He hadn't known how panicky he'd feel when faced with the prospect of Jack
actually dying. Before, when Jack was to hang, he hadn't felt anything
remotely like this, most likely because Will was rushing ahead to save him.
His lack of knowledge may have mainly been based on one's ability to only realize feelings that run along these lines when the one they feel for is mortally wounded, or something as such. He was unwilling to admit to feelings he'd denied so much, he hadn't known he'd had them, until recently.
Looking down at the cloudy brown eyes staring past him, he feels revealing tears gather at the corners of his eyes. "Don't you dare, Jack Sparrow, don't you dare die."
His voice brings out the smallest sound he'd ever heard come from Jack Sparrow, "Norrington." and it breaks his heart to hear it. He's aware that his hands are shaking, and not only from making them shake Jack from their hold on his vest and shirt.
When Jack's bloody hand rises to touch his cheek, his heart jumps slightly at feeling the quickly cooling skin against his; then, the hand is gone, sliding down his arm to rest heavily against the stone of the fort. He almost smiles reassuringly at Jack, then he notices the brown eyes glazing over once more, before slipping closed, body going limp.
An overwhelming urge to scream rises within him, but he holds the feeling down. He rips off his blue jacket and lays it aside, then tugs at the cream colored shirt underneath. Pulling it out of his trousers and making quick work of the buttons, he shrugs it off his shoulders, leaving him bare- chested. He tears at one of the sleeves, detaching it from the rest of the shirt, and folds it up, pushing Jacks shirts aside to place the fabric over the wound. Turning back to the ripped Navy shirt, he takes the other sleeve off as well, ripping down to the cufflink on both sides before wrapping it around Jack's waist to hold the makeshift bandage in place.
He says nothing to Will, Elizabeth or the Governor as he picks up Jack's body and carries it to the doctor's home, ignoring everyone's indignant stares at his naked torso.
~*~*~*~ A pale finger traces along tanned skin, brushes across dark eyebrows and closed eyelids, down over a straight nose, lingering on pale rosy lips before moving on to caress the twin braids of a beard.
A few moments pass before the finger continues traveling, down a long neck to a collarbone, which receives almost as much attention as the braids did. A small sigh passes the previously visited lips, and the finger stills its movement.
When the smaller body is still again, the finger resumes its quest, down a smooth chest, stroking along a muscled stomach, to stop at a slightly bloodstained bandage. The finger is joined by two others, all three gently toying with the edge of the white fabric.
"S'not nice t' molest an injured man," a weak voice sounds.
A scowl appears and the fingers retreat, along with the rest of the body. "I was not molesting you."
Paled lips curve up into a pained grin. "What would you call it then?"
Blushing, the taller of the two turns his head away, cursing himself for allowing himself a moment of weakness to mildly worship the other's body. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Ah, denial again, Norrington? a voice whispers in his head. The scowl returns.
"That look is quite becoming on you, Commodore." It was amazing how that voice could still hold onto its charm when the owner was in pain.
"I should have dumped you off the fort when I had the chance," even though he knows he wouldn't have. The evidence was quite clear in the way that Sparrow could draw a blush from him.
"You wouldn't really have, would you?" That knowing look in those dark eyes. Most irritating. And the bastard knew it, too. A sigh came from the pirate. "I don't suppose I could get any water, could I? Or some rum?"
"I'm not your slave, Jack Sparrow -"
"Captain, mate, Captain."
Norrington continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. "You are very capable of it yourself. You've been resting for a week -"
"A week!"
"So I doubt it'll do much damage. You are the rudest human being I have ever laid eyes on," he adds exasperatedly.
"S'part of me charm," Jack mumbles as he carefully sits up, the ache in his side not changing much from how it was when laying down. "Where's the kitchen?" He attempts to stand up straight, but a sharp pain prevents him from doing so and he almost falls over, if not for the hand suddenly attached to his arm. His eyes travel up a loose-fabric covered arm to meet green eyes. He cocks his head to the side in sudden curiosity, remembering the same green eyes being filled with tears the last time he'd seen them up close.
"It's this way," Norrington replies before he can open his mouth, and he's being led away by the arm. He smiles at the memory this movement sparks. ~*~*~*~
His lack of knowledge may have mainly been based on one's ability to only realize feelings that run along these lines when the one they feel for is mortally wounded, or something as such. He was unwilling to admit to feelings he'd denied so much, he hadn't known he'd had them, until recently.
Looking down at the cloudy brown eyes staring past him, he feels revealing tears gather at the corners of his eyes. "Don't you dare, Jack Sparrow, don't you dare die."
His voice brings out the smallest sound he'd ever heard come from Jack Sparrow, "Norrington." and it breaks his heart to hear it. He's aware that his hands are shaking, and not only from making them shake Jack from their hold on his vest and shirt.
When Jack's bloody hand rises to touch his cheek, his heart jumps slightly at feeling the quickly cooling skin against his; then, the hand is gone, sliding down his arm to rest heavily against the stone of the fort. He almost smiles reassuringly at Jack, then he notices the brown eyes glazing over once more, before slipping closed, body going limp.
An overwhelming urge to scream rises within him, but he holds the feeling down. He rips off his blue jacket and lays it aside, then tugs at the cream colored shirt underneath. Pulling it out of his trousers and making quick work of the buttons, he shrugs it off his shoulders, leaving him bare- chested. He tears at one of the sleeves, detaching it from the rest of the shirt, and folds it up, pushing Jacks shirts aside to place the fabric over the wound. Turning back to the ripped Navy shirt, he takes the other sleeve off as well, ripping down to the cufflink on both sides before wrapping it around Jack's waist to hold the makeshift bandage in place.
He says nothing to Will, Elizabeth or the Governor as he picks up Jack's body and carries it to the doctor's home, ignoring everyone's indignant stares at his naked torso.
~*~*~*~ A pale finger traces along tanned skin, brushes across dark eyebrows and closed eyelids, down over a straight nose, lingering on pale rosy lips before moving on to caress the twin braids of a beard.
A few moments pass before the finger continues traveling, down a long neck to a collarbone, which receives almost as much attention as the braids did. A small sigh passes the previously visited lips, and the finger stills its movement.
When the smaller body is still again, the finger resumes its quest, down a smooth chest, stroking along a muscled stomach, to stop at a slightly bloodstained bandage. The finger is joined by two others, all three gently toying with the edge of the white fabric.
"S'not nice t' molest an injured man," a weak voice sounds.
A scowl appears and the fingers retreat, along with the rest of the body. "I was not molesting you."
Paled lips curve up into a pained grin. "What would you call it then?"
Blushing, the taller of the two turns his head away, cursing himself for allowing himself a moment of weakness to mildly worship the other's body. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Ah, denial again, Norrington? a voice whispers in his head. The scowl returns.
"That look is quite becoming on you, Commodore." It was amazing how that voice could still hold onto its charm when the owner was in pain.
"I should have dumped you off the fort when I had the chance," even though he knows he wouldn't have. The evidence was quite clear in the way that Sparrow could draw a blush from him.
"You wouldn't really have, would you?" That knowing look in those dark eyes. Most irritating. And the bastard knew it, too. A sigh came from the pirate. "I don't suppose I could get any water, could I? Or some rum?"
"I'm not your slave, Jack Sparrow -"
"Captain, mate, Captain."
Norrington continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. "You are very capable of it yourself. You've been resting for a week -"
"A week!"
"So I doubt it'll do much damage. You are the rudest human being I have ever laid eyes on," he adds exasperatedly.
"S'part of me charm," Jack mumbles as he carefully sits up, the ache in his side not changing much from how it was when laying down. "Where's the kitchen?" He attempts to stand up straight, but a sharp pain prevents him from doing so and he almost falls over, if not for the hand suddenly attached to his arm. His eyes travel up a loose-fabric covered arm to meet green eyes. He cocks his head to the side in sudden curiosity, remembering the same green eyes being filled with tears the last time he'd seen them up close.
"It's this way," Norrington replies before he can open his mouth, and he's being led away by the arm. He smiles at the memory this movement sparks. ~*~*~*~