his teeth, uncorking the precious vessel. Jack bobbed his head in an odd but nevertheless quite elegant manner at Groves, who kept looking at him with raised brows and raspy breaths. Setting the bottle to his lips, Jack let the amber liquid burn its welcomed path down his throat.

"So, do I understand correctly that you drinking rum is part of the remedy for my cold?" Groves whispered between coughs in complete disbelief.

"Aye." Jack stopped the flow of his beloved rum and wiped his lips. "Ye'll see in a moment."

Before Groves could answer, Jack petted his cheek which earned him an indignant huff and put the bottle carefully down on the small night stand beside the bed.

"'Tis important, b'cause it'll make the whole thing much more medicinal, ye know." He muttered on while scooting southwards, hands grabbing for the pile of blankets at the foot end.

"Medicinal?" The whisper was as loud as Groves could make it, because the next moment those same blankets were smartly lifted and the dark mane of one Privateer Commodore vanished beneath them.

"Jack?!" Groves cursed himself for the undignified squeak his voice became, although he forced it to the straining point. "Jack what on earth are you doing???"

"Applying me mum's cold remedy of course. Sheesh luv, did the influenza get to your brain?" The chuckle that followed was muffled, because Jack was buried beneath the blankets. He tried to make his way upwards between the bare legs of the unsuspecting Captain, who stared in utter bewilderment and speechless surprise at the moving mound.

Jack was completely concealed by the bed cloths and cursed as he tried to feel his way up to where he intended to get for the special kind of Sparrow's Own Cold-Cure, while Groves kicked his legs a bit and otherwise just couldn't believe what was happening.

This was of course the very moment the door opened again after a couple of knocks and the Rear Admiral stepped back in, carrying a basket of lemons and limes in his hands.

Norrington stared at the mountain of blankets that cursed and moved in the shape of a crouched man who was apparently moving up Captain Groves' legs and some of the fruits bounced onto the floor, scattering along the polished wooden slates. That cursing voice was unmistakable, even when muffled like that.

"Jack?!!!" Echoing his subordinates earlier exclamation, but a lot more forcefully.

"What in God's name are you doing in Groves' bed and underneath his blankets?!!!"

The basket was quickly deposited on the table and even the Captain had forgotten to sneeze, completely speech- and motionless.

Surely he had to have such high fever that he was hallucinating. Although, if he was honest with himself, he did not fail to see the hilarity and great amusement factor of it all. Even if his body felt as if he had been slaughtered, drawn, quartered and generally being made minced meat of.

"I said no pilfering, Jack!" Norrington stood beside the bed, towering over it and glaring down at the blanket mound that suddenly stopped, hovering right above Grove's midriff.

"'Tis no pilfering!" The muffled voice defended itself with vehemence. "Charity, 'tis charity luv!"

"What?!" Groves mouthed although he meant to shout in utter indignation, only capable of a squeaked whisper anyway. That was the last thing he'd ever wanted in his life, charity? He certainly had never stooped so low that he required charity.

Before Norrington could say anything more, and before another sneeze attack, coughing fit or indeed a wild kicking of Groves' legs could dislodge the determined ex-pirate, Jack had found his path all of a sudden and scooted up through the bed covers, his movements smooth and lithe, so much so that no one would ever believe his age if they did not know.

His head slipped out of the blankets and he leaned, after a quick, wicked glance at Norrington, so close to Grove's ear that his black mane covered the other's face. Only the flu-ridden man could understand the conspiratorial whisper.

"I've never forgotten me first taste of the Navy, mate. Was no charity then, luv, is no charity now."

Groves decided to shut up immediately and despite the sorry state his sharp featured face was in, allowed a grin to spread across it, which turned him even with puffy, swollen eyes and a chapped red nose, into the stunningly handsome man he was. Who was he to complain, after all.

Norrington stooped to be closer to the two heads, and his brows shot up to the hairline. At first glaring at Jack but when his lover of many years turned his head to look at him, he saw this most irresistible twinkle in those black eyes, the one he could never resist. Not ever, not now.

"What is it now, Jack.." he sighed with the long suffering resignation of a man who had gotten so used to the other's madness, that he could see the brilliance in even the most insane of all manoeuvres.

"Ye know, me pretty Navy men, 'ere I was, thinkin' that me mum's cold remedy could benefit everyone, aye?"

He bared his teeth in a smirk at Norrington, unseen by Groves and neither did the latter see the leering wink. All the Captain could discern was how the raised brows of his superior lowered to turn into an amused look.

"Do you now." Norrington hadn't been privy to Jack's way of thinking for over ten years not catch on quickly. "Well, I guess that perhaps it is charity after all then. Wouldn't you think, Captain?"

Brushing the long thick, partly braided mane out of his subordinate's face he grinned at Groves. Not much less of a leer as Jack had produced.

"After all, it was you who complained about not being able to sleep earlier. Perhaps Jack does have a point here."

His fairly pale hand gave the dark head a few gentle slaps to make the slender man scoot back down under the blankets and he frowned teasingly. "Our friend is getting cold here, you better take care of him, Jack."

The latter chuckled and Groves stared in a strange mixture of far too many emotions to even dare naming them, at Norrington. He figured it best not to say anything and instead threw himself into a wrecking sneeze, which almost dislodged Jack but he held firmly onto those muscular legs and quite enjoyed himself in the process.

Soon the dark head had vanished beneath the blankets and what followed was a raspy gasp from the man in the bed. Uncertain how he would breathe at all, with that blocked nose of his and the flaming sore throat.

He forgot to ponder such necessities the next moment, when Norrington grinned far too wickedly and deftly lifted the white linen shirt, revealing an expanse of tanned, muscular chest. He hummed with approval at the sight which he knew rather well and Jack's answering muffled sound made Groves jerk and forget about such minor details as breathing altogether.

Groves' body was unlike Jack's or James'. Tall, muscular, with pronounced abs and chiselled pectorals, truly a man who spent a lot of his time taking care of his body. Altogether content with his life and certainly with his looks. No one who had ever laid him out like he was right now would ever think otherwise.

He tensed and shivered between the wickedly skilled hands and tongue of a pirate at heart, and the remarkably talented lips and teeth of an officer by birth. Closing his eyes Groves bunched the last handkerchief in his fist. He bucked towards the promising warmth of a rum fuelled mouth and lifted up to the sharply nipping teeth and soothingly laving tongue.

Forgetting all about this dreadful flu in a heartbeat.

A little less than an hour later, both a Privateer Commodore and a Rear Admiral sat in two chairs at each side of a small table in a Navy Captain's bedroom. Both in their shirt sleeves and breeches, one with stockings and fine buckled shoes, the other in bucket top boots.

They were watching the deep, restful sleep of their friend, whose face looked utterly content despite the reddened nose and the sniffling snores.

"'Charity', Jack?" James' brows rose with a discernible amount of amusement, glancing over at the other. "I never pegged you as a charitable person."

His voice almost purred with velvety enjoyment, stretching his long legs and rolling his shoulders, favouring the left, as he had been doing since the pistol shot eleven years ago.

"Aye luv, I did it jus' for you." Jack grinned back at him, knowing full well what he was doing when the other's eyes were riveted on the tip of his tongue that darted out to lick an imaginary missed drop off the corner of his far too shapely lips. He looked every inch like the proverbial cat.

"For me?!" James' eyebrows rose further up, until they threatened to remain permanently in his hair line. He didn't take the bait of the suggestive gesture. Not yet anyway.

It merely made Jack chuckle softly, reaching over the table to capture James' left hand with his right.

"Of course, my 'andsome Admiral. Jus' makin' sure that ye'll get your finest Officer back as soon as possible." Gold flashed when his grin turned into a veritable smirk.

James took the hand and threaded his own, long fingers into the still elegant ones. The joints of Jack's hands were a little gnarled by now. Age had taken its toll, and a lifetime on the sea was afflicting the other with the sailor's malady. Jack never complained though. The sea was his life, his love, and she would claim him one day, so he always said.

"That means you will leave soon, doesn't it?" James smiled wistfully at the other man, who nodded. They looked at each other in silence for a moment. It had been over ten years, but a wave of melancholy still tugged at their hearts every time they were to be parted again.

However, this was their lives, the paths they had chosen, and they both knew they had been favoured by lady luck. Against all odds, Jack had been given clemency and even more so, he and the crew of the Black Pearl and the Swallow were something akin to heroes after the last war against the Spanish.

Jack bore the large scar from the sea battle with his typical pride and he liked to tell extravagant tales about how he received it. James chuckled every time he heard yet another version, fascinated at how many ways there could possibly be for the daft hero to have received such a spectacular wound.

He knew the truth however, which was no less spectacular, courageous or mad than the elaborate stories Jack liked to tell. No matter what others believed about how the former pirate had been injured, it still sometimes made James wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, remembering how his men had carried the lifeless, bleeding body over to the Dauntless.

Jack was alive, however, and James smiled, squeezing his hand.

"Should be two days luv, and she'll be fit to sail again. I bet yer 'appy to get me off your back for a while, aye?" Jack's black eyes were twinkling at James. Still khol rimmed though framed with lines of age and laughter these days, nevertheless forever beautiful and far too expressive for his own good. It had been the eyes, the seated man thought fondly, that had touched his heart and swayed resentment into respect in the first place.

James laughed softly and shook his head. "Well at least I will get my own bed back and won't have to put up for a few weeks with being prodded and pushed to make a comfortable pillow for you."

Jack rolled his eyes and tried to look hurt, but it wouldn't happen, and he gave into the sparkling smirk. They both were adept at the art of the unspoken and thus knew they never slept as well as if they rested together.

"I'll be back soon luv, and then ye can complain as much as you like, but ye won't get away from being me pillow."

He smirked and stood up, his fingers still threaded in James'. The black onyx ring, set in silver skulls, gleamed dully on his right hand, and on his left the cut garnet seal ring sparkled like heart's blood.

That was the ring which had been his first and forever gift. Still making him gaze in wonder, whenever he looked at it. Such a token from a Commodore, he had been rendered speechless all those years ago.

Jack came to stand in front of James who looked up at him, dark haired head fallen into the back of his neck, smiling. Readily parting his legs to allow the other to step between them.

"Ye know I'll always come back for you, don't ye?" Jack suddenly said, low, soft and husky. More emotions in a few words than any declaration of love could possibly convey.

He reached out and traced the calloused fingertips of his left hand down along James' temple and jaw line. A touch so gentle, only one person had ever received it, and that man was right now closing his brilliant, dark green eyes for a moment at the touch and smiled. Warm, deep, and beautiful.

"I know Jack." The answer came like a caress, and the threaded hands gripped each other stronger. For reassurance perhaps, or just the luxury of the purely physical contact with the other.

James' eyes opened again and his free hand rested on the still slender hips, drawing the former pirate closer.

"As I'll always wait for you."

There was no more to be said, and they smiled at each other in silence.