Aftermath
By: L'Morgan
Disclaimer: I guess I really do need to remind you all that anything and everything related to Pirates of the Caribbean, their characters and settings are all the property of Disney - Disney - Disney - nobody - but -Disney ---- I-just-borrowing-to-play-with-and-giving-back. Only Disney can make money on anything to do with Pirates of the Caribbean. NOT ME!
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Summary: Port Royal lies in ruins, the Black Pearl sits in the bay, and just what is Jack Sparrow up to now?!!
Chapter 7: What Kind of Man Am I?
Commodore Norrington entered the fort, avoiding the guards more by accident than by design and hurried to his own quarters. He entered the room and shut the door behind him and leaned against it for a long moment, his mind still in turmoil and emotions roiling.
An attendant had apparently come and lit the lanterns already. Across the room was the large fireplace mantle and above it a large mirror - one that currently reflected a rather bedraggled figure with wig askew, blood smeared on his face and across his shirt and liberally coating his sleeve and middle section. Sparrow's blood.
'I should be dead. By all rights I should have fallen to my death and be no more than a splash of color at the foot of the cliffs for the tide to claim. And why am I not dead?' his mind asked - and the image came of a pirate's face, scrunched up with effort, holding him by one hand for all he was worth. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the door and relieved every single moment of the experience. And that was enough to start him shaking again.
"I would have done the same if it had been he who had fallen," he whispered unevenly.
"True - and then you would have marched him off to the gallows quite happily come dawn." His conscience whispered.
He pushed himself away from the door and started to undo the buttons of his shirt. At least he attempted to. His fingers still didn't want to do his bidding. He looked down to help himself concentrate and stopped breathing. His hands were coated with blood. The blood of a criminal. The blood of a criminal who had saved him from death - only to end up at his mercy as reward for the effort.
'But you DID show him mercy. You tied his wound and even told the Turners where to find him, and that he needed help. Isn't that more than enough? You could have hauled him to the brig and now be anticipating his execution, but you didn't.' his inner voice countered.
"No, I didn't - and I should have. He - the Commodore of Fort Charles, the largest fort in Port Royal and now the only one still intact, had failed to bring the criminal in with him. Instead he had left him there - obviously so his friends could find him and take care of him? What kind of military officer am I?" he thought with great criticism, then rushed to the basin of water in the bathing area and began scrubbing his hands, trying to wash off the blood of the pirate.
The water turned pink as he scrubbed, but he still didn't feel clean. He emptied it and filled it anew and scrubbed again, and again and then quickly undid the buttons and ripped the shirt from his body. He wadded it into a ball and strode to the fireplace where he quickly lit a flame to the thing. He sat back on his knees and watched it burn, pulling off his wig and leaving it on the floor.
'Doesn't change what happened. You were trying to kill the very same man who saved your life,' his inner voice whispered naggingly, making him relive his own vicious, furious strikes at the pirate. He had absolutely aimed with full intent to hurt, to maim, to kill and he had wanted it so badly in that moment .. Then again came the image of the face above him, struggling to pull him to safety.
"The man is a - bloody - pirate -" he whispered, voice quavering heavily in the silence.
'A bloody pirate who pulled you up even though it took the very last of his strength to do so.' His mind whispered, and suddenly he swore he could hear the racing heartbeat that had been beneath his ear, feel the warmth of the body he had landed upon, and the wetness of the wound bleeding profusely over his fingers when he first found it. He could still smell the man's coppery blood in his nostrils. Shakily he rose and returned to wash his arms and chest and hands and face. Once, twice, three times even before finally the scent seemed to be rid of him.
He took the towel and used it to dry. Lowering it from his face, he caught sight of himself in the smaller mirror over the basin.
He froze, again relieving the sound of his sword crashing against the rocks below. So far, far, far below. Where by all rights his body should be lying this very minute as well. He shed his boots and britches, donned a sleep shirt, and returned to the other room. Now the remnants of the blood soaked shirt were nothing more than glowing ash as he went to the liquor cabinet and drew out a glass and a flask and poured a liberal helping of the fluid into it.
The first one he sloshed back into his throat and let it burn its way down. The second one he took to the chair before the fireplace. Dully he tossed a few small pieces of wood atop the embers and watched them catch flame. The colors danced brightly before him, adding to the dim lighting of the room.
He closed his eyes - and saw the slack features before him, intimately close. The man's eyes closed and lips slightly parted, his brow damp from his exertions. His hand limp and lifeless when he brought it up from the ground to lay over his chest - slick with his own blood. No hint of subterfuge, slyness or insolence to him then. No. Just stillness and the strong scent of freshly spilled blood. Just a man - like any other. But - what kind of a man, truly? One he had hoped to kill only minutes before.
'Damn you, Jack Sparrow." He swore in a whisper at the quiet room as the slack features refused to leave his mind.
'Damn the man because he was obviously better than you with the sword - or damn him for being more than you want him to be? He only blocked your blows and countered defensively? Imagine that - somebody you're trying to murder, who had no intention of killing you.' his inner voice jeered.
'He was NOT better than I - and I had no intentions of murder!!' he thought instantly, then winced visibly at seeing in his mind, the scene where the pirate had gotten fed up with his attempts and had so easily dislodged his weapon from his hand and sent it flying. It had been done with as much ease as if he were naught but a clumsy child the pirate was playing with.
It occurred to him to wonder if the pirate was even still alive or if he would survive. Yes, he had tied the man's wound - but he'd seen men die from lesser. The alcohol was finally relaxing his body, he realized as his thoughts slowed. He settled down in the chair. All he needed was a good night's sleep. Yes, that would fix everything - a good night's sleep.
He put aside the glass and slumped in the chair and let his eyes close. Just as he started to drift off he re-lived the moment of Sparrow finally managing to pull him up. What was it the man had said?
'I swear by Neptune's trident that you are the BIGGEST idiot I have ever 'ad the misfortune to meet! ..Tryin' to blow holes in my ship when all I want is to return a few stragglers we found floatin' in the water! If you aren't the world's biggest fool, I don't know who is!"
With a deep groan the Commodore pushed himself up and staggered towards the bedroom. Surely... no .. the man was a criminal and menace to society. No, that just had to have been a lie designed to achieve some daft goal the ridiculous man had in mind.. It had to have been. Surely, it had to have been...
God how he hoped that was all it was..
~ ** ~
It took until the middle of the day before Elizabeth and Will could catch up with Governor Swan, much less for him to have time to talk to them. The look on the man's face when they told him why the pirate ship had come, was priceless. He had nearly choked on his drink and had dropped his pen leaving a large blotch where it had fallen.
"What do you mean Captain Sparrow is in our bay because he has picked up survivors from the earthquake! That was days ago!" he blustered and Elizabeth sat forward.
"They've had them for days sir. Nearly a week now! Doctor Cook is one of them!" Will interjected, and now he stared hard at the both of them.
"I won't ask how you know that William. Why hasn't he flown a flag of truce then? Had them on deck to be seen?" he asked warily.
"Father, the Commodore has been shooting at them since they arrived. If he had put them on deck you would be asking how could he be so reckless with their lives! The fact is that there are survivors on that ship, and we can probably assume it would be nice for them to be on dry land again. Maybe we should have told Jack that you prefer them jumping off the ship and trying not to drown as they attempt to swim to shore - rather than give them safe passage." Elizabeth interjected and he rose shaking his head and signaled for a messenger.
"Yes sir?" the young man reported with and the Governor considered the two of them and then seemed to decide.
"I want to see Commodore Norrington. Have him come at once." He said, and the man quickly left the room.
~ ** ~
For possibly the one hundredth time, Commodore Norrington wished he was not about to do this. It had been bad enough being summoned to the Governor's mansion - and spending well over an hour being drawn into this plan of the Governor's. A plan he still felt had to be based on the lie of a pirate. Somehow both Elizabeth and the Turner lad had 'forgotten' to mention the events on the cliff. Not that he had volunteered to relate the sequence of those events either, he had to admit.
He shook his head to himself. It was just incomprehensible to him that a pirate like Sparrow would be bringing back persons unnamed that he'd pulled from the sea. Even if by odd chance he had found someone, surely they hadn't been actively looking for anyone. And one thing was for certain he knew.. If Jack Sparrow had survivors on that ship of his, there was bound to be a demand for something in return for releasing them. No man so conniving would let such an opportunity for ransom, or at least handsome payment pass him by. But - but now this?
He sighed as he watched the sailors ready the small fishing boat, attaching the very large white flag to the fantail. How embarrassing. If anything, it should be Sparrow who ran up the white. However the Governor was right about one aspect. Disease and illness had been spreading throughout the surviving populace faster than wildfire. People were dying every day from it as well as from injuries, and if the good doctor was on that ship..
They set out and slowly moved towards the dark ship in the bay, making sure they were well seen far ahead of time. Norrington saw several people come to the railing, but none of them looked to be Sparrow himself. That thought caused a twinge of guilt that he quickly thrust aside. Finally they came up to the side of the ship and an older man came to the side.
Norrington raised a hand to shield his eyes, and did a double take of surprise. He knew that man! He had served in the Royal Navy for years!
"Mr. Gibbs?" he called up.
"Aye Commodore, what'cha be wantin?" the sailor called back rather gruffly.
"Would you put down a ladder please? I would like to speak to your captain about the release of the passengers you have on board. If you even actually have said persons?" He said, regaining his stiff attitude, and the man cocked his head as if appraising him.
"Aye, we have some Commodore, but no, we won't be putting down any kind of ladders for ye. I can hear ye' just fine from there." He said and the military man scowled.
"We could take the passengers right here and now and be done with this -" Norrington said sternly and now the man chuckled with a look of amusement.
"Not hardly Commodore! 'Sides, Captain Jack says he'll deliver them at noon tomorrow if you'd like." He said and now Norrington frowned more.
"I am afraid I need to hear that from him directly, if you don't mind." He said and now Gibbs looked back over his shoulder, obviously talking to someone.
In a moment or so another figure came to the rail. This one the Commodore recognized instantly as well. So the good Doctor Cook was indeed one of the survivors.
"I am very glad to see you Doctor! There are many in the town in need of your assistance! We could take you back with us -" he offered quickly and the man shook his head before he even finished.
'No thank you Commodore. At the moment I have a patient here who is having a bit of a difficult time of it. I realize there are many who need my help, but right now I can't just leave. Nor will any others. There is no way my patient would stay where I want him if we started all of that now. You owe the man at least that." He said, the last with an element that Norrington interpreted as being accusatory. So the doctor had treated Sparrow's wound.
"We could bring the patient with you, if you'd prefer." He offered and the one shook his head.
"No thank you Commodore. I don't want him moved or disturbed now unless it's absolutely essential. You can wait. One more night won't hurt any of us here. Anyone in town you have who is in that dire of need, I can't just walk up to and cure anyway. I have often wished medicine worked that way, but it just doesn't. Not in our day and age. This patient I can save - at least I hope so anyway - provided the stubborn fool will do what I say for once. He's been having a very, very difficult day. I just can't leave right now." He said with determination in his voice and bearing and Norrington sighed.
"We can make accommodation sir-" he started, but the man abruptly turned away to look behind him and down the deck.
"Captain Sparrow! - Jack! What do you think you're doing!!" he started, and in a brief moment there came a definite heavy thud on the deck above and the doctor abruptly left. Even Gibbs seemed to wince and then stared in the same direction for a long moment with a concerned look. Finally he turned back to Norrington with a dark frown.
"Commodore Norrington, I think you've done quite enough for us for a bit here. Its' much safer for you right now, down there in your little boat. The crew of the Pearl might not be takin' to you so kindly at the moment." he said and left off to look back again to where the sound had come from.
"We'll see you tomorrow at noon - or send a messenger telling you when we can. Good day t' ye sir." He said now, coldness heavy in his tone as he abruptly set off towards the source of the sound as well.
"Alright then," Norrington agreed solemnly - to himself - since everyone seemed to have left the railing. Such rudeness! Then the image of the pirates' slack features at intimate range and his blood-soaked clothing came to mind and he stiffened severely.
Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to get far away from that ship - far, far, away - and as quickly as possible. Still, even halfway back to the shore, he could still hear the echo of that definite 'thud' from the deck above. True, no one had told him what it was, and he couldn't prove it - but his imagination was more than willing to provide images to explain it. Images he frankly would rather not have in his head..
Nor on his conscience, he realized with reluctance.
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Disclaimer: I guess I really do need to remind you all that anything and everything related to Pirates of the Caribbean, their characters and settings are all the property of Disney - Disney - Disney - nobody - but -Disney ---- I-just-borrowing-to-play-with-and-giving-back. Only Disney can make money on anything to do with Pirates of the Caribbean. NOT ME!
*************************
Summary: Port Royal lies in ruins, the Black Pearl sits in the bay, and just what is Jack Sparrow up to now?!!
Chapter 7: What Kind of Man Am I?
Commodore Norrington entered the fort, avoiding the guards more by accident than by design and hurried to his own quarters. He entered the room and shut the door behind him and leaned against it for a long moment, his mind still in turmoil and emotions roiling.
An attendant had apparently come and lit the lanterns already. Across the room was the large fireplace mantle and above it a large mirror - one that currently reflected a rather bedraggled figure with wig askew, blood smeared on his face and across his shirt and liberally coating his sleeve and middle section. Sparrow's blood.
'I should be dead. By all rights I should have fallen to my death and be no more than a splash of color at the foot of the cliffs for the tide to claim. And why am I not dead?' his mind asked - and the image came of a pirate's face, scrunched up with effort, holding him by one hand for all he was worth. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the door and relieved every single moment of the experience. And that was enough to start him shaking again.
"I would have done the same if it had been he who had fallen," he whispered unevenly.
"True - and then you would have marched him off to the gallows quite happily come dawn." His conscience whispered.
He pushed himself away from the door and started to undo the buttons of his shirt. At least he attempted to. His fingers still didn't want to do his bidding. He looked down to help himself concentrate and stopped breathing. His hands were coated with blood. The blood of a criminal. The blood of a criminal who had saved him from death - only to end up at his mercy as reward for the effort.
'But you DID show him mercy. You tied his wound and even told the Turners where to find him, and that he needed help. Isn't that more than enough? You could have hauled him to the brig and now be anticipating his execution, but you didn't.' his inner voice countered.
"No, I didn't - and I should have. He - the Commodore of Fort Charles, the largest fort in Port Royal and now the only one still intact, had failed to bring the criminal in with him. Instead he had left him there - obviously so his friends could find him and take care of him? What kind of military officer am I?" he thought with great criticism, then rushed to the basin of water in the bathing area and began scrubbing his hands, trying to wash off the blood of the pirate.
The water turned pink as he scrubbed, but he still didn't feel clean. He emptied it and filled it anew and scrubbed again, and again and then quickly undid the buttons and ripped the shirt from his body. He wadded it into a ball and strode to the fireplace where he quickly lit a flame to the thing. He sat back on his knees and watched it burn, pulling off his wig and leaving it on the floor.
'Doesn't change what happened. You were trying to kill the very same man who saved your life,' his inner voice whispered naggingly, making him relive his own vicious, furious strikes at the pirate. He had absolutely aimed with full intent to hurt, to maim, to kill and he had wanted it so badly in that moment .. Then again came the image of the face above him, struggling to pull him to safety.
"The man is a - bloody - pirate -" he whispered, voice quavering heavily in the silence.
'A bloody pirate who pulled you up even though it took the very last of his strength to do so.' His mind whispered, and suddenly he swore he could hear the racing heartbeat that had been beneath his ear, feel the warmth of the body he had landed upon, and the wetness of the wound bleeding profusely over his fingers when he first found it. He could still smell the man's coppery blood in his nostrils. Shakily he rose and returned to wash his arms and chest and hands and face. Once, twice, three times even before finally the scent seemed to be rid of him.
He took the towel and used it to dry. Lowering it from his face, he caught sight of himself in the smaller mirror over the basin.
He froze, again relieving the sound of his sword crashing against the rocks below. So far, far, far below. Where by all rights his body should be lying this very minute as well. He shed his boots and britches, donned a sleep shirt, and returned to the other room. Now the remnants of the blood soaked shirt were nothing more than glowing ash as he went to the liquor cabinet and drew out a glass and a flask and poured a liberal helping of the fluid into it.
The first one he sloshed back into his throat and let it burn its way down. The second one he took to the chair before the fireplace. Dully he tossed a few small pieces of wood atop the embers and watched them catch flame. The colors danced brightly before him, adding to the dim lighting of the room.
He closed his eyes - and saw the slack features before him, intimately close. The man's eyes closed and lips slightly parted, his brow damp from his exertions. His hand limp and lifeless when he brought it up from the ground to lay over his chest - slick with his own blood. No hint of subterfuge, slyness or insolence to him then. No. Just stillness and the strong scent of freshly spilled blood. Just a man - like any other. But - what kind of a man, truly? One he had hoped to kill only minutes before.
'Damn you, Jack Sparrow." He swore in a whisper at the quiet room as the slack features refused to leave his mind.
'Damn the man because he was obviously better than you with the sword - or damn him for being more than you want him to be? He only blocked your blows and countered defensively? Imagine that - somebody you're trying to murder, who had no intention of killing you.' his inner voice jeered.
'He was NOT better than I - and I had no intentions of murder!!' he thought instantly, then winced visibly at seeing in his mind, the scene where the pirate had gotten fed up with his attempts and had so easily dislodged his weapon from his hand and sent it flying. It had been done with as much ease as if he were naught but a clumsy child the pirate was playing with.
It occurred to him to wonder if the pirate was even still alive or if he would survive. Yes, he had tied the man's wound - but he'd seen men die from lesser. The alcohol was finally relaxing his body, he realized as his thoughts slowed. He settled down in the chair. All he needed was a good night's sleep. Yes, that would fix everything - a good night's sleep.
He put aside the glass and slumped in the chair and let his eyes close. Just as he started to drift off he re-lived the moment of Sparrow finally managing to pull him up. What was it the man had said?
'I swear by Neptune's trident that you are the BIGGEST idiot I have ever 'ad the misfortune to meet! ..Tryin' to blow holes in my ship when all I want is to return a few stragglers we found floatin' in the water! If you aren't the world's biggest fool, I don't know who is!"
With a deep groan the Commodore pushed himself up and staggered towards the bedroom. Surely... no .. the man was a criminal and menace to society. No, that just had to have been a lie designed to achieve some daft goal the ridiculous man had in mind.. It had to have been. Surely, it had to have been...
God how he hoped that was all it was..
~ ** ~
It took until the middle of the day before Elizabeth and Will could catch up with Governor Swan, much less for him to have time to talk to them. The look on the man's face when they told him why the pirate ship had come, was priceless. He had nearly choked on his drink and had dropped his pen leaving a large blotch where it had fallen.
"What do you mean Captain Sparrow is in our bay because he has picked up survivors from the earthquake! That was days ago!" he blustered and Elizabeth sat forward.
"They've had them for days sir. Nearly a week now! Doctor Cook is one of them!" Will interjected, and now he stared hard at the both of them.
"I won't ask how you know that William. Why hasn't he flown a flag of truce then? Had them on deck to be seen?" he asked warily.
"Father, the Commodore has been shooting at them since they arrived. If he had put them on deck you would be asking how could he be so reckless with their lives! The fact is that there are survivors on that ship, and we can probably assume it would be nice for them to be on dry land again. Maybe we should have told Jack that you prefer them jumping off the ship and trying not to drown as they attempt to swim to shore - rather than give them safe passage." Elizabeth interjected and he rose shaking his head and signaled for a messenger.
"Yes sir?" the young man reported with and the Governor considered the two of them and then seemed to decide.
"I want to see Commodore Norrington. Have him come at once." He said, and the man quickly left the room.
~ ** ~
For possibly the one hundredth time, Commodore Norrington wished he was not about to do this. It had been bad enough being summoned to the Governor's mansion - and spending well over an hour being drawn into this plan of the Governor's. A plan he still felt had to be based on the lie of a pirate. Somehow both Elizabeth and the Turner lad had 'forgotten' to mention the events on the cliff. Not that he had volunteered to relate the sequence of those events either, he had to admit.
He shook his head to himself. It was just incomprehensible to him that a pirate like Sparrow would be bringing back persons unnamed that he'd pulled from the sea. Even if by odd chance he had found someone, surely they hadn't been actively looking for anyone. And one thing was for certain he knew.. If Jack Sparrow had survivors on that ship of his, there was bound to be a demand for something in return for releasing them. No man so conniving would let such an opportunity for ransom, or at least handsome payment pass him by. But - but now this?
He sighed as he watched the sailors ready the small fishing boat, attaching the very large white flag to the fantail. How embarrassing. If anything, it should be Sparrow who ran up the white. However the Governor was right about one aspect. Disease and illness had been spreading throughout the surviving populace faster than wildfire. People were dying every day from it as well as from injuries, and if the good doctor was on that ship..
They set out and slowly moved towards the dark ship in the bay, making sure they were well seen far ahead of time. Norrington saw several people come to the railing, but none of them looked to be Sparrow himself. That thought caused a twinge of guilt that he quickly thrust aside. Finally they came up to the side of the ship and an older man came to the side.
Norrington raised a hand to shield his eyes, and did a double take of surprise. He knew that man! He had served in the Royal Navy for years!
"Mr. Gibbs?" he called up.
"Aye Commodore, what'cha be wantin?" the sailor called back rather gruffly.
"Would you put down a ladder please? I would like to speak to your captain about the release of the passengers you have on board. If you even actually have said persons?" He said, regaining his stiff attitude, and the man cocked his head as if appraising him.
"Aye, we have some Commodore, but no, we won't be putting down any kind of ladders for ye. I can hear ye' just fine from there." He said and the military man scowled.
"We could take the passengers right here and now and be done with this -" Norrington said sternly and now the man chuckled with a look of amusement.
"Not hardly Commodore! 'Sides, Captain Jack says he'll deliver them at noon tomorrow if you'd like." He said and now Norrington frowned more.
"I am afraid I need to hear that from him directly, if you don't mind." He said and now Gibbs looked back over his shoulder, obviously talking to someone.
In a moment or so another figure came to the rail. This one the Commodore recognized instantly as well. So the good Doctor Cook was indeed one of the survivors.
"I am very glad to see you Doctor! There are many in the town in need of your assistance! We could take you back with us -" he offered quickly and the man shook his head before he even finished.
'No thank you Commodore. At the moment I have a patient here who is having a bit of a difficult time of it. I realize there are many who need my help, but right now I can't just leave. Nor will any others. There is no way my patient would stay where I want him if we started all of that now. You owe the man at least that." He said, the last with an element that Norrington interpreted as being accusatory. So the doctor had treated Sparrow's wound.
"We could bring the patient with you, if you'd prefer." He offered and the one shook his head.
"No thank you Commodore. I don't want him moved or disturbed now unless it's absolutely essential. You can wait. One more night won't hurt any of us here. Anyone in town you have who is in that dire of need, I can't just walk up to and cure anyway. I have often wished medicine worked that way, but it just doesn't. Not in our day and age. This patient I can save - at least I hope so anyway - provided the stubborn fool will do what I say for once. He's been having a very, very difficult day. I just can't leave right now." He said with determination in his voice and bearing and Norrington sighed.
"We can make accommodation sir-" he started, but the man abruptly turned away to look behind him and down the deck.
"Captain Sparrow! - Jack! What do you think you're doing!!" he started, and in a brief moment there came a definite heavy thud on the deck above and the doctor abruptly left. Even Gibbs seemed to wince and then stared in the same direction for a long moment with a concerned look. Finally he turned back to Norrington with a dark frown.
"Commodore Norrington, I think you've done quite enough for us for a bit here. Its' much safer for you right now, down there in your little boat. The crew of the Pearl might not be takin' to you so kindly at the moment." he said and left off to look back again to where the sound had come from.
"We'll see you tomorrow at noon - or send a messenger telling you when we can. Good day t' ye sir." He said now, coldness heavy in his tone as he abruptly set off towards the source of the sound as well.
"Alright then," Norrington agreed solemnly - to himself - since everyone seemed to have left the railing. Such rudeness! Then the image of the pirates' slack features at intimate range and his blood-soaked clothing came to mind and he stiffened severely.
Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to get far away from that ship - far, far, away - and as quickly as possible. Still, even halfway back to the shore, he could still hear the echo of that definite 'thud' from the deck above. True, no one had told him what it was, and he couldn't prove it - but his imagination was more than willing to provide images to explain it. Images he frankly would rather not have in his head..
Nor on his conscience, he realized with reluctance.
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