DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Disney. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Come on, if it were mine, do you honestly think we would have gotten all the way through the movie without ever seeing Jack shirtless?
Posted by: Elspeth (AKA Elspethdixon).
Author's Notes: As before, I've only seen the movie once, so if you find any mistakes, inconsistencies, or inaccuracies in characterization, please tell me.
Ships: Will/Elizabeth, Jack/Elizabeth, eventual Jack/Will, eventual Norrington/OC. Probably a bit of unrequited Norrington/Elizabeth as well.
Warning: This story contains killing, stealing, lots of angst, an OC, and a non-evil Norrington. Sadly, it probably will not contain any hot, steamy sex scenes.

Chapter Nine: In Which the Endeavour Closes with Her Enemy.

O 'twas broadside to broadside
A long time lay we,
(Blow high, blow low, and so say we;)
Until we shot her masts away
And blew them in the sea,
(Cruising down along the coast
Of the High Barbaree.)

As he had watched the Black Pearl dwindle into the distance through his spyglass, Norrington had very nearly gnashed his teeth in frustration. To have victory so close, only to find it snatched from his grasp by an errant wind… And Sparrow had been making rude gestures at him from the Pearl's poopdeck, too. He was sure of it. The man was prone to waving his arms about, true, but those particular motions had been unmistakable.

By the time she was lost to view, though, he had recovered his composure. Fast she might be, but the Endeavour's broadside had damaged her. Her crew would have to weigh anchor somewhere to fix the damage, or if not, would lose speed considerably as she took on water. Either way, the Endeavour was bound to catch up eventually.

And there would be no running for her then.

"Do you think they'll stop to set things aright, sir, or keep going?" Gillette asked at his elbow, gazing speculatively ahead to where the pirate ship lay invisible beyond the horizon.

"Stop, if I know Sparrow," Norrington mused aloud, following his first officer's gaze out over the empty sea. "He's obsessed with that ship of his. He'll not let her limp along with her sails dragging and her rigging cut up for a moment longer than he has to."

Gillette nodded, considering this. "L'Île des oiseaux is only a few miles north of here," he ventured. "They could lay to there. Fix their damage."

Norrington smiled. "And by the time morning comes, with the speed we're making, we'll be between them and Port Royal."

Gillette's answering smile was more than a little bloodthirsty. He had developed a considerable dislike for pirates after being forced to fight off skeletal hordes of them aboard the Dauntless. That sort of experience marked a man. "If I may be so bold sir, how did you know Sparrow would be making for Port Royal now anyway?"

Norrington's smile faltered a bit as he tried, and failed, to come up with a suitable lie. It was not a skill he had much practice with, and anyway, lying to one's subordinates was a poor way to run a ship. Better to tell the truth, if he could do so without implicating Elizabeth. "Just a hunch, Lieutenant. Just a hunch," he answered. "I find it… curious… that young Mr. Turner vanished from Port Royal so soon after his former pirate friend raided the Golden Dolphin."

Gillette was a bright young man as well as a good officer, and he caught Norrington's implication immediately. "You think Turner's aboard the Black Pearl, sir? Making for home?"

Norrington nodded again, lowering his spyglass (useless at the moment) and tucking it under his arm. "Unfortunately, it is doubtful that he will reach it."

"Doubtful indeed, sir." Gillette smiled grimly, the expression at odds with his round, youthful face. "Bit hard for his wife, I should think." He sniffed. "A man's got no business playing about with pirates when he's got a wife at home, if you ask me, sir."

Norrington found himself nodding without thinking about it. Elizabeth had deserved better than Turner for a husband. He was surprised to this day that Governor Swann had actually acquiesced to it, but the man had always doted on his daughter. "Well, he knew the consequences of his actions when he chose to throw his lot in with the likes of Sparrow. And I suppose we do owe him thanks for bringing the Black Pearl back within range of our guns. Which is where she'll be come morning."

His prediction proved right. Come morning, the Endeavour was several leagues to the west of her previous position, squarely between the île des Oiseaux and Jamaica. The British colony was a large green mound against the western horizon, so close that the walls of the fort and the sandy strip of the Palisadoes were clearly visible, gleaming in the light of the rising sun. And on the eastern horizon, silhouetted against that rosy disk, which was just beginning to climb away from the edge of the sea, were the topsails of the Black Pearl.

The Endeavour crouched hidden behind the shield of one of the small cays scattered about the larger island, and waited patiently as her prey approached. By the time Norrington ordered the men to sail out into the open and confront the pirate ship, it was too late for Sparrow to run. The frigate was already within reach of the man o' war's longer range.

The first broadside whistled harmlessly over and around her, but the second struck her twixt wind and water. Norrington fancied he could hear Sparrow's wails of outrage despite the expanse of water that separated the two vessels.

Her main course was down, and the damage to her hull became clearly evident as the Endeavour bore down on her. Her crew let loose a broadside of their own, chainshot that scythed through the navy vessel's rigging, but the larger ship's momentum carried her forward unchecked to close with the other ship.

"You're mine now, Sparrow," Norrington murmured to himself as the Black Pearl's hull drew ever closer. "Let's see you wriggle out of this one."

^_~

The impact of the broadside was shattering. The deck lurched beneath Jack's feet, nearly unbalancing him, and overheard, the main topsail yardarm disappeared in a hail of splinters, sending canvass crashing to the deck. He could almost hear the Pearl's screams of anguish. Could hear them, in the groans and creaks of stressed, splintering wood.

There was no way out of this, he thought grimly. No way a frigate could take on a ship of the line in an open battle and defeat her. No way to win. Except that there was always a way out, an opportune moment, a chance to turn things your way. There had to be, if only he could think of one. They didn't have to be victorious; they only had to escape. Maybe if they could damage their opponent enough to buy themselves some time…

"Gibbs," he yelled in the general direction of the Pearl's waist, "I want you to double-shot the guns this time. Roundshot and grape. Distract them a little while they try to shoot at us."

Gibbs looked up for a moment, eyes catching his, and he waved a hand in acknowledgement before returning to bawling orders at the men swabbing out and reloading one of the twelve-pounders. Jack wasn't totally sure, but he thought it was one of the ones Will had fixed at Tortuga. The lad's work was certainly being out to the test.

"We can load all the shot we want, Jack," Anamaria said, stepping up to gaze at him over the top of the ship's wheel, "but they'll still have more guns." Her eyes were dark and concerned, and worry had painted lines at their corners. "We can't beat her."

"No," Jack admitted. "We can't. But we can run. Which is why, when she gets close enough to try and board us, we're goin' to triple-shot the guns." He raised a hand to forestall her wince. "I know, I know. I'll pay Will to fix them later. But for now, I want you and Gibbs to load them with roundshot and grape, and canister on top of that. And once we've got them reelin', we'll cut ourselves free from her and fly for the horizon."

Anamaria looked doubtful, but she headed below to relay the order. She looked lopsided, with her right arm strapped to her side under her coat and one sleeve empty, but she hadn't wanted to take the risk of jarring the injured limb in a fight. Hopefully, when the hand-to-hand fighting began, she would still be below.

The Endeavour was close now, well within pistol range, close enough for a tall man to jump the gap between the ships, if he had a running start.

"Stand by to repel boarders," Jack yelled, drawing his own cutlass and relinquishing his spot at the helm. As he made for the leeward rail, where grappling hooks thrown by the Endeavour's men were already landing, Will appeared at his side as if conjured from thin air. He also had his sword drawn, and his face was set in a familiar look of determination. It almost made one feel protected, to have the lad standing by glowering so fiercely, weapon in hand and clearly ready to use it.

"Ready for some fun, love?" Jack asked. The hilt of his cutlass was warm beneath his fingers, metal heated by the sun and the heat of his body. He flourished it, getting re-acquainted with the balance, the heft of it. Adrenaline was singing through his blood already, more intoxicating than rum, charging every nerve to a fever pitch and making his thoughts faster, sharper. Perhaps they were going to get away with this after all.

Will hefted his own blade in silent answer, then added aloud, "You have a twisted idea of fun."

Jack laughed, and it sounded slightly giddy even to him. "You enjoy it to."

Will probably would have denied that, but he never got a chance to. The Endeavour's crew fired one last broadside to clear the way for their boarding party, and the world was washed out by a thunderous wave of iron and sound. A ball passed by Jack so closely that he felt the wind generated by its flight pluck at him, and another, passing by on his right, took Hopkins' head off.

The spray of blood was like a wave breaking, showering down on him silently--all noise had been blotted out by the explosion of the broadside--as Hopkins' headless body fell twitching to the deck. The tattoos on his torso were untouched, still perfect, and the three mermaids that twined lasciviously about one another on his back seemed to writhe as his muscles gave one last spasm.

The Pearl moaned like a woman in extremis, holes opening up in her side, and something clicked in Jack's head. Mirth died, anger vanished, and everything went cold. As it had when he had shot Barbossa, as it had when he'd stabbed that man who'd fired at Anamaria, the world narrowed down to a single goal: stop this.

McTaggart was on his knees beside Hopkins' body--Hopkins the screw-up, Hopkins the joker, with his dirty tattoos and damn comments about sharks--his face twisted with rage and sorrow. Then the Endeavour's men were coming over the rail, and he was surging to his feet to meet them.

Jack lunged forward at the sailor in front of him without really seeing the man, barely registering it when his cutlass punched through flesh and jarred against bone. He jerked it free mechanically and kept going. Cutlasses weren't really made for stabbing. They were heavier, blunter weapons, intended to shear through flesh like a butcher's cleaver. Which meant that if you hit a man very hard with one, he wouldn't get up. That was good. No one who turned his ship and crew to bloody scraps should ever get up. McTaggart was busy with a marlinspike beside him, clubbing sailors and royal marines down with a berserk fury.

Will, some distant part of his mind not occupied with fighting registered, had jumped up onto one of the boarding planks, sword flashing in the sunlight as he drove a red-coated marine officer back onto the Endeavour's decks. Jack wanted to howl with frustration--didn't the lad know that they were all supposed to stay on the Pearl, where they could escape when the final broadside was fired and not be left behind? He somersaulted under some faceless marine's blade and flung himself up onto the plank beside Will, ready to grab his arm and haul him back. And then he saw his old friend the Commodore standing poised to jump the gap over to the Pearl.

Jack spared him the trouble. He landed in front of the man in a crouch, blade out, grinning at the surprised expression on his face. "Fancy meeting you here, Commodore," he heard himself saying, as his blade darted out and back, testing the man's guard.

Commodore Norrington did not reply. He merely growled, and raised his own blade to meet Jack's.

He was good. That fancy sword of his wasn't just a decorative mark of rank. And it was a real sword, too, a work of lethal art far more suited to dueling than Jack's cutlass. But he wasn't as good as Barbossa. He wasn't as good as Will.

"You need some practice, Commodore," Jack's mouth said, seemingly without input from his brain, which was engaged in watching Norrington's body move, his blade dance. "I'm told three hours a day does wonders for a man. Especially if he can't get himself a girl." Parry, parry, slash, duck. "Your footwork needs brushing up, you know." He caught the other man's blade against his guard and threw it backwards, following up with a slash at his shoulder. Norrington blocked it just in time, but was forced to take a step backward. And then another. And another.

Jack felt his grin stretching wider, the icy focus of moments ago shifting to a more normal adrenaline high. He had the man at a disadvantage now. This was fun. "One, two, three, four, parry high, now block low. That's it. Try it faster."

"Shut up," Norrington shouted, angry now. He was being played with, and he knew it. The deck behind him was littered with bodies and debris, making backing up a tricky task, and his arm had to be growing tired. His eyes flicked up over Jack's shoulder, and Jack turned just in time to catch the blade of a sailor's knife on his cutlass and turn the stroke. He punched the man full in the face--his rings made a satisfying crunch against the fellow's teeth--and turned back to block Norrington's next blow.

That detached corner of his mind noted McTaggart retreating back over the rail to the Pearl, snagging an embattled Twigg off one of the boarding planks as he went. He and Will were the only members of the Pearl's crew aboard the Endeavour now, and Will had fought his way clear to the other side of the ship, where he was now dueling with two naval officers from the high ground of the leeward rail, one hand holding the ratlines for balance.

Norrington deflected his next blow, and Jack tried a low swing at his knees. He jumped clear, and as Jack straightened to follow up with a second, higher slash, the Pearl fired her last, triple-shotted broadside.

The Endeavour lurched as if she'd been struck by a giant's fist, and over Norringon's shoulder, Jack saw Will lose his grasp on the ratlines and fall backwards off the rail into the sea.

Will couldn't swim.

He'd fallen to leeward, not to windward, where he'd have been crushed to death between the two ships, but the weight of his clothes and sword would drag him down, under the Endeavour's keel, and he'd drown there, and the little fish would eat his brown eyes and nibble on his wavy hair, and make homes amid his stupid hero's bones.

Jack turned toward the rail, cutlass lowering slightly as he prepared to drop it and jump, and Norrington reversed his sword and struck him on the temple with its pommel.

There was an explosion of light inside Jack's head, but no pain, only a sort of ringing numbness, and then he was on the deck. He tried to tell his arms to push himself up, his legs to move, because Will was drowning and somebody needed to go get him, but they didn't listen. And then all of the noise and light faded to grey and went away.

^_~

Cay: A low island, coral reef, or sandbar off the coast of a larger island or mainland.

Chainshot: Two iron balls connected by a length of chain, used to destroy a ship's rigging and masts (you saw it in the movie, when the Black Pearl was fighting the Interceptor).

Roundshot: Your basic cannonball. Comes in all sizes, from three pounds to thirty-two pounds or more.

Grape/grapeshot: Small iron balls fired in a cluster like shotgun pellets. Fairly ineffective against stone or wood, but devastating against enemy troops/sailors.

Double-shot: To double-shot one's guns was to load two rounds worth of ordinance at one time (ex: roundshot and grapeshot). It packed a larger punch, but was bad for the gun. Triple-shotting a gun would severely damage it.

Canister: lead or iron pellets encased in a container that broke apart on firing or upon impact. Think of it as primitive shrapnel.

^_~

Thank you to all of my reviewers!

Stormy1x2: Thank you! Chibi pirate Jack bouncing angrily in the crows nest is an adorable image *wishes she could draw *, but I must confess that I spent most of the latter half of the chapter focusing on the image of half naked, wet non-chibi Jack ^_~.

Mage Legacy: Thank you! A round of three times three for the Norrington fans! (means everyone cheer in a eighteenth century naval fashion). I didn't think Will would jump into battle against the navy with nary a second thought, after the way he went on about not being a pirate in the movie.

Kaitou Ann: Thank you! *squees at praise * Good song quote, too. *grins * When my Mom and uncles started playing that one at the beach this summer (on guitar, whistle, and banjo, no less), I was nearly overrun with PotC thoughts. *grins wider * My family members can never remember all the words, and end up making up their own verses, like "strap him to a buoy to feed the seagulls."

Soappuppy: Thank you! Oh yeah, I would love to get a handle on Jack. (hey, I'm over eighteen. Johnny Depp could legally date me if he weren't married and old enough to probably think I'm a kid).

Next up, Chapter Ten: In Which Everyone But Norrington is Unhappy.

Stay tuned for pain, angst, and misery from everyone but our favourite Commodore. Same pirate time, same pirate channel.