'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney.
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"Wake up, James!"
The insistent words were accompanied by a sudden lurching sensation- for a second Norrington thought he was on rough seas, being summoned to deal with a shipboard emergency. He'd jerked himself halfway to vertical before a very un-nautical feature- a rectangular window with burgundy drapes- registered in his sight. Then he remembered where he was.
An instant later, the explanation for his bed's animated behavior came to him. James collapsed back onto the inadequate shelter of his pillow.
"What time is it?"
"It's Christmas!" This announcement was underscored by further bouncing on his mattress. "Come look at the tree, James!"
"We both had a long look at it last night."
"It wasn't Christmas then!"
Norrington growled in annoyance. He should have anticipated the Yuletide morning would bring Sparrow's most childish self to the fore.
"I shall get up, in exactly ten minutes. About the same time it shall take room service to bring up a cup of coffee."
"I've already ordered breakfast, with hot chocolates!"
"Call again, and change my beverage to coffee. I shall need the caffeine. The sooner you do this, the sooner I'll be willing to get up. So scoot!"
Jack obediently scampered off the bed and out of Norrington's room. The former Commodore determinedly kept his eyes closed... but that battle was already lost. A mere six minutes later, he sluggishly arose and stumbled towards the bathroom.
After seeing to the necessities, and a quick shave, he considered getting dressed. But that would take too long- an excited Jack Sparrow was best not left unattended in any space containing breakables. He slipped on his robe- made of the same wine-red velvet as the drapes- and proceeded to their suite's main interior.
His first glimpse of the room improved his mood. The gas fireplace was already on, as were the myriad lights bedecking their Christmas tree. The scotch pine was of modest size- it's glittery golden star was barely higher than James' head- but well shaped, fluffy and fragrant. Considering it was his first attempt, Norrington thought he'd done a commendable job of decorating it. He'd evenly arranged the several strings of tiny white electric lights, followed by silvery-white garlands, a whole spectrum of colored glass globes, and faux gingerbread men (with Sparrow in the vicinity, real gingerbread men would have had an unacceptably short life expectancy.)
Enticing scents of fried ham and cinnamon rolls told him breakfast had arrived. Jack, in a forest-green velvet robe, was arranging the tray contents on the small table beside the largest window. James approached, eyeing the tall, cream-topped mug with suspicion. "That's coffee?"
"Much more better- I ordered you a mocha!"
"Did you." James took a small sip, then a larger one. "And very good mocha it is."
"Aye. Stimulatin' effect of coffee, flavor of cacao. The Plaza ain't known fer bein' stingy with grub!" Sparrow was happily spiking his own hot chocolate with a generous splash of rum from the mini bar.
Norrington took a seat, and they both tucked in. Jack ate fast, his gaze continuously straying to the tree, where several bright parcels sheltered like chicks under a hen. Norrington had a preposterous thought. When Sparrow was in this mood, he reminded James of nobody so much as...
His fork paused, halfway to his mouth. It seemed utterly absurd to compare his innocent little sister with this three-centuries-old libertine.... yet, the similarity was plain. Essie had been a merry, willful, brown-curl-topped pixie, eager to go everywhere and do everything. Sometimes exasperating, frequently exhausting, but much more fun to be with than oh-so-ladylike Rachel, or ever-prudent Jacob.
/ Perhaps that's part of the reason I feel obligated to protect Jack? Could I be trying to compensate for my failure to do as much for Essie? /
But James had always known that guilt was irrational. He couldn't have predicted or prevented that carriage crash if he'd stayed in London, any more than he had from Port Royal. Norrington turned his attention back to the excellent ham, resolving not to think about that on what should be a joyful day.
Sparrow quickly downed his repast and scurried to the tree base, rocking impatiently while his companion finished at a more civilized rate. James finally pushed his plate aside and joined Jack on the floor. The thick olive-and-saffron patterned carpet was more comfortable than many a mattress he'd known.
"Gift baskets first!" the pirate gleefully announced.
There were two of these, shrouded in rustling tissue paper, from the crews of the Lady Buccaneer and the Charming Murderess. The Lady's well-heeled staff had supplied a woven-metal basket, containing a bottle of premium-quality rum for Sparrow, a box of Belgium truffles for Norrington, four jars of gourmet condiments, packets of flavored cocoa mix, and several DVDs: 'Citizen Kane', 'The Godfather', 'Casablanca', 'La Dolce Vita', and 'It's A Wonderful Life'. All classics that James should get to know, Jack pronounced. The last was a holiday favorite which they could watch together before the day was out.
The wicker-cradled offerings from the Murderess' crew were less tony, but thoughtfully chosen; a less-expensive rum brand (which Jack seemed just as glad to get), two jumbo bags of M&Ms, three Calypso-music CDs, a bottle of Mr. Le Blanc's special hot sauce, and a generous Tupperware cylinder full of Garnet's shortbread cookies and Judith's maple-pecan fudge. James had to restrain Sparrow from gobbling the latter on the spot.
Next, they opened the big square box from the Boyers. Amidst a blizzard of shredded green paper and styrofoam peanuts, Jack extracted a pair of flat metal objects. Wall hangings, fourteen inches across- curled lizards with spiral tails and splayed round toes. Both were whimsically painted with bold-colored bands; one scarlet and burnt-orange with yellow borders, the other aqua and cornflower-blue with cream borders.
"Geckos! It's a Haitian folk art, James. Folks cut 'em from scrap metal sheets and paint 'em- no two exactly the same. Supposed ta be good luck." Impatient to see how they looked, Jack took down a pair of floral etchings by the fireplace, and hung the lizards from their hooks. With their big round eyes, the creatures seemed to be regarding each other with astonishment.
Sparrow stepped back to look, grinning from ear to ear. "That's jus' what this place needed- a touch of the tropics! Which one do you fancy?"
"The blue one."
"Then by all means, take it with you to New London! 'Twill impart a bit of warmth to yer quarters."
Which may well have been Ayida Boyer's intention- Norrington noticed his chosen lizard had emerald-green eyes, while the other's were dark brown. He happily imagined her, and all Jack's employees, opening their Christmas bonus cards this morn. Sparrow sometimes displayed reluctance to part with physical cash, but was less inhibited about being generous with checks, which he seemed to regard as something other than 'real' money.
James' present from Meredith, still in it's yellow mailing envelope, turned out to be a framed pen-and-ink sketch of himself and Jack aboard the Lady Buccaneer. Both were in costume, standing at the helm, one hand apiece gripping the wheel spokes. But while bewigged James stood erect, gazing nobly forward, Jack's posture was crouched, with one eye scrunched shut and the other staring intently through a spyglass. The curl of his mouth suggested he might be peeking at something he shouldn't.
Jack studied the image critically. "Surely my face isn't that pinched!"
"This is a caricature. It's supposed to be distorted."
"Seems ta me she didn't distort your own visage nearly so much."
"Because she likes me best." James took down another painting, across from the geckos, and hung the sketch in it's place. "This will look fine in the Lady Buccaneer's great cabin."
Sparrow was still eyeing the work with mixed feelings. "Ms Chaucer's a cheeky wench. Though I do give her credit fer providin' something personal. I hope you reciprocated appropriately?"
"I sent Meredith a souvenir tee-shirt from Paris. It would be inappropriate for me to give her anything costly at this point."
"Was it a nice tee-shirt, at least?"
"I though so. A white-on-black silhouette of the Eiffel Tower."
"Sounds adequate. But I hope you got me somethin' better!" The four remaining parcels were their gifts to each other, and Sparrow was squirming with anticipation.
Norrington calmly resumed his seat beside the tree. "'Useful' or 'Useless' presents first?"
"Useful! Save the best fer last." Jack reached for the small sapphire box with the silver cluster bow on top, and handed it to his friend. "Fer you!"
As James took the box, he heard something jingle within. It turned out to contain a brass key ring, strung with two keys and a leather coin-purse fob.
"For yer new Mustang- the automotive sort, not the equine! Navy blue, ta coordinate with your vocation. Waiting in the hotel car park even as we speak!"
"Thank you very much, but unless it comes with a chauffeur, I won't get much use from it."
"Check inside the fob, lad." Norrington did, extracting a folded paper sheet, which he smoothed out and read. "'Manhattan Express Driving School'?"
Sparrow nodded with vigor. "'Tis a gift certificate fer lessons! I figured it'd be burdensome for you ta try ta learn to drive whilst takin' Academy classes. But you've a few free weeks yet, so you can get your training here... no, not on those streets!" Jack hastily added, noting James' understandably apprehensive glance towards the window, and the intimidating traffic beyond. "This school has indoor facilities. They'll start you in a simulator with projector screen, and, once your reflexes are up to par, put you in a real car on theer enclosed training course. You needn't be embarrassed ta admit you've not learned to drive in thirty-plus years; latecomers are their specialty. When a New Yorker acquires a sudden need to qualify fer a driver's license- because theer employer's transferred 'em to a less-mass-transited region of the country, for instance- the Express school has a training program ta get 'em up to speed in under a month. Won't do fer you to arrive at the USCG Academy sans wheels, now would it?"
Norrington's hand closed warmly around the keys. "This is a 'Useful' gift in the very best sense, Jack. I'm afraid my own offering is going to look paltry by..."
"Now James, we agreed we weren't going ta compare price tags. Jus' give me my present!" Sparrow bounced demandingly.
Norrington obediently handed his friend a flat parcel, wrapped in flashy iridescent paper with a wide red-satin ribbon. The eager recipient pulled off the ribbon, tore the box open, and lifted out two garments; loose-fitting trousers and a front-buttoned shirt, both made of shiny gold fabric with coffee-brown piping. "What're these?"
"They're called 'pajamas'. I thought you might find them more appealing if I got them in your favorite color."
Jack regarded James wryly. "Still tryin' ta civilize me, Mr. Norrington?"
"I do enjoy a challenge. Why don't you establish whether they fit?"
Sparrow agreeably trotted into his own bedroom. James kept himself busy picking up styrofoam 'til Jack emerged, gold-clad and regal, strutting that self-important 'runway walk' he'd claimed to've learned during a short modeling career. As he turned in haughty circles before James, the navyman nodded with satisfaction.
"They look fine on you, Sparrow. You should wear pajamas regularly."
Jack held the snooty expression just a moment longer, before flopping playfully back to the floor. "Now for the Useless presents. You first!"
Norrington obligingly tugged the largest item from beneath the tree; a long narrow box, festooned with rose-cheeked skiing Santas. James suspected those were relevant to the contents- he had expressed some interest in learning to ski.
Sparrow made sure to position himself where he could watch the ex-Commodore's face, as he skimmed off the colorful paper and removed the lid. His response was as stunned as Jack'd hoped for; James looked like he'd just walked into an invisible wall.
"Where did you get this?" he managed to ask.
"'Twere a parting gift from William Turner. He handed it to me jus' before he an' Liz slipped anchorage fer the last time." For some seconds the pirate seemed lost in thought. "Been keepin' it on me bedroom wall, along w' all the others. I guess you never examined 'em close enough ta recognize it. I would've given it to you sooner, but I thought 'twould be apt ta do so on the Yule."
"If Will wanted you to have it, I can not..."
"Cousin, I'm sure dear William would've returned this to you hisself, if he'd had any chance to. 'Twas you he made it for, an' you who should be in possession of it." He gave the box a little push. "Go on, mate. Reclaim what's yours."
It felt like a dream become reality. James gripped the familiar handle, with it's gold filigree inlay, and drew bright steel from the ancient scabbard. He stood, raising the sword above eye level. Starry Christmas-tree lights glinted off the smooth metal, flashing tiny smiles of welcome, remembrance and redemption.
How many pivotal events of his life had he witnessed from over the length of this blade? His very first encounter with Jack Sparrow, pressing the sharp tip to his throat. That desperate battle against living skeletons on the deck of his poor Dauntless. The false reclaiming of his honor, in Beckett's office. And the true one, when he made his final answer to Davy Jones.
"Thank you, Sparrow." Terribly inadequate, but all he could say.
James carefully set the precious sword back into the lined container, before he presented the final parcel to Jack- a shiny purple box, of a size and shape commonly associated with wristwatches. Jack opened it, to find a small long-handled hairbrush/ comb, several red elastic bands, and a tiny clear plastic bag. Within the bag were three chickpea-sized spheres, pierced by wide holes.
Sparrow poured the spheres into his palm and pushed them about, intrigued as a cat. They looked to be stones of three different colors; mottled tan, pale gray, and greenish. "What are these?"
"Ordinary pebbles, with significant origins. I picked them up in Hyde Park in London," James pointed to the gray bead, "the Le Bois park in Paris," indicating the green, "and Central Park here. Then I located a gem-and-mineral shop on 47th Street, where I had them shaped and drilled to make hair beads."
Jack was disproportionately pleased. "Most thoughtful of you, Commodore!"
With a flourish, Norrington lifted the little brush from the box. "With your kind permission, I shall apply them now."
"Permission granted! But let's get off the floor." Sparrow scrambled onto the ivory couch and knelt, gracefully tucking his legs beneath him. He was grinning- the comparison refused to be denied- just the way Essie used to when she was expecting a treat.
James seated himself to face him. After due consideration, he lifted a lock from Jack's left temple and began to groom it.
"You've a lovely touch. Ain't everyone who can get out the tangles without yanking."
"So I've been told. When I was a midshipman, and we had to assist each other preparing for an inspection, I was always in demand for hair-braiding. Mother taught me so I could help get Essie ready for Meetings. I was the only one of her siblings who could persuade her to hold still." James sighed within, reminding himself that, by now, she'd be dead in any case.
He divided the combed lock into three parts, strung the gray bead onto one, began plaiting. Jack shut his eyes, the better to savor the pleasurable tugs. The other two beads were soon added. Norrington braided the full length of the lock, securing the ends with one of the red elastics. Sparrow fingered the result with the knowing touch of a connoisseur.
"Very professional! Madame Genet couldn't of done better."
"And who is Madame Genet?"
"No one famous. An admirable hairdresser of my past acquaintanceship." Jack indicated his right temple. "Perhaps, fer purposes of symmetry, you could do one on this side too?"
Nodding amiably, James proceeded to tease out and comb another lock. When that braid was done, Sparrow coaxed him into doing two more. After fastening the fourth braid, Norrington gently gripped Jack's jaw and turned his head from side to side. "There- I'd call that a reasonable distribution of ballast."
Sparrow reached to lay his own fingers across James', his expression wistful. "Don't know if I mentioned it, but I'm going to miss you when you're attending Academy, ol' Commodore."
Norrington returned the affectionate grip. "At least I'll be there for a shorter while than usual."
"After which you'll be busy playing lawman."
"Yes, I will. Your 'little boy' has to grow up, Jack. But I'll visit when I can. I gave you my word on that. Hmmm..." The navyman arose, moved behind Sparrow, sat again. "I think there's room for another one here."
Sparrow purred with enjoyment as his mane was carefully brushed. Finally satisfied, James gathered the mass together at the back of Jack's head, and began to plait a single thick braid.
"Much appreciated, James Lysander Norrington."
The attentive fingers stilled for a second. "When did you learn my middle name?"
"You let it slip one evenin' on the Pearl, when you were a few sheets to the wind." Jack hastened on- he doubted James would care to dwell on that nadir of his life. "I must say, 'tis not a very Quakeresque moniker."
"Which is why it's in the middle, rather than first. The family tradition of bestowing 'Lysander' on the eldest son predates Quakerism. It goes back to the 1400s, and the Battle of Agincourt- that's the conflict mentioned in Shakespeare's 'Henry V'."
"Aye. I know my British history that well."
"Supposedly, an ancestor of mine distinguished himself there." James paused to give the lower half of the strands some additional combing. "At a crucial point in the fighting, Lysander Norrington leapt to take a fatal arrow, just as it was about to pierce King Henry."
"Did he really!"
"At least according to our family lore. Though it may not have been deliberate. Lysander might simply have moved into that spot at a singularly inopportune moment... inopportune for him, anyway. There's no telling how much was fabricated to console his grieving widow and sons." Norrington resumed plaiting the mane. "Having never located any historical confirmation of this event, I don't know which account, if either, is true. But of course Uncle Daniel Lysander preferred to tell the heroic version."
"Understandable- makes a better yarn. An' I, fer one, would place a wager on it's bein' so. It explains a lot about his Commodorial descendant."
"Perhaps. Certainly that story gave me something to live up to... There, that's about right." James used the final elastic to secure the large braid. "And as a finishing touch..." James reached to retrieve the discarded crimson ribbon from the floor. He carefully draped this across Jack's forehead, knotting it loosely at the back. "Not an exact match, but recognizable. Care to check it out?"
They moved to stand before the big gilt-framed mirror over the fireplace, expressing mutual delight in Jack's embellishments. Captain Sparrow struck a roguish pose, smirking to show the gold teeth. "Been a while now, since I've last seen him!"
"Then you must be short of mirrors. I've seen him every day for the past eight months."
Jack seemed inclined to regard that view for a long while. James might have too, if not for what he saw in the reflected clock face.
"I do need to get dressed now. East 15th Street is a fair ways from here. Try not to tear the place down while I'm gone."
James returned to his room, where he took a quick shower before putting on his dark blue wool suit. Jack had given it to him when he'd gone to take the Coast Guard entrance exams. It was of good quality, though not the priciest. "Ye'll want ta look professional, but not like some pampered git who's never had dirt under his nails." The look was right for attending a Meeting, too- formal, not ostentatious.
As he brushed his own hair, James regarded his image with real satisfaction. For some while now he'd been seeing a 21st century man whenever he studied his reflection. It gave him even more gratification than passing those exams.
Preparations complete, James fetched his winter hat from a drawer and returned to the central room. To his surprise, Jack was waiting beside the exit door, in a tailored gray suit with his hair neatly fastened back. Looking entirely like an adult.
His tone was almost shy. "I'd like to come with you, if you wouldn't mind."
James regarding him skeptically. "Why do you want to do that?"
"I've spent a plentiful number of Christmases on my onesies, mate. Ain't really in the mood ta do that this year." He raised one palm. "I swear, on pain of death, I'll be on me best behavior."
"You've just underscored how unfamiliar you are with the Society of Friends. Quakers don't believe in taking oaths; they think a person's word should suffice."
"All the more reason I should go, then. I'll learn things."
"You do understand, you must refrain from any flirting whatsoever. Serious or non. Even if the prettiest women on earth are there."
Jack shrugged. "Fer this one occasion, I'll pretend I'm a eunuch."
"Very well, then- you're welcome to come."
Sparrow brightened visibly, scooping their coats from the pegs and handing one to James. "For near-future reference; do Quakers do anything ta commemorate New Years Day?"
"Nothing comparable to your description of the Times Square revelries. The Friends believe it's an occasion for reflecting on lessons learned through the previous year, and contemplating what possibilities the coming one holds." As they put on their outerwear, James considered, again, that not all their future possibilities were necessarily positive. And again, found consolation in knowing neither of them would have to deal with it alone.
"Maybe within the next year, you'll get a chance to sail on the Eagle- the Coast Guard's mascot rigged ship. You might even make Captain!" Sparrow speculated as he turned the doorknob.
"If that happens, Jack, I shall certainly give you a ride on it."
"I'll hold ya to that!"
They smacked each other's palms as they left the room.
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FINIS
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Note: East 15th Street in New York City is the location of the Manhattan Meeting House of the Religious Society of Friends (the original name for Quakers.)