Title: Apparitions
Author: Ponderosa
Pairings: Jack/Norrington
Archive: Anyone with prior permission, others please ask.
Warnings: [PG-13]
Disclaimer: Characters belong to their respective copyright holders, like Disney. Plot, if you can call it that, belongs to me.
Notes: Written for Azziria as part of the Norrington ficathon. Requests made were an element of AU and someone losing their temper. Big thanks to linaelyn and puchuupoet for suggestions and beta-work.
Apparitions
It is when Norrington is writing at his desk that he first sees it out the corner of his eye. It is a dark and ghostly shape, hanging in the air like smoke.
It brings with it the smell of oleander.
Even with all that James has seen, he dismisses it, attributing it to the lateness of hour and a trick of the light.
Evening comes and James has just picked up his quill when it returns. He clenches his teeth and ignores it, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the chill between his shoulder blades and the prickly feeling of being watched.
The waning moon rises in the dark, cloudless sky, and the Governor has occasion to visit. Amid a barrage of unwelcome congratulations, James asks the man to grant Will Turner clemency.
Swann is visibly reluctant, but grows strangely agitated the longer James holds him in conversation. He comments upon a foul odour in the room, and looks over his shoulder before he agrees and hastily takes his leave.
On the following day at noon, Elizabeth comes to plead that he cut the body down. James is privately relieved, as he truly did not wish it there to begin with. He orders it done immediately.
He smiles thinly when she goes on to thank him, quietly, for persuading her father to sign Turner's pardon.
James discovers a burial brings him no reprieve.
It makes mischief with the maps stacked about his office, and the scent of oleander thickens.
It is a swift and clever apparition, and mocks his every attempt to turn and catch full sight of it. He shouts at it, heedless of what his men might think.
The outburst does no good either.
The marines pretend not to have heard anything, just as they pretend not to notice the bags that have formed beneath James' eyes. Madness they would say, if he were to speak of it. And so, he says nothing.
He suffers his fears and delusions in stiff-necked silence.
Elizabeth sends a letter to thank him for his mercy. He does not begrudge her reluctance to call upon him again in person. Heart twisted in grief, he sends her a letter of his own. He frees her of obligations, and urges to her to follow where her heart would lead.
The shadow appears all the more frequently as the weeks drag on, and soon, not even brightness of day hinders its coming. It now lurks and darkens the edges of James' vision when he is away from the confines of his office.
He briefly attempts to avoid being alone, but learns that company does not deter it.
He thinks he can hear it laughing.
James hopes it won't, but it follows him to sea.
It drifts around the deck, and none but the youngest of the ship's boys seem to notice.
He can sleep now, but only because he must. He dreams of cannonfire and cursed treasure, of tangled hair and a gold-studded smile, but most frequently he dreams of the day he ordered that Will Turner be detained, and the sailor's bright-feathered bird that cursed on high when Jack Sparrow did the gallows dance.
The Dauntless returns to Port Royale after six long months.
Some men swear never to set foot on board her again, and James releases them from service without reproof. Others praise their Captain's luck, telling tales of how he dodged not one, but three Spanish bullets, and how the wind always blew strong and true when he stood on deck.
The youngest boys keep to themselves, and they hum a secret tune when none others are present.
The shade is absent at Elizabeth's wedding, and James grows oddly restless when he smells naught but the mahoe that grows thick around the garden. He feels no sorrow when Elizabeth presses a kiss to his cheek, and his hand is firm and true when he clasps Will's and wishes them the best.
He is eager to set sail again, and sleeps aboard his ship, but for the first time in a long time, his dreams are strangely dark.
The Dauntless sails on open water, and James knows no rest.
His nights are plagued by a dark and nameless terror, and he wakes gasping for breath and clutching his throat.
It follows him now more closely than ever before. It is full of unfocused menace, like a cluster of heavy clouds crackling on the horizon.
Within weeks, it is actively interfering with his duty.
When he raises his spyglass to his eye, it swirls around him, enveloping him in a darkness so complete that he fears he will be struck blind.
He learns to trust the eye of his Lieutenant, and his fury burns away his guilt.
For the first time, James curses it and wishes it gone.
He smells woodsmoke on the breeze.
Two days, no more, and they will be in range of their quarry. The Dauntless' cannons will roar and England's colonies will have one less pirate ship to trouble her shores.
The phantom wind favors him no longer, and he plots his course with extra care.
Invisible fingers light upon his own. They urge him to turn southward.
He does not heed the warning.
The air stinks with blood and powder. James can see the Pearl's Captain as she holds her head up high and shouts orders. She is as fearsome as her ship. Her skin is dark like the sails that loom above her, and she fights like a cornered tiger.
Even with a crippled foremast and sails punched full of holes, James' ship has the advantage. A fierce barrage leaves the Pearl dead in the water.
He finds it hovering on the portside, coal dark and crackling. Shadowy tendrils catch on the breeze like wisps of hair. It seems so solid he swears he could touch it.
Empathy catches up with him, as James knows the hurt of a Captain losing his ship. He takes a step forward, intending to apologize, but the spectre fades and leaves him looking to the water beyond where it stood.
Coming in fast, with the wind at her back, is a second ship.
The Dauntless is limping, struggling to turn and catch the Spanish ship in her sights. Her timbers groan painfully, and James knows, well before the wood begins to splinter around him, that all is lost.
He feels a tender touch upon his face. Phantom fingers brush briefly across his cheek, and the shadows of the sea are joined by a more familiar darkness.
His chest burns as the sunlight that dances on the surface of the water grows distant. When the last of his air is driven from his lungs, he reaches out.
The apparition ripples to mimic the shape of a man.
James clasps Jack's hand in the manner that he should have the first time they had met. He holds it firm, knows it to belong to a good man, and releases his fear.