To James Norrington's surprise, Sparrow did not attempt to break out of his hold or use his dubious charms. Instead he gripped James' forearms tightly, his eyes wide and desperate.

"Listen to me, mate," he said urgently. "You are Commodore James Norrington and you despise me on account o' I'm a pirate and a law-breakin' cur."

James stared at him. "Yes," he said after a moment. "And your point would be?"

An expression of absolute beatific gratitude broke across Sparrow's anxious face. There seemed to be actual tears in his eyes. He dropped to his knees, clinging to James' hands like a drowning victim.

"Oh thank all the gods," he cried out. James stepped back, alarmed and certain that this was some new ploy. Sparrow followed him with an awkward hop-crawl.

"Unhand me this instant!" Finally wrenching himself free, James drew his sword and pointed it at Sparrow. The man sat back on his heels, looking up at him. The thought came unbidden that the position suited him and was one James had seen many times in his dreams, only then Sparrow had never looked quite so calm and James wasn't exactly fending him off.

"Up," he snapped, his fingers clenching spastically on the hilt. Such thoughts were to be disregarded as the bilgewater of an unhinged mind, as was their subject.

The ornaments in Sparrow's hair clinked as he rose smoothly to his feet. He smiled at James, looking for all the world like a man greeting an old and dear friend. "Fancy we should meet again, Commodore. Off for tea with the gov'nor? I hear blueberry scones are on the menu." Suddenly he scowled, tugging on a sleeve. "Myself, I've no interest in his blueberries and he should really learn t' respect that."

James swallowed a sigh, feeling his left eye threatening to twitch. "What are you on about, Sparrow? No," he added, applying the edge of his blade to Sparrow's neck. The pirate went still, though there was still amusement twinkling in his dark eyes. "On second thought, I find myself not caring in the slightest." He jerked his head in the direction of the coach he had just exited. "After you."

Sparrow held up his hands, fingers spread wide. "There's something I oughter explain, mate –"

"I'm sure there is, but do remember the part where I fail to care. Get in."

He pressed his lips tight together, but obeyed. James made certain to look at the cobblestones instead of the rear end bouncing pertly as Sparrow climbed the little iron steps. It was a pity he didn't have any cuffs on him, but he would just have to keep Sparrow cowed with sword and pistol.

Sparrow settled back against the well-upholstered seat, whistling appreciatively. "Quite the spread, Commodore. Velvet, eh?"

"Shut up," said James without emotion, suspecting it would not be the last time he would say that this morning. He kept his attention trained on Sparrow as he tipped his head back and said to the coachman, "Take us to the fort, please."

He could hear the man gasp behind him, but didn't dare take his eyes from his charge, who was looking oddly smug. Ignoring James, he quirked his eyebrows and curved his lips suggestively at the unseen face of the coachman.

"Eyes forward, sir," James ordered. "And you – stop that at once."

"Stop what, Jamie love?" Sparrow inquired, batting his long eyelashes.

James gasped in fearful consternation, crushing a sudden fear that Sparrow had somehow discovered the name he'd been calling out in the night. He resisted the urge to kick him in the shins, but only just.

"You may not address me in such an informal manner, Sparrow."

Sparrow shrugged, flashing white and gold teeth at him. "Your loss." He brought one hand close to his face, studying his nails. "You won't hang me this day, you know," he said without looking up."

"I don't think you are in the position to make such demands," said James. He shifted uncomfortably; his stomach had roiled at the sudden image of Sparrow on the scaffolding, his head lolling at a wrong angle, tongue protruding grotesquely, the brightness gone from his eyes...

For once he was thankful for Sparrow's impertinence, as it served to distract him from the shiver in his blood. "'S not a demand," said Sparrow frankly. "Stone-cold fact. You're welcome t' try, o' course, but I daresay it'll fall through unless you should pull the lever yourself." He met James' eyes across the small coach. "Think you can do that, mate?"

"I'm not your mate," said James, which was not an answer. Sparrow merely looked at him steadily.

The vehicle lurched to a stop, breaking their staring contest. When James reached for the door handle, he was pleasantly surprised to find it opened for him.

"Thank you," he said to his coachman, offering an arm to be assisted in exit. The man took it impatiently and yanked; only James' sense of balance saved him from a fall. He turned, incensed, to see the coachman helping Jack down, treating him like a delicate lady.

"Thankee, loyal manservant," said Jack grandly, lifting his chin.

James glared at his coachman. There was the scent of a sacking in the air, no doubt about that. "That will be all," he said coldly, taking Sparrow by the elbow and hauling him forward.

As it turned out, Lieutenant Groves was the man on duty at the little desk above the descent to the cells. He stood quickly, nearly tipping his chair over, as James dragged Sparrow through the low doorway.

"Just remember, I did warn you," Sparrow murmured. James tried not to think about warm breath gusting over his ear.

"Irons, Lieutenant," he said crisply to Groves. "I believe we have accommodations ready for Mr. Sparrow."

Groves snapped to attention. "Which inn shall I notify, sir, the Dragonfly or the King's Arms?"

James blinked. Groves was well aware of his feelings about inappropriate use of humor on the job. "I meant a cell," he said slowly. "A cell for the captured convict."

"Savvy?" Sparrow added, clicking his heels.

"As soon as possible," Norrington requested of the ceiling. His eyes returned from their heavenward roll to find Jack somehow standing beside Groves. The pirate was leaning against the wall, arms crossed at his chest. Groves was tugging on his wig and ducking his head shyly.

Flummoxed almost to the point of speechlessness, James waved a frustrated hand. They both ignored him.

"So, worked for the commodore long?" Sparrow asked in a conversational tone. Groves blushed like a schoolgirl.

"Theodore," said James harshly, "I gave you an order." He knew of the man's unhealthy fascination with the somewhat better-groomed factions of piracy, but this behavior was inexcusable.

Groves glanced up at him, innocently puzzled. "Surely you weren't serious, sir? I mean, this is – this is Jack Sparrow!"

Sparrow smirked at James and mouthed Told you so.

"Yes, this is indeed Jack Sparrow," said James, trying to keep his voice quiet because he could feel the bellow creeping into it, "and it is our duty to see him incarcerated for his crimes."

"He was framed!" said Groves hotly

"He's a pirate!"

Groves turned his eyes back to Sparrow, gazing at him with no little amount of adoration. "Yes, he is," he sighed. "Isn't that marvelous?"

"Likewise, darling," Sparrow purred.

"That doesn't even make any sense!" James declared. Sparrow chuckled, reaching out to smooth the lapels on Groves' coat but watching James all the while. Groves looked as though he was about to swoon.

There had to be something going on here. Groves had gone barking mad, or Sparrow had managed to drug him somehow, or more likely James was hallucinating the both of them and this was merely a fantasy set-up designed to get to fornicating in a prison cell. It would not be the first time, he had to admit.

James pushed his sleeve back and pinched the flesh on the underside of his arm.

Sparrow was still smirking at him, now stroking a single finger down Groves' jawline. The lieutenant had his eyes closed in rapture as he moved into the touch.

James pinched himself again, harder. He stared down at the reddened half-moon marks, uncomprehending.

"All right," he finally said wearily, casting tired eyes upon Sparrow. "Tell me what is going on. And please stop molesting my lieutenant."

"'Please'?" said Sparrow with approval. "Now we're gettin' somewhere." He disentangled himself from Groves, who whimpered in disappointment.

James stiffened as Sparrow came over and draped an arm across his shoulders. "So sorry – Theodore was it?"

"Teddy, if you like," said Groves, his tanned, handsome face lighting up.

Sparrow's only response to James' mortified fidgeting was to tighten his grip. "Teddy, then. I'm afraid the commodore and I have a...prior engagement." He withdrew his arm, but then startled James into a squeak by patting his arse. Groves' eyes suddenly went flat and dangerous. "I'll be sure t' look you up next time I'm in town, however," said Sparrow graciously. He tugged on James' arm. "Come on, muffin."

James felt the blood rush to his face. He had bypassed eye-twitching and was now beset by a red, heavy throbbing at his temples. Mostly because he was incapable of moving under his own volition, he allowed Sparrow to tug him outside.

"He snores, you know," Groves called sulkily. "And he steals the blankets."

Sparrow looked sideways at him. "Do not ask," he growled. So much for Theodore's solemn word. A commanding officer ought to be able to expect a certain degree of discretion after finding himself ravished by his second lieutenant after five rounds of ale and three choruses of "Bonnie Charlie and the Mermaid's Bosom."

"Come on, muffin." -- Michael Caine to Benjamin Bratt, "Miss Congeniality"