Chapter Text
James Norrington has always been a prideful man, obviously. He’s a commodore to the most powerful navy as far as the sea expands. He has an uncharming disgruntled face that somehow can make ladies swoon. (That is, the ladies without fathers.)
That is, clearly, the reason why Elizabeth Swann, the Miss Swann. Is not hopelessly in love with him. Governor Weatherby Swann is a decent father. Great? debatable. But that's besides the point.
Miss Swann being the only woman to give Commodore Norrington the light of day, he merely assumed they were to get married.
Oh, how was he mistaken.
She’s in love with a blacksmith. Who, together, ran off with a bloody pirate.
Goddamn Jack Sparrow.
James’ balls got bigger than his head and let Sparrow have a day to run. Before the Navy sets off in pursuit of him.
It’s been seven years. Seven goddamn years of following every potential trail of that drunkard who has the balls to call himself a pirate. Because of him. James Norrington’s title of Commodore was ripped from him.
That was two and a half years ago. Since then, the ex-commodore went off on his own. Set off to kill the man that took everything James knew.
Now, Norrington; a bloody pirate himself, roaming Tortuga, in rags, a gross wig, and drinking almost as heavily as Sparrow himself.
Searching for Sparrow and Gibbs in a bar on Tortuga
Captain Jack Sparrow loved very few things. Though his enemies like to think he loves one, himself. Which is partially right, of course, but the sea is his number one gal.
Then there’s the chase. God, he loves the feeling of always being on the run. Always moving. Until the Commodore.
The Commodore giving him a day’s head start was a huge mistake. Him and his fleet chased him for however many years. Jack lost count.
Their prim and proper fists were so close to grasping him. Then there was the hurricane in Tripoli, The Black Pearl was nimble enough to sneak through the storm, without much damage to its crew or ship. The Dauntless, on the other hand? Gone. After that, Jack never saw a single powered wig again.
That is until recruitment on Tortuga.
Recruitment for the Pearl was borderline fruitless. The fruit that did grow were scrawny and boys who's best use was scrubbing the pearl’s deck.
So Jack and Gibbs resorted to going to a bar. A crowded one, it was; bustling with chatter. Jack was leaning back on a chair next to the wall. Gibbs was at the bar chatting it up with someone of unimportance.
Unimportant, that is, until Jack listened in when Gibbs said the words “And what’s your story?”
“My story…it’s exactly the same as your story. Just one chapter behind. I chased a man across the Seven Seas…”
Wait.
“The pursuit cost me my crew, my commission, and my life”
Ah, shit.
Gibbs let out an unbelieving breath he was holding. “...Commodore?”
“No, not anymore! Weren’t you listening?” Norrington raspily snapped.
Jack had the merely coincidental urge of hiding behind the plant sitting next to him.
Norrington leaned down, his uneven breaths reaching Gibbs ears, “I nearly had you all, off Tripoli. I would have, if not for the hurricane.”.
“Lord. You didn’t try to sail through it?” Gibbs was ignored.
“So do I make your crew,” Norrington tilted his head in a borderline crazed expression, “or not?”
Jack looked through the leaves, damn it, it is the Commodore. A real raggy version of him, though. His powdered wig; identical to the coat of a ratty white cat that was never fed properly. You could even see the man’s real hair, greasy hair, coming through, covering parts of his face and neck. His face was dirty, weeks of grim, though still strangely handsome. And his clothes looked like a poor boy’s sad mimicry of a Navy man’s suit.
“You haven’t said where you’re going.” Gibbs opted not to respond to the Commodore. Which aggravated Norrington more.
“Somewhere nice.” Norrington pushed over the bar Gibbs was sitting at, leading the older man to fall with it.
Jack, finally looked to the man’s eyes, Norrington met his gaze, unadulterated hatred within them, unmistakably Commodore Norrington.
Jack attempted to slip away somewhat silently.
Norrington walked away from the destruction he caused, looking around to the separating crowd, arms out in a petty, mocking stance. “So am I worthy to serve under Captain Jack Sparrow?” The whole crowd of bar dwellers and drunkards looking on in both anticipation and fright. Norrington’s eyes find Jack and his trusty plant. Swiftly pulling out his glock.
Jack stops in his tracks when he meets gaze with the barrel of a gun.
“Or should I just kill you now.” The ex-Commodore questions, sounding more like a statement, truely.
Jack peeks his head over the plant. Brown, almost black eyes meet green. Norrington staring so incredibly deeply and harshly into Jack’s eyes. He grinds his jaw, as the barrel of his gun follows every single movement that Jack makes. Jack shouldn’t be attracted to this.
“You’re hired!” Jack plays off his unsettlement.
“Sorry,” Norrington smirks, “old habits.” Jack's eyes widen, yeah, he should have expected that. Just before Norrington shoots, Gibbs manages to sneak to him and push his arm up, forcing him to miss the shot.
As per usual, a bar fight ensues. Jack and Gibbs run off.
James doesn’t remember anything after waking up in a mud puddle to the face of Elizabeth Swann. What has the world done to you, James Norrington?
Wait, no, he remembers. Gibbs, Sparrow.
Bloody Jack Sparrow. James’ heart became hot with fury.
Elizabeth pulls James up. “C’mon, we've got to get ourselves a Captain.”