Well! I actually did intend to get Jack shot this chapter, and then blame it on you guys, but I got so many responses from last time that I just can't do it in good conscience. I suppose I won't make a running threat to his health, but I'll at least offer a bit of incentive: the more you encourage me, the quicker I write. Really! I should be reading Plato for school, but this is just so much better…
Anyway, a few responses to reviews:
To Emiri-chan: if you like angst, check out my other story One Day's Head Start, and see Jack bite the big one. (Sorry, Jack!)
To the several who giggled over "hoist-the-colours": There are a whole bunch of nautical/piratical phrases that just sound wrong when viewed through a pervert-lens like the one I am (un)fortunate enough to possess. I may find an occasion to use others in some later chapters.
To everyone who begged me not to hurt Jack: I promise he won't die. I think that's about all I can promise conclusively, though…
To starlance and Serendipity Harley Quinn : Yup, I'm going to make the chapters longer from here on out.
To Elske: Your beloved Gilette will be protected from cheesiness in my story. I actually do think interesting stuff could be written about him, but I'm not sure it'll fit in here. But don't worry, I won't write anything super-cheezy about him…I'm sure you've seen what's already out there *shudder*.
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A week later, it had still not blown over.
The crew now referred to Norrington exclusively by his ridiculous sobriquet. They called him Bloody to his face, and in conversation he was usually "Jack's bloody friend." He still nursed a vague hope that he might one day get his name back, but he was rapidly learning to answer to "Hey, there, Bloody," without resentment. There was no sense in running one's head into a brick wall, was there?
He had yet to get used to the amount of leisure time involved in the life of a pirate. Until now he had never questioned the necessity for watches and the high level of maintenance that kept sailors so busy aboard ordinary ships, but he was beginning to warm up to the idea that he could sprawl on deck and nap in the sun, or climb the rigging for the sheer joy of feeling the wind try to toss him into the sea. What's more, nobody would look at him strangely either way. It was none of their business how he spent his time.
They (including Ana Maria, a fact which never ceased to amaze and embarrass him) seemed to prefer drinking to thinking, but that suited him even better. He could go aloft while the rest of the crew sang unintelligibly or told wildly inaccurate stories, and just think. In the mornings, while they fought hangovers and performed half-hearted repair work, he could do his share quickly (at least, what he estimated his share to be – there was of course no set division of labor) and then have time to explore the ship or, if he was feeling really ambitious, talk to Jack.
He told himself that he was only doing it to get new ideas for when he returned to his old position as Commodore.
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"Oy! Bloody! Are you busy?"
Norrington shook his head. He was sitting in the shade of a keg, arms wrapped around his knees, watching the men try to impart seduction tips to the parrot.
Jack came and sat on the keg, dangling his legs down on either side of his bloody friend, and said, "The crew's been complaining about you."
"What?" Norrington craned his neck to look up, but then, on finding himself face-to-crotch with his captain, scooted away and sat against the mast instead. "What have I done wrong?"
"Wrong? Nothing," Jack assured him, unable to suppress a smile at the lost-little-boy tone Norrington had unknowingly adopted. "They just expected you to be a bit more social. They think you feel like an outsider."
Norrington drew himself up proudly and stopped slouching. "I am an outsider. I don't wish to be-"
"Come off it, Bloody, we're not blind. You love it here."
Norrington shrugged. "It's not as bad as it might be," he allowed. "Still, I look forward to the day when I'll be sent back to where I belong."
"You don't belong in a wig any more than I do."
At the idea of Jack in a wig, Norrington had to crack a smile, but then decided to get aggressive in order to point the conversation away from himself. "And you? Haven't you given any thought yourself to giving up piracy? You can't live this way forever. What will you do afterwards?"
"Afterwards?" Jack looked surprised. "There is no afterwards." He smiled. "Although, I do intend to be rich enough – soon – that piracy is no longer a financial necessity."
Norrington didn't like the tone one bit. "I told you, I'll have no part in any plans to-"
"Relax." Jack waved him to silence. "I didn't say I'd do it immediately, and anyway, it's nothing you'd object to."
They were interrupted by a shout from Ana Maria, who was acting as lookout. "Captain Sparrow! Sails!"
Jack got to his feet, nodding to show that he had heard, and stretched unconcernedly. "I'm coming, love," he called back.
The smile he shot in her direction made Norrington wonder. "No – really. Have you ever even considered a respectable life, Sparrow? A job, a home…marriage?"
"Marriage?" Jack's confusion seemed perfectly genuine. "You're joking."
Jack crossed the ship to take the spyglass from Ana Maria, with some lewd comment that got him slapped for the fourth time that day. Norrington hadn't been joking, but when he saw that, he decided he might as well have been.
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It was an enticingly helpless little merchant ship, pocket-change compared to the sort of thing the Pearl really could rob, but Jack decided to chase her anyway.
Norrington, of course, had a lot to say about that, but Jack shut him up quickly. "Nobody's asking you to help out, mate. You can go below, all right? You don't even have to watch." He turned to the crew and began barking orders, not even bothering to watch Norrington leave the deck.
The fight was so easy it was practically no fight at all. All they needed was a bit of cannon fire, and the merchant ship made only token resistance before surrendering. Jack stepped aboard, decked out in his best pirate regalia, looking as fierce as he knew how, and scanned the prisoners briefly. They were all quaking in terror, and it was just too tempting to resist.
"Someone go fetch our very bloody friend," Jack growled in the perfect stillness. One of the captured sailors closed his eyes and swallowed, and Jack had the distinct impression the man was trying hard not to throw up.
Gibbs crossed back to the Pearl and returned a moment later with Norrington in tow. Jack made the mistake of glancing over his shoulder at them, and found himself absolutely riveted by what he saw.
Norrington suddenly looked every inch a pirate. How did I not notice that before, Jack wondered. He was barefoot to have better traction on the slippery decks. His pants, cut off raggedly at the knee, were held by a ratty belt that looked beautifully incongruous with the elegant sword that hung from it. He had finally given up tucking his shirt in, and it hung loose and open to reveal skin that had clearly been getting some much-needed sunlight in recent days. His hair was a mess, and his beloved Navy hat was jammed lopsidedly on his head. Most importantly, he had lost the military stiffness and dignity he had initially taken such pains to preserve. For the first time, he looked sulky and rebellious, like a proper pirate should.
"You said I wouldn't have to-" he complained, then gasped, "Jack!" One of the prisoners had drawn a weapon while Jack's back was turned. Norrington's hand flew to his pistol and he fired without hesitation, even before Jack had time to whirl around and see what the trouble was.
Cursing himself for his moment of thoughtlessness, Jack took in the situation quickly. His crew was only now registering the danger he'd been in. A quick glance told him that the writhing, screaming prisoner no longer posed much of a threat, and so he turned to see how his rescuer was holding up.
Norrington had paled a bit but spoke up briskly enough. "That shot was not meant to kill," he called out over the wailing, sounding as crisp and clear as when he'd ruled a Navy ship. He stuck the spent pistol in his belt, drew another, and cocked it. "The next one will be."
"And that's only if you're lucky," Jack amended, shooting a wolfish smile in the prisoners' direction. Quite aware (and annoyed) that Norrington had stolen the show this time, he signaled to his crew to begin looting.
In under half an hour, the ship was relieved of everything of value and the pirates were ready to depart. Jack studied the wounded prisoner, who still lay on the ground whimpering. "How much ransom d'you think you're worth, son?" he asked cheerfully.
The sailor's eyes widened in terror and he passed out.
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Back on the Pearl, Norrington was snapping and snarling like a puppy. "Look at this! Now we have a prisoner. And a dying one at that. He's worth nothing. What do you propose we-"
"We had no choice and you know it," Jack said wearily. "We took their medicine chest and most of their food. If we'd left him there he'd never have made it back to port."
"You're a pirate. Killing innocent people is your job. Why make an exception now when it's only going to cause us trouble?"
"Well, for one thing, we know they'll deliver my letter," Jack reminded him. "I told them we'd torture him to death if they don't."
Norrington stared skywards, praying for patience. "No, you told them I would torture him to death if they don't. I'm just lucky no one recognized me." He scowled. "And you called me Bloody in front of everyone! And I shot someone."
"Yes, I know. Thanks, by the way – he'd have killed me."
"I should have let him. I can't believe I shot someone. God help me, I shot an innocent sailor…"
"Not quite innocent, mate – he was going to shoot me in the back. You really scared them all, you know. You'll have a reputation after today."
"I don't want a reputation," Norrington snapped, but he sounded childish and unconvincing, even to himself.
Jack seemed to know exactly what was passing through his head. "Quiet," he ordered. "Or I'll make things really difficult for you…" He smiled wickedly. "I'll offer to take you home."
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Remember, the more I hear, the more excited I get, and the faster I translate from my head onto the computer…