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The sky sat heavily over Port Royal as the afternoon light slowly morphed from baby blue to an ever-darkening periwinkle. Luminous and lengthy stratocumulus cumulogenitus clouds of pink and yellow were interspersed gracefully together and settled high over the horizon. The large stack of papers and documents that had accumulated on the Commodore’s desk over the past few days had been remedied; there remained merely a minor collection of trivial work that could be attended to early the next day. After the invigorating morning, James Norrington was thankful the remainder of the day had proven to be quiet dull and uneventful.
Air from the ajar windows had filled his room with a stifling humidity, causing his skin to become slightly tacky and thus sticking itself onto his desktop. With a slight hiss, the Commodore pealed his bare arms off the walnut wood and rose up from his chair. After stretching his stiff back and limbs, James gathered his Naval coat from where it hung on a nail and dawned the garment. He stored away the remaining papers in his desk drawer to be dealt with some other time, and then promptly exited his office.
There was a slight breeze blowing despite the humid atmosphere, and James relished in the cool feel of it on his sweaty skin as he made his way back to his dwelling. It was nice to be on land for a change, James thought. The world seemed so much more relaxed here than out on the raging seas. He and his men were scheduled to be ready for departure back into the Caribbean waters tomorrow at noon, so James was trying to enjoy every free moment he had left on dry earth as much as possible.
He walked with purpose and authority as he always did, frequently allowing himself small glances over at the disappearing sky. It wasn’t often that the Commodore allowed himself to give into leisurely activities, although simply staring at the sky might not even classify as once such moment, it was pleasant enough to relax him for a bit. The sky hung overhead all day and night, an omnipresent constant for all sailors. It’s not as though James had never seen a sky full of multicolored hues like this before. The difference now, at this moment, was the abnormal sense of impartiality coursing through his body, a sensation so rarely evoked, it felt foreign to him. The lack of caring, oddly enough, seemed to take over his mind, threading its powerful twines through his brain, knotting together to seek cohesion inside him. It was an unusual feeling, but one he didn't really care to make disappear.
James enjoyed his chosen career path as much as any other member of His Majesty’s Royal Navy, well, probably more than that even. Sailing the open seas was both a duty and a thrill, an experience in itself that brought him great joy. Yet recently, it had been anything but.
Isolated and seemingly unconnected events all took shape together in his memories, the large, solid mass, when analyzed as one, had produced the stagnate feeling of monotony he was currently living through. James always prided himself on his unwavering sense of duty to King and Country. It was a privilege, he thought, to be a part of such a royal entity. Yet, under pristine circumstances, privileges are not meant to make a man superior, on the contrary, such gifts should evoke humility in a man, an empathy of sorts making one realize all that is lost and gained, given and taken, from every man, regardless of social station. Sadly enough, humbleness is a trait most often lacking amongst executive military officers. James chided himself now for losing track of what was important in life. It was plain to him now that ambition was a trait that required careful handling, or else a man's moral path could easily sway to one of righteousness.
This change had been fermenting inside him, evident to his eyes now due to his actions as of late regarding his unrequited love.
It is said that love alters a man. How easy it would be to believe this to be the crux of his problems, to blame his dishonorable and impetuous dealings on a compromised emotional state with origins dating back to his doomed love of Elizabeth Swann. Though, in the solitude of night, punctured only by cicadas, James could admit this source was not to be held fully accountable. His royal duty was not meant to be a sanction from the law, a grant to one's own self interested deeds guised under devotion to the crown. Nothing exposed this condition more than his encounters with Jack Sparrow.
Sparrow. What a true sight to behold! From his rude display of manners and lack of comprehension of personal space, to his blatant disregard of any and all rules that civilized men adhere to. Being a pirate seemed almost ingrained in the man's personality, and yet, somehow it was not. Sparrow could be coarse and uncouth, impish and grandiose, and frankly, a pain in the Commodore's British ass, but there was something to be said about the man behind those eccentric mannerism. Something that, only after watching the pirate escape with Will Turner at his side, James realized was true.
Jack Sparrow, god bless his ostentatious soul, was a good man. James had let his disdain for unlawful men and desire to complete his fairytale life distract him from his principle ideals. Sparrow never did. Sure, he lied, haggled, and stole, but there seemed to be a single connected purpose to all his actions, as if they were all linked in the end, forming a chain that when released, unveiled a larger image of the man behind them. He was unlike any other pirate, or man for that matter, James had encountered these many years in the Caribbean and beyond.
This quality, so strange and discomfiting to be seen in a man meant to terrorize the sea, was what drew James to rethink his opinions, and reevaluate himself for that matter.
Sparrow defied every archetype James always found to be true some way or another when it came to pirates and drunkards.
It was a peculiar thing really, to have a one's ethics inverted by a pirate. But James was no longer willing to deny this truth, at least to himself.
He reached his quarters as the last remnants of twilight dissipated into blackness. Ambling in the darkness, up the small staircase that lead upper level of his modest home, he head towards his bedroom to undress. Wig, boots, coat, and numerous layers of garments drawn tight up against his skin were removed, making him shiver a little as the air, now cool under the moon's grace, tickled his skin. The sensation was quite pleasant actually, prompting James to give his body to the air's chill for a moment, arching up slowly like a cat as his muscles responded to the new temperature. He moved closer to the long window adjacent to his dresser and stood there, nude from the waist up, watching the ocean's tide swipe up against the smooth sand, carrying away wayward shells and rocks as it drew back in.
Pale skin was illuminated by the moon's glow, a tall body framed by draping curtains and window panes, the ultimate contrast between dark and light. From an onlooker's perspective, the sight must have been positively breathtaking, quite literally so.
James spun around fast on the heels of his stocking-clad feet when he heard a noise akin to a hitch of breath. His eyes sharpened as he attempted to pierce the darkness with his gaze, scouring the room for the source of the noise. It wasn't quite difficult however; the source seemed to be poorly hiding or wasn't even trying at all. James saw the dark shadow of a man hovering under the door frame, shadowy legs rocking side to side. James squinted further into the blackness, edging his head forward ever so slightly, lips tight in a frown.
"Sparrow?" he spoke skeptically to the shadow. At his voice, the shadowy man grinned. James's speculation was proven right as the grin produced a glint of golden shine visible in the moonlight.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, you've got to be kidding me." James muttered as he walked over to his dresser to light a candle and get a better look at the trespasser.
Light shinned brightly over the shadow, revealing the eccentric man as it washed over his face, working to highlight his sunken cheeks and sloping contours. Sparrow moved out of his position, mouth still glistening with a grin.
"The one and only, Commodore."
"What the bloody hell are you doing here? In my room and still on this island for that matter?" James said, and when he was greeted with another cheeky grin, he sighed audibly, shaking his head, hands raised and palms rubbing furiously over his closed eyelids in a failed attempt to wish away the sight before him.
"I reckoned a change in scenery was in order, aye. You own a very spectacular abode if I do say so myself," Jack gestured grandly around James's room with his open palms, "well, I reckon it be spectacular, can't really see too well in the dark and all."
"What in God's name did I do to deserve this." James mumbled as he removed his hands, dropping them to his side in exasperation.
"Honestly, what are you doing here, Sparrow?"
"That's Captain to you mate. Thought you of all people would grant me the right to be recognized with me full title and all, seeing as you're all taken by that formal mish mash.
"James grunted, believing that statement didn't dignify an intellectual response. Sparrow prattled on.
"Truth be told, I got into a bit of a tight spot ye see. My Pearl ran into a tad bit o' trouble after I returned to her and, to make a long story short, I ended up back on this here lovely island in an attempt to annex a hefty load o' necessities into my possession before I part again."
"I am going to pretend I did not just hear you say that," was James's response. "I am going to pretend that I never spoke to you and that you did not just break into my house in the middle of the night with illegal intentions. And I am going to pretend that I never saw you quietly exiting through the back window." As he said this, James motioned for Sparrow to head his way back down the stairs and out of his house.
"Oh, but Commodore, surely you cannot bid a lad farewell when he hasn't the slightest place to go."
"Leave" said Norrington in a monotone voice.
"Touchy tonight are we" he clicked his tongue, "Say you and I have a drink, savvy? Might put you in better spirits."
"Get out of my house Sparrow. Now." Despite trying to sound intimidating, James's voice was lacking in power, the day weighing heavily over him, and his indecent appearance wasn't helping to aid his command well either. He crossed his arms over his bare chest, involuntarily pushing his bottom lip out in the universal expression of annoyance.
"Come now, don't pout, is that any way to treat a house guest? Commodore, it seems as though your manners disappear with the sunlight, and your clothes too for that matter." Jack exited the room swiftly, turning round the corner rather down the stairs as Norrington prayed he would.
"Best to do some exploring while I'm here." he shouted from the hall, "Never know when that information may make itself handy."
"If you would please stop, I would be forever grateful." James said, although he knew Sparrow wasn't listening to any of his protests. With an irritated huff, he pulled his coat back on over his bare chest and quickly picked up the pistol from the drawer in his bedside table, tucking it into his large pocket for good measure, then followed Sparrow down the hall.
He found the man lurking about in his spare room, examining the fortepiano that occupied the left side of the mostly empty space.
"Trained in music as well as military, huh. A most endearing quality I'd wager."
James responded by pulling his coat firmly across his chest.
Jack moved to sit down on the small wooden piano bench with ease, his tatty brown coat draping down over his back. He opened the case covering the keys and pulled it back, hands lightly running down the length of the keyboard.
"I've been told these beauties are quiet the price. Say, not to make any assumptions, but how did you come into such a splendid acquisition, Commodore?"
"It was a gift" was James's clipped response.
"Hm, someone must have liked you a lot" he made an obscene face at that.
"A gift granted to me in my father's will. Now, would you please remove yourself from my house at once."
James watched the man with a calculating glaze, eyes revealing his impatience and underlying curiosity. Why he was allowing this demented man to grope around his familial belongings he did not know.
"I ought to escort you out in handcuffs back to your cell" James said as he moved closer to examine Sparrow, hopefully blocking his way if the man tried anything funny.
"But you aren't going to do that now are you, Commodore?" James paused. No, it seems as though he wasn't. At least, not right away that is.
James stood up a little straighter, palms clasped behind his back, again, not gracing Sparrow with a response. He inclined his head towards the instrument.
"I wouldn't expect someone of your esteemed caliber to be adept in the logistics of music" James judged, voice leaking with sarcasm. He then mentally chastised himself for his obvious nearsightedness. It was hard to speak objectively around pirates, and didn't he just establish that Sparrow defied all expectations? So much for change he thought grimly.
"You'd be surprised mate."
Sparrow scooted his body closer to the keys and with unexpected grace, he caresses the beautiful ivory blocks with his gritty fingers. He lifted both hands to rest softly on the center of the keyboard and then pressed lightly with a finger on his right hand. Two more presses followed, the strong sound flourished in the empty room until it faded away.
After a brief moment of silence, Jack began to play.
The sound vibrated against the four walls of the small room, filling up every empty crevasse with beauty.
James stared at Sparrow, he seemed to be doing that a lot tonight. The man was now thoroughly engaged in the song, one of William Turner's sacred pieces, The Lord is Righteous, if James was not mistaken. He smirked at the obviously not coincidental song choice for a moment before a new feeling settled uncomfortably over him. Claustrophobia worked its way into his skin, trapping him under the flowing notes. He felt his senses begging to take over his conscience, the mental war waging on as the music progressed, antagonizing his mind and forcing his body into a trance. In spite of the urge, James remained standing as straight as ever, not even flinching when the tempo of the song increased. The only indication of his inner battle was in his eyes, which thankfully, Sparrow wasn't looking at. Each note so wholesome and full, played with the knowledge of a man whose spent many a year practicing behind a keyboard.
Only once Sparrow finished the song, and few moments after that as the room was once again shrouded in silence, did James finally compose himself.
"Uh" he grunted, clearing his throat, "How lovely. Now, if you would excuse my boldness, I suggest you take your leave now, Mr. Sparrow, before I decide to revoke my hospitality."
Jack looked up from the piano and locked gazes with the Commodore. Although Norrington spoke with a stern voice and cutting edge words, Jack's expressionless face changed to sport a mischievous smirk.
"Humor me, dear Commodore, play me a tune."
"I rather not."
"Oh, but I insist! With hands like that, I assume you've got many years experience up those ridiculous sleeves of yours."
'I'm sure Elizabeth wouldn't mind if I arrested this petulant sod once again,' James thought to himself. 'Who am I kidding of course she will and its best to try and keep her affections.'
"If I indulge in your nonsensical demand, will you be sated?"
"Bargaining now, are we? I like it. And yes, my dear Norrington" Jack mocked, "I will be incredibly satisfied." He stood up with a flourish and extended his arm outwards in an open gesture that prompted Norrington to take a seated.
Reluctantly, James settled his elongated figure down at the bench, placing his hands on the keys, he paused, looking up at Sparrow. "Any requests?" he said, voice laced with false enthusiasm.
Jack stroked his chin, pretending to ponder deeply. "Hm, let's go with a well-known tune, shall we? How about Pachelbel's Canon in D?"
"Yes, because it is so common for pirates to be well versed in late Baroque musical pieces."
"So it would see."
"So it would seem." James echoed Sparrow's words under his breath.
He readjusted his hands once more, a strange wave of self-consciousness sweeping over him for a moment. James suppressed the feeling and pressed lightly on the first few notes.
He inhaled softly, trying again to will away that feeling, although it was difficult when he knew Sparrow's eyes were clearly fixed on him. He tried to ignore his persistent thoughts and continued again, concentrating on each individual note he was playing, and hoping Sparrow didn't notice his delay.
He played softly through the introduction and first verse of the chorus until a noncommittal noise broke his precise concentration.
"You can relax, luv. I ain't gonna try an' escape when you're treating me to my own request."
James looked up in agitation just as Sparrow moved from the spot in which he was standing, taking up a new position hovering behind James.
"I know that yer ridged as a peg leg, but come now, put som' emotion into it."
James didn't know what to make of that comment. He wasn't even sure if he was going to continue to indulge Sparrow in his ludicrous request after the last note rang out, but he was surprised to see his fingers had picked up where they left off. He chocked it down to being an involuntary action and refused to linger on the thought, too focused now on recalling the piece from memory.
As he continued, readying his left hand to change keys, the note he was about to play vibrated throughout the room. Sparrow had crept closer to the keyboard, his left hand playing along with the tune.
For some reason unbeknownst to him, James refused to look up at the man, instead, he continued along with the song, he the right hand and Sparrow picking up the left.
Somewhere along the line, Sparrow had sat down on the left of James, bodies close on little bench, bringing his right hand to join in the parts James was playing, taking up a lower octave.They continued like this for a while, both of them playing a duet of sorts, Jack adding little quirky touches to the traditional song every now and then.
James allowed his mind to wonder once he was successfully harmonizing with Sparrow. It was a fascinating sight, he thought, as he watched out of the corner of his eye at their hands gliding across the keys. His own, recently manicured and tamed, Sparrow's just as grimy as the rest of his appearance, both pairs skimming over the ivory blocks. It was odd, and James could be mistaken, but it seemed as though the constant press of the keys held more meaning than just melody, as if Sparrow was trying to alleviate a weight off James's shoulders, to reassure him, of what, James definitely didn't know, but a spark of heat pulsated through his chest at the thought of it.
Caring.
Could it be? It was aberrant to think of such a thing. Ludicrous to associate that feeling to the character of a known vigilantly. Although there seemed to be no other logical, (if one would label James's current speculation as logical even), reason for Sparrow's attitude. The man had nothing to gain out of this behavior. Still, Sparrow was nothing but unpredictable. James liked to believe he could read a man as thoroughly as one would a sheet of parchment, but it would be nearsighted to say his skills were precisely accurate when it concerned one Captain Jack Sparrow. Sparrow's motives seemed as changeable as the Caribbean weather, determined as if by pulling a slip of paper out of a hat. So irregular are his actions, it is a futile attempt to try to define the man by any sane standards.
The song was coming to an close, despite the extra verses Sparrow had throw in. The final note reverberated around them in synchronized octaves. Silence, spar for the subtle chime of tropical bugs, engulfed the room once again, and James had to conceal the perverse sense of claustrophobia threatening to overtake him for the second time.
Neither man made to stand. James's hands lay firmly on the keys where he last pressed. The day's events were crashing down on him, the usually structurally sound walls in his head crumbling down in heaps of rubble and stone. The debris flying around the ruins left him winded, thoughts coming down on him like a hurricane; fierce blasts whipped through his body, carrying with them the turbulent emotions James worked so hard to repress. Everything was pushing free now, restraint be damned.
He neglected to move, fearing what would happen next. He knew what should happen, the move he was expected and authorized to make. The scenario played out perfectly in his head, actions so clear it was as if he was watching them upon a stage; to arrest this man, adding breaking and entering into a member of His Majesty's Royal Navy's home to Sparrow's massive list felonies. The move was what any respectable royal officer would do, and James was as respectable as they come.
Yet still, James remained, his mind was left in havoc, a pleura of thoughts all tumbled together, words in strings flickering across his eyes.
Arrest him. Corner him between the walls with your gun pointed to his deranged head and drag him to the gallows, hands cuffed behind his back.
Another few seconds passed. James could feel the tension rising, so tangible in the small room, or was that just his blood pressure? Why was there even a decision here? The man is an obvious criminal and a notorious pirate to boot. There should be no hesitation. James, just do it. Arrest him.
In a split second, Norrington was on his feet, pulling Sparrow up with him, his left arm frantically grabbing Sparrow by the cuff and forcefully sliding up to latch onto his wrist in a death grip. He dragged the pirate into the closest corner, clutching his other wrist as he moved. Sparrow's head hit against the wall with a resounding thud and fell to his chest.
James puffed air out in erratic spouts from his mouth, which, under more relaxed circumstances, he would attribute to the quick spur of exertion, but nothing concerning Sparrow was ever normal.
Head tilted forward. Hands extended out horizontally, nailed under the pressure of James's push. Legs and feet locked together, knocked back up against the wall with James's own feet.
The perfect posture of a martyr.
James stopped for a moment. What was his next move? His prey was pinned, motionless in front of him, captured.
Death. The expected outcome.
Execution. What James had been waiting for ever since the wretched man stepped foot on his port.
Finish him. He's yours for the taking, for the reward.
Finish him. He's yours.
James couldn't remember such a surge of hesitation within him before, especially regarding an arrest, let along that of a pirate's.
He's yours.
This is what I've been waiting for.
Take him. Make your move, goddammit.
James looked up at Sparrow, not sure what he was expecting, what he was hoping, wanting, to see, something, anything, there in those dark eyes to help him decide what to do next.
Blank and expressionless. It was impossible to read them.
"Uh", James huffed angrily at what he saw, what he couldn't see. Sparrow hadn't spoke a word. For once his quick tongue was lax when James needed it the most. He needed to hear him, for him to make a sound, a noise, a word, anything.
Reassurance. He needed reassurance that this course, his actions, were correct.
James pushed back fast on Sparrow's already pinned body, hands making a resounding slapping sound that punctured the silence. He spun around, stalking away from the scene, turning his back on his prey, his victim.
James cradled his hands over his eyes, long fingers sliding into the hair on his scalp, making a wreck of his queue as it cascaded down, shielding his face in a shroud of his own making.
"Leave" he spoke to the ground below him. "Sparrow. Just-" he couldn't speak, words trapped tight in his throat.
"Just go. Go, please" he barely recognized the whispered words he just uttered.
He heard no movement behind him. N o rustling of fabric or heavy clang of boots against the wood floor signaling the pirate's retreat.
Never before had he found himself in a position such as this. His voice had remained stark and indifferent in the toughest of times, most recently atop the fort when Elizabeth admitted her love for another man.
Displays of emotion were a foreign concept to the Commodore. Only by remaining level headed and consistent did he feel in control of his surroundings. Only Sparrow, curse him, could evoke such an alien characteristic in him. He's barely been around the man save for a handful of encounters and never alone with him. Why was he effected so?
James was trapped, enchained by an intangible force, one not even his own sword could defeat. It was all too much. Everything was just too much and he couldn't think clearly anymore. Mere hours ago had he watched the woman he desired deny him in the worst of ways, confessing her love to another man, a blacksmith and a pirate nonetheless. He had smiled tightly then, wishing her the best of luck, but his feelings for her were still there, wound up a tight as that smile was, and cast to the back of his mind where they would cause him no harm. He tried the rest of the day to spare no other thoughts on it, on her, to engage his body in trifling busywork, to distract his mind from drifting its way back to her, to replay the moment he lost her over and over again. But now he realized no amount of analyzing was going to bring her back, was going to make her love him. She never did, and he had been too blinded to see it until she was gone.
He stumbled to the ground, coattails flapping up vigorous.
Lost in his emotions, James didn't hear the sound of feet walking towards him, he didn't see the knees crouched down beside him, he didn't feel the pressure of a hand clasping his shoulder.
"S'you alright there mate?"
A mental breakdown in front of Jack Sparrow. Lovely.
Seconds passed before James lifted his head, all hopes of saving his dignity gone. He slowly looked up at Sparrow, their eyes locking gazes with one another.
"An accord" James said in mere hushed breath. "An accord" he said again. "Let us make an accord."
"What are the provisions?" it was a serious question, no underlying humor lurking beneath the words.
"You can stay overnight, gather what you need. I will arrange for you a passage to Tortuga where I'm sure your ship is docked now, waiting for your return. In return, you never-" he sucked in a shuddered breath, "you never speak a word of this engagement to anyone. Do we hav e an accord?" he weakly stuck out his hand timidly to make the gesture.
Sparrow considered him for a moment before revealing his hand as well. "An accord" he stated. The pads of his fingers were soft on the back of James's shaking hand, the cold metal of his many rings pressed lightly against the pale flesh.
A pause. Their hands were still clasped, Sparrow's other still rested upon James's shoulder, soothing and unyielding.
Sparrow's hand moved slowly down the fabric of James's coat, past the crook of his elbow, down to his wrist, fingers fastening themselves on his other hand and taking hold of James's open palm in a warm clutch.
Sparrow brought their hands together then, both of his grasped lightly around the backs of James's, engulfing them in a single embrace. James bowed his head, hooded eyes looking down at their joined hands.
"'tis alright to feel, mate, even for a Commodore."
No more words had to be said. The silence, for once, was enough.
Could it be?
Yes.
Caring. The thought took up a spot in the forefront of James's mind, its presence removing all others.
Sympathy even? Was it too much to hope for?
No.
For some reason, Sparrow remained there, holding onto James's trembling hands. The Commodore sank, relinquishing himself finally, a conscience choice. His head dropped down to Sparrow's chest, checks surprisingly wet against the cloth, his arms losing their strength, now held in place at the elbows by Sparrow's hands.
He knew, somewhere in the recesses of his brain that this shouldn't be happening, wasn't supposed to be happening. Yet, this whole night didn't go according to plan, and James surprised himself once more as he realized, with nothing impeding him save for the sanctuary and solidity that was Jack Sparrow's warm embrace, he didn't actually mind that at all.