Hi. Another fic here. Don't know where this came from, I'm not usually any
good at dark stuff, but this one has taken a sure turn to the creepy side.
Am a bit stuck on the second chapter, my muse is up to her eyeballs in
zombie plot bunnies, and we have no idea what to feed the things....What a
day. Ah, well. Hope u enjoy. Reviews, suggestions, and happy vibes will be
treasured forever with many hugs and cookies.
A Ghost Story
"Watch out now, take care,
Beware the thoughts that linger
Winding up inside your head
The hopelessness around you
In the dead of night.
Beware of sadness. It can hit you,
It can hurt you,
Make you sore, and what is more,
That's not what you're here for." ~George Harrison
It was a hot night.
Of course it was a hot night. What Caribbean night wasn't? But this was a special, torturous heat. Heat without mercy. The air hovered stagnant over the island for days, and under its weight land and sea and human being alike lay languid, sweaty, and cross. The entire world existed in a general state of bad temper.
Luckily for Commodore James Norrington and his fellow peacekeepers, keeping the peace in this swelter was an easy task. The streets were quiet. The seas were quiet. The guard at the fort was reduced to a skeleton crew. Even the local pirate community seemed to lack enough energy to decently misbehave.
That was, until two days ago.
He couldn't even remember who had handed him the letter bearing the report. Everyone looked the same in the summer haze: they looked like hot, itchy men in wool. We've all begun to run together, Norrington remembered thinking, his thoughts a slow trickle. Soon the lot of us will be nothing but a pool of red dye and gold buttons and ...
Oh, Hell.
The young lieutenant that had handed him the report stammered, concerned at his superior's suddenly ice-cold expression, "S-sir...?"
Norrington said, "Thank you, Lieutenant. That will be all."
"But, sir, what will yo-"
"I said that WILL be all."
"Y-yes, sir."
He hadn't given any orders. There was no point, really. He would simply increase the guard, speak to the men. Make it understood, as though it wasn't already, that any pirate ship sighted was to have the fear of God put into them, promptly.
After all, the Black Pearl was known to be nigh uncatchable. The fastest ship in Norrington's fleet would be hard put to keep up even with a good wind and an angel's blessing. At the moment, they barely had a rat's sneeze and and a heathen god to work with, it seemed.
He refolded the report, smoothing the thick white sheet evenly in his palm, and slipped it into his pocket. For once in his career as the most feared pirate hunter in the Spanish Main, Commodore James Norrington greeted the news of an unprovoked attack by pirates on a British Naval ship by closing his office, informing the guard on duty wher he could be found if any emergencies should arise, and walking home.
Two blistering evenings later found James seated in his chair, in his bed chamber, in nothing but his breeches and loosened shirt, with a decanter of brandy on the floor at his side, watching the night sky outside his open window. He'd spent the past two evenings in this chair, in this spot. Just waiting and wishing for a breeze. Expecting, however, something slightly less balmy to come ghosting in over his sill.
It had to have been near two in the morning, and close to the end of the brandy, when he heard the scrape and scuffle and rattling of leaves, the musical jingle that he'd become so familiar with over the past strange year.
He waited until the dim figure had worked its oddly ungainly way over the railing, onto his small balcony, and turned to look him in the eye before he lifted the pistol that had been sitting loaded beside his chair for two nights, and took aim.
"You weren't due back for another month," he said, and in the silence even his low, even tone seemed grating.
Jack Sparrow stood in all his slightly tattered glory, oddly still, framed by the window and the night, an easy target. He lifted his right hand in greeting, smiled a ghost of his old golden grin, and said, "Hullo, Jamie. Had a sudden urge to drop by."
The pistol didn't waver. James said, "Like Hell," and cocked his weapon.
Jack sighed.
It was long and weary, and not something that James though he would ever hear issuing from the odd quirk of a man before him. That...gave him pause. Jack hadn't even glanced at the pistol. Instead he simply listed until he was leaning against the window frame, letting his arms dangle in loose exasperation, like a puppet hug on its peg. "Seems to me I was expected. So what exactly we're you thinking I was comin' by for, eh, James?" His voice was suddenly sharp in a way that James wasn't familiar with. "Just out of morbid curiosity, mind you."
James said, "One can never tell with you, Sparrow."
Without moving from his slump, Jack said, softly, "No, I suppose not." His tone, slow and sad, calmed the choppy waves of James's anger somewhat.
The silence was long and awkward. The heat pressed heavily against the walls. The oil lamp's steady flame flickered in its glass globe, for no apparent reason... God, what he wouldn't give for a BREEZE...
James opened his mouth to reply, with no real understanding of what was going to come out. But before he could suprise himself, he saw some...thing.
Just at the corner of his vision it whispered across the floor and was gone. James whipped his head around to follow its path, but lost it almost immediately.
Trick of the heat, he thought. Still, he felt a chill who's origin he couldn't define. Damn it, but it had looked like a—
"Somethin' wrong, Luv?" Jack whispered.
The small voice that lived in the back of James's skull whispered...something's wrong...and a little more of his fury sank from view. Frustrated with himself, he dredged deep after it, and reaimed his weapon. "You promised. 'No more English' you said."
"I remember, "Jack answered. Still sharp. Still foreign. "You'd have to get me a good lot more drunk than usual f'r me to forget that inconvenient a promise, mate."
"Well, then, I would like it explained to me why the Black Pearl was firing on the Longwind not five nights ago. Unprovoked. " James gestured with the pistol. "Now. And I would keep in mind that if any of my men had died in that little skirmish, this little skirmish would have been a Great. Deal. Shorter."
He didn't know what he was expecting. (When dealing with Jack Sparrow's special brand of madness, one learns quickly to expect nothing short of anything.) But he was still shaken when Jack began to laugh.
It was such a hollow sound. James felt the last dregs of his fury seep away into the sandy bottom of his soul as he watched Jack slide slowly down the wall to sit sprawlingly on the floor, still chuckling. And with the sound James felt the smallest breath of cold air waft through the window. Even in the heat, he shivered. It settled not just in his spine, but in the shadowed corners of the room, and stuck there.
The pistol hit the chair cushion as James rose and smoothly crouched at Jack's side. "All right, what's wrong. Tell me."
Jack gestured loosely with one hand, fingers fluttering half- heartedly in the sticky air. "Another curse, is all. Just a little one. Can't shake it, though... Nothing a short drop anna sudden stop wouldn't cure, Jamie-luv." And that chuckle again. James flinched.
"Are you drunk? Look, get up. I dropped the damn pistol, see? I was being a bastard. Just get up, and stop talking in bloody riddles." And he reached out, took hold of the pirate's slight form, and made to hoist him to his feet. He wasn't expecting the sudden snarl of pain, or the sharp jerk that send the other man slipping back to the floorboards with a thump. Norrington swore, resoundingly.
"Easy on the goods, there, mate," Jack gritted out. In the dim lamplight his face had gone a most unhealthy shade of gray.
James held up his hand, stared at the blood staining his fingers. "God, Jack, what happened?"
Jack tilted his head to look up at James, limp now. It was rather frightening to see him still this way. A puddle of pirate. A melted candle, sputtering. He said, his voice horse, "I blame the heat, meself. Heat started getting to 'em. You know how it is." James nodded, slowly. Jack continued, "I should'a seen it coming. Was my own fault. Happens once, an once should be enough. But damn it if the bastard didn't try t' take over my ship."
James went still. Felt pieces sliding uncomfortably into place. He thought about the pistol and winced. Oh...DAMN it all to Hell... "Who did, Jack?"
"Bloke we picked up last time in Tortuga. Doesn't matter now. He's havin tea 'n scones with Davey, I made sure of that..."
James swallowed. From somewhere behind him, came a soft animal skitter of nails on wood. He swung around to look, but it was gone. He suddenly felt the need to take up his pistol again, turn up the light. He felt more than saw Jack shudder, and glanced down to find Jack's shadowed eyes closed in a pinched, pale face.
"Didn't even know till we heard the guns go off....four in the bloody morning ...TELL me, Jamie, why they can't decide to mutiny at a decent hour...Always wakin you up in the middle of the godforsaken night with their shootin and marooning and carryin on..."
James scrubbed a weary hand over his head, agitating his hair into a mad disarray, letting the pirate on his floor ramble on. He said, finally, "Where's the Pearl now, Jack."
"In her hidin place. The 'visiting-Jamieluv' place." Jack actually managed a smile at that. James did his best to return it. "Ana an Gibbs'll keep her safe for me. I can't stay but a bit. But I had t' come up, mate. Had to set things straight. Wasn't planning on scarin' the crap outta yeh like that..." With that the dark wild head leaned foreword, dipped to rest against James's arm, as though it was too heavy to hold up any longer.
James could feel the cold sweat immediately soaking through the thin cotton of his shirt. He reached down and touched one shell-like cheekbone. Said, softly, "Let's get up off the floor, shall we?"
Jack whispered, "Fine idea..."
He didn't protest as James guided him much more gently to his feet, and let himself be herded to the edge of the bed. He didn't say anything, simply sat, slumped and unwound, as James carefully peeled the battered coat back over his shoulders, only to stop halfway to his elbows and stare at the strips of cloth wrapped around the hole the Bloke From Tortuga had shot through him.
"Think I might've overdone it between t' ship an the window..."
"Christ, Jack. How long have you been running around like this?"
Jack looked down at his fingers, twiddled them, held two up on his good hand, squinting. "Meant for that to be four. Only fairly sure it is, though..."
"Yes. Fine." James raked a hand back through his loose hair, feeling a helpless weight settle in his chest. Jack was swaying now, the exertion of scaling a two-story house piling on top of the blood loss on top of the heat exhaustion on top of whatever alcoholic substance had been in that bottle he'd stolen and downed not too long ago... and the shock of recent events as they played themselves out in his hazy mind.
"You pulled a pistol on me, James."
"I know. I know!! I apologize."
"S'fine. 'S a bloody lot more preferable than being slapped, let me tell you."
"It ISN'T fine, Jack," James ground out. "It's just--" He stopped, and just crouched there between Jack's knees, gripping the edge of the bed in abject frustration. He looked up at the man who had become his friend. His friend who he had mistrusted, threatened, and even slightly manhandled, in the space of five minutes.
Who was sitting on his bed glazed with sweat and blood and exhaustion and gazing back at him in the oddest way.
"Don't fret yerself. I understand." Jack reached out one hand and softly ran his fingers through James's hair.
James went still under the touch. In the past year they'd spent arguing, harassing, entertaining, heckling, and generally befriending one another, Jack had made any number of...advances on him, and it had never truly bothered James in the slightest, no matter how he blustered. It seemed only natural. Jack was a man willing to court the whole world if it would let him. It was just his way. But never in all that time had his touch held such a concentrated...care.
This time James didn't bluster, or pull away. He bowed his head into the caress curiously, surprised at the pleasantness of the sensation. Jack's always-clever fingers stroked down to the nape of his neck and hovered there, rubbing just a little, the way James imagined one might pet a cat. Cautiously, as though he expected a slap on the wrist...which James had handed out in the past. More than once. More times than he could count, actually...
Tingling, spidery sensation traveled across James's skin, partly pleasure and part complete disbelief at what he was doing. It traveled down his spine and slowly began to dissolve the chill that had lodged itself there the moment he saw Jack climbing in through his window.
He sighed. His eyes slid closed. Which meant that he completely missed it as Jack lifted his head to gaze over his friend's shoulder into the dimness of the room. Which meant that he completely missed whatever it was that caused the pirate to suddenly plant an elbow on his head and heave himself to his feet in a panicky lurch. He did, however, hear the man squawk, "Monkey!"
...he's completely insane, there's no other explanation...
"Arrgh!! Damn it all, be careful Jack, your elbows are bloody dangerous--"
"Sorry, mate."
His moment broken, James snapped, "It's fine. I deserved that. Now, where the HELL are you going?"
"Tole you, luv. Can't stay long. Got places to be..." Jack swayed, a more precarious sway than his usual. He cast around himself vacantly. "Where's the blasted window, Jamie..?"
James stood and quickly caught Jack by his dangerous elbows. "You are not going to make it back to the ship like this."
"And who, exactly, said I was goin' back to the ship."
James blinked. Blinked again. Said, "Do I even want to ask where you think you ARE going?"
He expected some suitably mysterious, ridiculous, evasive story. Instead, Jack looked him in the eye and said, "You don't want me here, Jamie."
James stared. He thought again of the pistol and winced. It wasn't the first time in their odd relationship that he'd threatened Jack Sparrow with a weapon, but this time he felt guilt eating at him in an entirely new way. "Jack," he said, and swallowed. "Look, now, I didn't mean to--to--Er." Oh, for the Good Lord's sake, can I make any more of a mess of this... "Look, can we just forget about that for now. You can feel free to hit me later if it will make you feel better--"
Jack was shaking his head. Attempting to wave his hands around and failing, tangled up in his coat and James' grip. "Not the issue, not the issue at all..."
James watched a drop of sweat travel down Jack's tanned throat. His shirt was soaked, and he was shivering. James could see that whatever rope he'd been pulling himself along on, he was fast coming to the end of it. As patiently as he could, he said, "What is the issue, then?"
Jack leaned into his grip and pinned James with his dark smudged gaze again. His voice came out a hissing whisper. "The issue is, mate, that I'm not here alone." He cocked his head, almost nose to nose with the taller man. "You savvy?"
"No, I am NOT," James snapped, abused nerves wearing thin. He resisted the urge to shake him. "Do you mean that someone is still after you? Were you followed?"
"Ah. Yes...in a manner of speaking--"
"And don't expect me to believe that flat-out nonsense about curses."
"I'd never tell you flat-out nonsense, luv--"
"What type of vengeful pirate scum do you have on your tail this time?"
"The dead kind," Jack said, flatly, and James felt the chill come singing back into his bones at the look on his face. "And unless you want them on yer lovely tail as well, you'll let me go."
James made the effort to look like he was thinking things over for at least a whole thirty seconds, before saying, "No" and shoving Jack, hard. The pirate toppled back onto the bed with a jingle of trinkets and squawk that immediately became a snarl of pain. He clutched at his damaged shoulder and waited for the world to stop spinning long enough for him to give James his most ferocious piratical glare. It wasn't very ferocious at the moment but no one could fault him for not trying. "That bloody HURT."
James said, "Oh, I am sorry."
"Like Hell you are."
"Fair play. For the elbow and all that."
Jack huffed an exasperated sigh and struggled to hoist himself up on the elbow in question. Failed miserably, partly because he couldn't muster enough energy to make it that far, and mostly because James had leaned in close and planted one hand firmly in the center of his chest, effectively pinning him to the mattress. "Now, listen here you--"
"No, you listen." James leaned in closer, close enough for unbound ends of tousled brown hair to tickle Jack's face. "I don't care what you've brought with you. You're staying. Do you hear me? You think that after fighting a crew of walking undead, I'm going to let you fall out my window alone just because you've some insane notion that you're cursed? I knew you were daft but there's no need to flaunt it, for the good Lord's sake."
Jack just lay where he'd sprawled, blinking up at the irate man hovering above him. So close. He tried to do something, anything, but getting horizontal had done something strange to his body. It seemed to have stopped taking commands. Damn useless things, bodies were, betraying you when you needed them most. Refusing to die when you said so. Coming back to life at all the most inconvenient times and staggering about....Jack squinted up at James's worried expression. Why was it so hard to focus on anything?...He hadn't had that much to drink...
"Just rest now, Jack." James's hand was calloused and cool on his face. Jack closed his eyes.
"Don't say I didn't warn you...that time...about the monkeys..."
"Er...yes...I remember." James didn't move. If anything he leaned closer, his breath whispering across Jack's ear.
"Good." With a sigh, Jack gave up and let everything go gray.
In the corner, the oil lamp flickered for no apparent reason.
TBC....
Authoress: Well, we did warn you about the monkeys. James: I do not find this amusing. Authoress: Oh, don't be a spoil sport. I'll make them clean up when they're done. Undead Monkey: SQUEEEEEEEEE James: Oh, lovley...
A Ghost Story
"Watch out now, take care,
Beware the thoughts that linger
Winding up inside your head
The hopelessness around you
In the dead of night.
Beware of sadness. It can hit you,
It can hurt you,
Make you sore, and what is more,
That's not what you're here for." ~George Harrison
It was a hot night.
Of course it was a hot night. What Caribbean night wasn't? But this was a special, torturous heat. Heat without mercy. The air hovered stagnant over the island for days, and under its weight land and sea and human being alike lay languid, sweaty, and cross. The entire world existed in a general state of bad temper.
Luckily for Commodore James Norrington and his fellow peacekeepers, keeping the peace in this swelter was an easy task. The streets were quiet. The seas were quiet. The guard at the fort was reduced to a skeleton crew. Even the local pirate community seemed to lack enough energy to decently misbehave.
That was, until two days ago.
He couldn't even remember who had handed him the letter bearing the report. Everyone looked the same in the summer haze: they looked like hot, itchy men in wool. We've all begun to run together, Norrington remembered thinking, his thoughts a slow trickle. Soon the lot of us will be nothing but a pool of red dye and gold buttons and ...
Oh, Hell.
The young lieutenant that had handed him the report stammered, concerned at his superior's suddenly ice-cold expression, "S-sir...?"
Norrington said, "Thank you, Lieutenant. That will be all."
"But, sir, what will yo-"
"I said that WILL be all."
"Y-yes, sir."
He hadn't given any orders. There was no point, really. He would simply increase the guard, speak to the men. Make it understood, as though it wasn't already, that any pirate ship sighted was to have the fear of God put into them, promptly.
After all, the Black Pearl was known to be nigh uncatchable. The fastest ship in Norrington's fleet would be hard put to keep up even with a good wind and an angel's blessing. At the moment, they barely had a rat's sneeze and and a heathen god to work with, it seemed.
He refolded the report, smoothing the thick white sheet evenly in his palm, and slipped it into his pocket. For once in his career as the most feared pirate hunter in the Spanish Main, Commodore James Norrington greeted the news of an unprovoked attack by pirates on a British Naval ship by closing his office, informing the guard on duty wher he could be found if any emergencies should arise, and walking home.
Two blistering evenings later found James seated in his chair, in his bed chamber, in nothing but his breeches and loosened shirt, with a decanter of brandy on the floor at his side, watching the night sky outside his open window. He'd spent the past two evenings in this chair, in this spot. Just waiting and wishing for a breeze. Expecting, however, something slightly less balmy to come ghosting in over his sill.
It had to have been near two in the morning, and close to the end of the brandy, when he heard the scrape and scuffle and rattling of leaves, the musical jingle that he'd become so familiar with over the past strange year.
He waited until the dim figure had worked its oddly ungainly way over the railing, onto his small balcony, and turned to look him in the eye before he lifted the pistol that had been sitting loaded beside his chair for two nights, and took aim.
"You weren't due back for another month," he said, and in the silence even his low, even tone seemed grating.
Jack Sparrow stood in all his slightly tattered glory, oddly still, framed by the window and the night, an easy target. He lifted his right hand in greeting, smiled a ghost of his old golden grin, and said, "Hullo, Jamie. Had a sudden urge to drop by."
The pistol didn't waver. James said, "Like Hell," and cocked his weapon.
Jack sighed.
It was long and weary, and not something that James though he would ever hear issuing from the odd quirk of a man before him. That...gave him pause. Jack hadn't even glanced at the pistol. Instead he simply listed until he was leaning against the window frame, letting his arms dangle in loose exasperation, like a puppet hug on its peg. "Seems to me I was expected. So what exactly we're you thinking I was comin' by for, eh, James?" His voice was suddenly sharp in a way that James wasn't familiar with. "Just out of morbid curiosity, mind you."
James said, "One can never tell with you, Sparrow."
Without moving from his slump, Jack said, softly, "No, I suppose not." His tone, slow and sad, calmed the choppy waves of James's anger somewhat.
The silence was long and awkward. The heat pressed heavily against the walls. The oil lamp's steady flame flickered in its glass globe, for no apparent reason... God, what he wouldn't give for a BREEZE...
James opened his mouth to reply, with no real understanding of what was going to come out. But before he could suprise himself, he saw some...thing.
Just at the corner of his vision it whispered across the floor and was gone. James whipped his head around to follow its path, but lost it almost immediately.
Trick of the heat, he thought. Still, he felt a chill who's origin he couldn't define. Damn it, but it had looked like a—
"Somethin' wrong, Luv?" Jack whispered.
The small voice that lived in the back of James's skull whispered...something's wrong...and a little more of his fury sank from view. Frustrated with himself, he dredged deep after it, and reaimed his weapon. "You promised. 'No more English' you said."
"I remember, "Jack answered. Still sharp. Still foreign. "You'd have to get me a good lot more drunk than usual f'r me to forget that inconvenient a promise, mate."
"Well, then, I would like it explained to me why the Black Pearl was firing on the Longwind not five nights ago. Unprovoked. " James gestured with the pistol. "Now. And I would keep in mind that if any of my men had died in that little skirmish, this little skirmish would have been a Great. Deal. Shorter."
He didn't know what he was expecting. (When dealing with Jack Sparrow's special brand of madness, one learns quickly to expect nothing short of anything.) But he was still shaken when Jack began to laugh.
It was such a hollow sound. James felt the last dregs of his fury seep away into the sandy bottom of his soul as he watched Jack slide slowly down the wall to sit sprawlingly on the floor, still chuckling. And with the sound James felt the smallest breath of cold air waft through the window. Even in the heat, he shivered. It settled not just in his spine, but in the shadowed corners of the room, and stuck there.
The pistol hit the chair cushion as James rose and smoothly crouched at Jack's side. "All right, what's wrong. Tell me."
Jack gestured loosely with one hand, fingers fluttering half- heartedly in the sticky air. "Another curse, is all. Just a little one. Can't shake it, though... Nothing a short drop anna sudden stop wouldn't cure, Jamie-luv." And that chuckle again. James flinched.
"Are you drunk? Look, get up. I dropped the damn pistol, see? I was being a bastard. Just get up, and stop talking in bloody riddles." And he reached out, took hold of the pirate's slight form, and made to hoist him to his feet. He wasn't expecting the sudden snarl of pain, or the sharp jerk that send the other man slipping back to the floorboards with a thump. Norrington swore, resoundingly.
"Easy on the goods, there, mate," Jack gritted out. In the dim lamplight his face had gone a most unhealthy shade of gray.
James held up his hand, stared at the blood staining his fingers. "God, Jack, what happened?"
Jack tilted his head to look up at James, limp now. It was rather frightening to see him still this way. A puddle of pirate. A melted candle, sputtering. He said, his voice horse, "I blame the heat, meself. Heat started getting to 'em. You know how it is." James nodded, slowly. Jack continued, "I should'a seen it coming. Was my own fault. Happens once, an once should be enough. But damn it if the bastard didn't try t' take over my ship."
James went still. Felt pieces sliding uncomfortably into place. He thought about the pistol and winced. Oh...DAMN it all to Hell... "Who did, Jack?"
"Bloke we picked up last time in Tortuga. Doesn't matter now. He's havin tea 'n scones with Davey, I made sure of that..."
James swallowed. From somewhere behind him, came a soft animal skitter of nails on wood. He swung around to look, but it was gone. He suddenly felt the need to take up his pistol again, turn up the light. He felt more than saw Jack shudder, and glanced down to find Jack's shadowed eyes closed in a pinched, pale face.
"Didn't even know till we heard the guns go off....four in the bloody morning ...TELL me, Jamie, why they can't decide to mutiny at a decent hour...Always wakin you up in the middle of the godforsaken night with their shootin and marooning and carryin on..."
James scrubbed a weary hand over his head, agitating his hair into a mad disarray, letting the pirate on his floor ramble on. He said, finally, "Where's the Pearl now, Jack."
"In her hidin place. The 'visiting-Jamieluv' place." Jack actually managed a smile at that. James did his best to return it. "Ana an Gibbs'll keep her safe for me. I can't stay but a bit. But I had t' come up, mate. Had to set things straight. Wasn't planning on scarin' the crap outta yeh like that..." With that the dark wild head leaned foreword, dipped to rest against James's arm, as though it was too heavy to hold up any longer.
James could feel the cold sweat immediately soaking through the thin cotton of his shirt. He reached down and touched one shell-like cheekbone. Said, softly, "Let's get up off the floor, shall we?"
Jack whispered, "Fine idea..."
He didn't protest as James guided him much more gently to his feet, and let himself be herded to the edge of the bed. He didn't say anything, simply sat, slumped and unwound, as James carefully peeled the battered coat back over his shoulders, only to stop halfway to his elbows and stare at the strips of cloth wrapped around the hole the Bloke From Tortuga had shot through him.
"Think I might've overdone it between t' ship an the window..."
"Christ, Jack. How long have you been running around like this?"
Jack looked down at his fingers, twiddled them, held two up on his good hand, squinting. "Meant for that to be four. Only fairly sure it is, though..."
"Yes. Fine." James raked a hand back through his loose hair, feeling a helpless weight settle in his chest. Jack was swaying now, the exertion of scaling a two-story house piling on top of the blood loss on top of the heat exhaustion on top of whatever alcoholic substance had been in that bottle he'd stolen and downed not too long ago... and the shock of recent events as they played themselves out in his hazy mind.
"You pulled a pistol on me, James."
"I know. I know!! I apologize."
"S'fine. 'S a bloody lot more preferable than being slapped, let me tell you."
"It ISN'T fine, Jack," James ground out. "It's just--" He stopped, and just crouched there between Jack's knees, gripping the edge of the bed in abject frustration. He looked up at the man who had become his friend. His friend who he had mistrusted, threatened, and even slightly manhandled, in the space of five minutes.
Who was sitting on his bed glazed with sweat and blood and exhaustion and gazing back at him in the oddest way.
"Don't fret yerself. I understand." Jack reached out one hand and softly ran his fingers through James's hair.
James went still under the touch. In the past year they'd spent arguing, harassing, entertaining, heckling, and generally befriending one another, Jack had made any number of...advances on him, and it had never truly bothered James in the slightest, no matter how he blustered. It seemed only natural. Jack was a man willing to court the whole world if it would let him. It was just his way. But never in all that time had his touch held such a concentrated...care.
This time James didn't bluster, or pull away. He bowed his head into the caress curiously, surprised at the pleasantness of the sensation. Jack's always-clever fingers stroked down to the nape of his neck and hovered there, rubbing just a little, the way James imagined one might pet a cat. Cautiously, as though he expected a slap on the wrist...which James had handed out in the past. More than once. More times than he could count, actually...
Tingling, spidery sensation traveled across James's skin, partly pleasure and part complete disbelief at what he was doing. It traveled down his spine and slowly began to dissolve the chill that had lodged itself there the moment he saw Jack climbing in through his window.
He sighed. His eyes slid closed. Which meant that he completely missed it as Jack lifted his head to gaze over his friend's shoulder into the dimness of the room. Which meant that he completely missed whatever it was that caused the pirate to suddenly plant an elbow on his head and heave himself to his feet in a panicky lurch. He did, however, hear the man squawk, "Monkey!"
...he's completely insane, there's no other explanation...
"Arrgh!! Damn it all, be careful Jack, your elbows are bloody dangerous--"
"Sorry, mate."
His moment broken, James snapped, "It's fine. I deserved that. Now, where the HELL are you going?"
"Tole you, luv. Can't stay long. Got places to be..." Jack swayed, a more precarious sway than his usual. He cast around himself vacantly. "Where's the blasted window, Jamie..?"
James stood and quickly caught Jack by his dangerous elbows. "You are not going to make it back to the ship like this."
"And who, exactly, said I was goin' back to the ship."
James blinked. Blinked again. Said, "Do I even want to ask where you think you ARE going?"
He expected some suitably mysterious, ridiculous, evasive story. Instead, Jack looked him in the eye and said, "You don't want me here, Jamie."
James stared. He thought again of the pistol and winced. It wasn't the first time in their odd relationship that he'd threatened Jack Sparrow with a weapon, but this time he felt guilt eating at him in an entirely new way. "Jack," he said, and swallowed. "Look, now, I didn't mean to--to--Er." Oh, for the Good Lord's sake, can I make any more of a mess of this... "Look, can we just forget about that for now. You can feel free to hit me later if it will make you feel better--"
Jack was shaking his head. Attempting to wave his hands around and failing, tangled up in his coat and James' grip. "Not the issue, not the issue at all..."
James watched a drop of sweat travel down Jack's tanned throat. His shirt was soaked, and he was shivering. James could see that whatever rope he'd been pulling himself along on, he was fast coming to the end of it. As patiently as he could, he said, "What is the issue, then?"
Jack leaned into his grip and pinned James with his dark smudged gaze again. His voice came out a hissing whisper. "The issue is, mate, that I'm not here alone." He cocked his head, almost nose to nose with the taller man. "You savvy?"
"No, I am NOT," James snapped, abused nerves wearing thin. He resisted the urge to shake him. "Do you mean that someone is still after you? Were you followed?"
"Ah. Yes...in a manner of speaking--"
"And don't expect me to believe that flat-out nonsense about curses."
"I'd never tell you flat-out nonsense, luv--"
"What type of vengeful pirate scum do you have on your tail this time?"
"The dead kind," Jack said, flatly, and James felt the chill come singing back into his bones at the look on his face. "And unless you want them on yer lovely tail as well, you'll let me go."
James made the effort to look like he was thinking things over for at least a whole thirty seconds, before saying, "No" and shoving Jack, hard. The pirate toppled back onto the bed with a jingle of trinkets and squawk that immediately became a snarl of pain. He clutched at his damaged shoulder and waited for the world to stop spinning long enough for him to give James his most ferocious piratical glare. It wasn't very ferocious at the moment but no one could fault him for not trying. "That bloody HURT."
James said, "Oh, I am sorry."
"Like Hell you are."
"Fair play. For the elbow and all that."
Jack huffed an exasperated sigh and struggled to hoist himself up on the elbow in question. Failed miserably, partly because he couldn't muster enough energy to make it that far, and mostly because James had leaned in close and planted one hand firmly in the center of his chest, effectively pinning him to the mattress. "Now, listen here you--"
"No, you listen." James leaned in closer, close enough for unbound ends of tousled brown hair to tickle Jack's face. "I don't care what you've brought with you. You're staying. Do you hear me? You think that after fighting a crew of walking undead, I'm going to let you fall out my window alone just because you've some insane notion that you're cursed? I knew you were daft but there's no need to flaunt it, for the good Lord's sake."
Jack just lay where he'd sprawled, blinking up at the irate man hovering above him. So close. He tried to do something, anything, but getting horizontal had done something strange to his body. It seemed to have stopped taking commands. Damn useless things, bodies were, betraying you when you needed them most. Refusing to die when you said so. Coming back to life at all the most inconvenient times and staggering about....Jack squinted up at James's worried expression. Why was it so hard to focus on anything?...He hadn't had that much to drink...
"Just rest now, Jack." James's hand was calloused and cool on his face. Jack closed his eyes.
"Don't say I didn't warn you...that time...about the monkeys..."
"Er...yes...I remember." James didn't move. If anything he leaned closer, his breath whispering across Jack's ear.
"Good." With a sigh, Jack gave up and let everything go gray.
In the corner, the oil lamp flickered for no apparent reason.
TBC....
Authoress: Well, we did warn you about the monkeys. James: I do not find this amusing. Authoress: Oh, don't be a spoil sport. I'll make them clean up when they're done. Undead Monkey: SQUEEEEEEEEE James: Oh, lovley...