After an treacherous flight, the two of them finally managed to reach James' office. He flung the door shut behind Sparrow and slid the bolt home, gasping for breath. Sparrow staggered over to his desk and dropped into the leather chair, putting his head between his knees.

"'M too old for this sort of thing," he groaned.

James raised shaking hands to his head. His hat had gone missing, but what he was really concerned about was the orange mess clinging to his wig.

"It's all sticky," he complained, licking the stuff off his fingers.

Sparrow's head popped up. "Here, let me." He pulled James over, nimble fingers tugging at the wig.

"I can't believe they threw marmalade at you," said the pirate, sounding like he was fighting off laughter.

"It isn't as if I have any interest in you," said Norrington crossly, snatching his wig back.

Sparrow's eyes danced as he reached out to brush a bit of marmalade from James' ear, tsking. "You should throw 'em all in jail. Assaulting a naval officer with fruit spread." He licked a fingertip. "And poor quality fruit spread, at that." James swallowed hard, suffering an internal quake at the sight of that tongue slipping out. It wasn't forked, as he had half-expected.

Common sense told him to remove himself from temptation as quickly as possible, so he strode over to the window, looking down upon the horde gathered at the fort's doors. He could just make out Will Turner engaging his father-in-law in a duel, silk parasol tapping against horsehead-tipped walking stick.

"What could possibly have gotten into them?" he said, turning away.

Sparrow shrugged, drawing a feather quill between his fingers. "Can't say. Haven't even been here in months." His nostrils flared and he slapped the quill down on the desk. "That's it! Not here – Tortuga! That doxy cast a spell on me!"

"A spell?" said James, doubt coloring his voice.

Sparrow nodded vigorously. "An' not just any ruddy spell, oh no," he said, pushing himself up from the chair and wagging his finger at James. "A love spell." He spat out the words as if they were bitter to the taste.

"I don't believe in magic," said James faintly. He was out of his element and he really hated that.

Sparrow shrugged. "Don't have t' believe in it, mate. Doesn't change the fact of it."

"Of course," James added, "before now I'd never have believed I would see a priest invite a pirate back to his room."

"You learn new things every day," said Sparrow absently. He had his bottom lip stuck out in thought and he was tapping his nails against his thighs. "What all did we say? Can't remember th' whole..."

"Are you certain this is some type of enchantment? Because a curse is a type of enchantment, too, and I didn't deal very effectively with the last one I encountered."

"Lover like a ship," Jack muttered, lost in thought. "Sea of suitors...one wriggly little fish all for meself..."

James moved nearer and passed a hand in front of his eyes. "Sparrow? Jack? Excuse me?"

Sparrow's gaze suddenly rocketed to his own. "I remember," he breathed. "She wanted to make me see."

"See – see what?" James found it difficult to speak, captivated as he was by the depths and the contours and the currents in Jack's dark eyes – and when had he become Jack?

Just now, James realized, while looking at him like that...

"You," said Jack simply, as though it was something James should have known. Then he was moving closer, too close, and then his lips were closer still until they were finally touching down.

They were nice lips, though the part of James' mind which was still capable of the action. Not smooth, for they belonged to a sailor and so the skin was rough and chapped, but soft all the same. Lush, though not squishy, and firm – not delicate or feminine, certainly not weak. He liked the way they fit against his own, and he liked the neat way they parted. The tip of a tongue came slinking into his mouth cautiously as if it feared being turned away. James flexed his jaw, deepening the kiss and welcoming Jack's tongue with long, sweeping strokes of his own. He tasted rum, and gold, and heat and sun and salt. He felt the tiny thrum deep in Jack's throat, felt the vibrations pass back and forth between them.

Magic, Jack had said. James wouldn't know magic from a hole in the ground, but he did know this, suddenly and unequivocally. He knew that it was the thing casting shadows on the pale imitations Jack had been running from all day. He knew that it was not what woke him at night, sweating and gasping, but instead what caused him to lie awake for hours afterward, curled around the empty ache somewhere deep inside. And he knew that he needed air or he was going to suffocate – still, it wouldn't be the absolute worst way to go...

It was Jack who pulled free, though he didn't go far. His nose touched Norrington's own as he bent his head, staring down at their hands – palms flat to palms, fingers interlaced. James couldn't remember how it had happened.

For long moments they stood still and James breathed, trying to balance himself. Then Jack said, "Gone quiet."

"Yes," James replied, his eyes fixed on the tips of Jack's fingers stroking the back of his hand.

Jack pulled his head back, looked at James with wicked humor in his black eyes. "James. You have a whole mess o' people who may well not remember why they're queued up outside the fort. Yours and mine might be the only fully functional minds in all Port Royal at the present moment."

"I don't feel particularly functional," said James, closing his eyes. Jack was poking fun at him. That was unkind. He should be dealt with. Doing so would require James to move, however, and as the air had settled so nicely around the two of them, he wasn't of a mind to disturb its flow.

Twisting his arms until he could break free, Jack gave him a gentle shove. "Get your shapely arse down there t' make sure we're not disturbed for a good long while.

"Oh," said James, blinking. "That does make sense." He rubbed his hands together. "Could you possibly point me towards the door?"