Jack had not meant to stumble upon Norrington in the middle of... well, in the middle of Joey the harbor wench. However, it was not in his nature to ignore something given to him, so he crouched on the crates stacked in the alley and peered with cat-like eyes into the dark room.
While he tried to focus on James in dishabille, for potential taunting material as much as to size up, ahem, his longtime opponent, he found his eyes drawn to the other occupant of the room. Ah, 'tres jolie Josephine' catered to a select few. Those who, specifically, liked their companions not slender so much as wiry, not beautiful as much as elfin. Not young or childish, just... not terribly feminine. Read into that what you will, Jack thought to himself.
Suddenly he pressed himself to the glass and strained to see in the faint light from the nearby wall lantern streaming into the room and painting the occupants in flickers of orange and gold. Was that...? Yes, indeed it was. That was his trademark kohl applied slapdash around Joey's eyes, sooty and exotic and remarkably damning for the pale man currently straining and sweating and rubbing the remnants of the black substance on his fingers into the sheets.
"I'll catch you yet," was the labored panting that reached Jack's ears. "I will... navigate my way...through all your lies and trickery..." Jack had to admire any man who could remain that eloquent under such conditions – Joey was no slouch when it came to discharging her duties, after all. "... and there will be nothing left between you and me." A particularly harsh gasp that raised the hairs on Jack's neck with its vehemence. "And then...then, oh yes." James gave a dark chuckle, full of promise, that made even Jack, he who could often be found sailing into a storm, take a mental step back. "Then, I will have you. I will have you." This was punctuated by a sharp thrust, a howl from his bed partner, and an oddly broken sob from Norrington himself, who remained slumped over Joey and seemed unable to stop trembling.
Neither could Jack.
~*~
Jack viewed the scene currently unfolding on the ramparts as if from a distance, even though he was an active participant in it. The only active one, really, since everyone around him was standing in place, ramrod straight, either from their naval training or from some combination of fear, disgust and wariness at his behavior.
He reflected, quite calmly, that he was, above all else, a survivor. He would use everything given to him – and even a few things he had to liberate – to get him out of a tight spot and back onto his ship. This was really just business as usual.
He wasn't even quite sure of what he was saying, only that he was dancing into Norrington's space, as was expected of him, and reaching up to wipe something imaginary out of his own eye. There – the unmistakable smear of kohl on his golden skin: he could see Norrington's gaze drawn unconsciously to it. Jack smiled coldly when James' startled eyes met his, and, very deliberately, he reached forward, ignoring the manacles that seemed to clank more loudly than usual, to grasp the Commodore's shirt loosely in a gesture that was plainly not threatening, but pleading.
His words, however, belied his actions.
"Well, my good Commodore James, it seems you've caught me." He felt the green eyes sharpen on him as he assiduously massaged the kohl on his fingers into the fine white fabric of the officer's shirt. "No more lies, no more trickery." Jack regarded him critically and decided that yes, it was possible for that milk white skin to pale even further. "Nothing left between you." A step even closer, but Norrington could not back away from him, rooted to the spot as he was with terror and a wealth of shame. "And me." Jack noted, with a grim satisfaction, the shuddering breath the other man took and the way his eyelids fluttered shut.
"And now?" Jack let the question hang in the air before bringing down the hammer stroke: "Now, you have me." And he watched with a clinical fascination as James shattered before his very eyes: he began to tremble slightly and his eyes, lifted again to his prisoner's, were anguished and utterly broken. There was a finality in the quietly hitched sigh that Jack did not want to think about too much.
There is nothing more dangerous than a clever pirate in possession of another's desire, be it evidence, information or a person.
Both men recognized that this overachieving pirate had all three.
It was a remarkable level of betrayal, Jack thought as he was escorted off to jail. Here was a man who spent his entire life making sure that others were protected from all manner of threat, and yet his own heart seemed to be fair game for anyone, be they aristocratic young ladies or strangely attractive pirates, to play with and use to their own ends.
He consoled himself with the fact that he would get out of here alive, as was his intended goal, and he would have a leg up on Norrington from here on out. Good news for him, to be sure.
The memory of Norrington, left standing on the ramparts of the fort where he had caught the pirate earlier, with the slight tremor of his body, the pallor to his skin and the emptiness of his eyes, came unbidden to Jack's mind. This was followed shortly by a mental image of the same man instructing a trusted subordinate to free the prisoner in the third cell on the left in a mockery of his usual confident, low voice. He would strip off his clothing, bundling it away to be washed, then unsteadily grasp his shirt and examine the black, waxy smears in the candlelight. He would raise the fabric up to his nose, inhaling deeply and in the same way that many a man would sample a fine share of opium, before he would start shaking. James would recognize this as paying the price for his unhealthy, unnatural obsession with his quarry, even if Jack himself couldn't see how the math added up. He never put much stock in repentance anyway.
After all, he had broken many a man before, and he would have to continue to do so. Such was the price of being a freeman, and that was something that did compute in his warped little mind. He would do what he had to do, and damned be any green-eyed ghost of a man, shadows on his fingers and an utterly underserved despair cloaking him like the moonlight.
Jack fought to control the shiver that lingered under his own skin.
No, not much stock at all.