When Captain Jack Sparrow wandered into Port Royal on a whim, he had expected to be captured, sooner or later. The British Royal Navy, serving as the police force on this island outpost, was nothing if not diligent in the execution of its duties. It was only a matter of time, he philosophized, and this was how the game was played.
Sparrow hadn't expected to get taken from behind like a Tortugan whore.
Fortunately for him, then, he wasn't.
Nor was he taken from the front like a Tortugan whore, nor from anywhere else.
The only place he was taken was to the jail (to the jail, not in it), and there no violation of his person occurred.
Well, only a little.
Early the next morning, at a time most people would label 'dawn' and Captain Sparrow referred to as 'last call' or 'bedtime' whenever he was docked and wandering about on land, Jack realized that, although Norrington had been a bit more grabby than the last time the pirate had visited Port Royal (which is to say, during the whole medallion-cursed-pirates-monkey! debacle), he had not, in fact, been trying to indulge in a quick cuddle. Or, if he had, that had not been his only objective. At any rate, there was a sizable hairpin (from the style and lingering scent, Jack recognized it as the property of Sadie the barwench from the Catt and Fiddle and immediately reconsidered his opinion of the straight-laced naval man) tucked into the folds of his sash, and something told him that the Commodore was not the least bit interested in his hairstyle.
Jack sniffed. Damn right, too! Norrington had enough to worry about with that awful wig of his. He patted his own locks fondly. 'Twould be the pot calling the... white porcelain teapot black!
Satisfied with his grasp on the coiffure situation, Jack wiggled his impromptu key around in the lock, and then wiggled his way out of the jail. As he made for the docks, where he could steal a dory and row out to the cove where his Pearl was currently anchored, Jack figured that this must be James' way of thanking him (discreetly, of course) for his aid in the Navy's latest routing of the French. Jack had never liked raisins, and he had always liked Norrington, so 'twas no real favor owed to him.
Yes, in a twist strange enough to confound even the wily Jack Sparrow, the pirate found himself liking the young Commodore James quite a bit. Clearly, this liking – or at least a wary respect – was returned. All entirely unexpected.
And it was also clear that this 'liking,' even if it did come with the benefits of the grim smile James always had for his favorite freeman and the no-more-than-usual amount of violence in handcuffing him, did not extend into the realm of bending said freeman over the nearest bench. Jack rubbed his wrists absently: it was, even for a man as capricious as him, hard to ignore the fervor with which Norrington went about his business.
A shame, that, Jack thought as his stroking grew more contemplative. All that youthful zeal could be put so many uses. Really, at the heart of every pirate was that same passion: it was just channeled differently.
Jack would be happy to show dear James the finer points of piracy. More than happy, to be sure.
He could already hear the water gently lapping at the pilings and landings of the pier and the shouts of dock workers reefing their boats, hauling up supplies, insulting each other's technique, parentage, manhood. And yes, there was the little black boy, faithfully shadowing the harbormaster and making careful notes in the ledger. Jack's thoughtful smile widened into a happy grin: the theft of a dory would be only one in a long list of torments that he had inflicted upon the poor child.
A few minutes and several distractions later, Jack was guiding his acquisition out of the harbor and around the island to his destination. As he rowed in what might be called a jaunty style, he thought again about Norrington and the myriad sides of him that had been revealed to the subtly observant Sparrow.
The cultivated, cool contempt for pirates that invariably gave way to a startling fury whenever something precious to him was threatened; and considering how often that mask slipped, he clearly considered much around him to be precious. The fragile hope that had leapt unbidden into his eyes and his tremulous smile at Elizabeth's acceptance. The quiet, honest despair at Miss Swann's change of heart. The tales Jack heard later of the incredible grace with which he gave the two sweethearts what blessings he could.
Every spark of emotion that lit his green eyes and lifted the straight, eternally disapproving line of his lips told Jack how reined in this man was – and how much he deserved, nay, needed a break.
Or at least some instruction on how to handle the unexpected. Jack considered himself an expert, so much so that he was often found doing whatever he could to throw off the normal course of events.
Then again... Jack thought about his most recent capture, and all the little, tiny, barely noticeable things that had been wrong about it: the shade of indulgence in Norrington's sarcasm, the air of sharing a secret with Jack without having to say a word, the warmth of his hand left on the small of Jack's back just slightly too long.
Jack stopped rowing. It seemed that there was more to the Commodore than even he had accounted for. The pirate leaned back in his seat and smiled in sharp anticipation. He had never enjoyed being caught off-guard, but, for James, Jack thought he might make a notable exception.