Title: Breaking Fast, Chapter Three
Author: Zath Chauvert
Rating: PG-13
Feedback: Yes, please! Click that "Review" button! Remember, feedback is the only way I can know that anyone is reading this. Having an audience makes me happy, and a happy Zath is more inclined to update than a Zath who feels ignored.
Disclaimer: They're still not mine, and I'm still not making any profit from this.
Warning: I'm saying it again, just in case. Everyone say it with me now. This story contains slash, a.k.a. homosexuality, and references to having multiple sexual partners at the same time. There isn't anything graphic, but if just the concepts are enough to upset you, then you should stop reading right now. You have been warned.
Author's Note: Arrgh! I really need to apologize for the long delay between chapters. I started a new job a month ago and have had virtually no free time since then. *sigh* I had really hoped to have finished this story by now. At least Real Life's interference comes with a paycheck this time. Anyway, for those of you who are worrying (hopefully there's someone out there who still cares enough to worry), I have the whole story mapped out. It's just a matter of converting the outline into something with dialogue, description, punctuation, and all that other good stuff that usually makes a piece readable. It'll take longer than previously expected, but it will happen, so have no fear on that front. Also, I'd like to say a very big "Thank You!" to everyone who has reviewed and given feedback for this story. Your support is the only thing that is keeping me from junking this project and going off to fight with the pattern for my Halloween costume. :)
Breaking Fast
By Zath Chauvert

Chapter Three: Rising Action

Gillette began feeling immeasurably better the moment he stepped out into the open air, and his newly acquired good mood persisted despite the fact that most of his beloved beer had been left behind in its mug. O'Keefe and Blackthorne had both watched him go, so he suspected that the ample remainder of his evening's libations would be on its way down the throat of either one midshipman or the other long before one of the Flying Manatee's serving wenches managed to stop by the table to clean up. Both young gentlemen were famous for doing that sort of thing. However, it was a small price to pay for being rid of that girl and being on his way towards bigger and better things. If all went well, he would be a richer and much more satisfied man before dawn. He was looking forward to the eventual confrontation with Sparrow. It was long overdue. He got his bearings and, with a spring in his step, strode off in the direction of Commodore Norrington's house.

From behind, Gillette could hear Groves's voice calling out through the night, "I say there, Art! Art!" but he continued walking. "Ho, Arthur!" Still, Gillette continued walking. His stiff leather shoes tapped out a steady, persistent rhythm on the street's slightly uneven paving stones. It was several blocks before Groves, who was trailing one of his women off each arm, managed to catch up. "For God's sake, Gillette, heave to for a moment, will you?"

When Gillette finally stopped walking and rounded on Groves in a pool of light pouring out of a shop window, he did it so abruptly that the other man almost ran into him. "What is it now, Teddy?" he demanded. "You wanted me to listen to the farmer, so we're going to talk to the Commodore. What else can you possibly want right now?" Groves just raised an eyebrow and nodded towards his two companions. Gillette rolled his eyes (he felt like he had been doing that a lot lately) and then said, "Yes, what about them?"

"What do you think I mean?" Groves grinned. Gillette wondered if Theodore would remain quite so prone to grinning if someone were to relieve him of several of his teeth. Then the meaning of Groves's words dawned on him and he couldn't do anything but stare. Groves just shrugged and said, "There's nothing wrong with getting a little action before we go off to see some action, so to speak."

"You can't be serious!" Gillette said, nearly shrieking, once he was able to find his voice.

"Why not?" Only a man like Groves could ask that question under such circumstances without already knowing the answer.

"Because we're busy, that's why not!"

Groves laughed dismissively. "It's not as if it's necessary for both of us to be present in order for Commodore Norrington to learn about Sparrow being in Port Royal. One man, two men, or even three men, it all boils down to the same thing." Then, seeing that Gillette was not looking even slightly convinced, he added, "And of the two of us, Norrington likes you better."

"You're just saying that so you can have time to run off and tumble your little friends."

"No, no, it's true!" Groves glanced around cautiously, more out of habit than anything else. They were in a nearly deserted street, not a crowded man-of-war. The only people close enough to hear their conversation were Groves's two ladies, both of whom had little or no interest in military politics. Even so, he drew Gillette close to him and spoke in a low, confidential voice that was barely louder than a whisper. "The Commodore has never said so, but I'm sure he thinks that I'm overly fond of pirates, especially Jack Sparrow. I made one imprudent comment, and he's held it against me ever since!"

At this point, Gillette had to exert a great effort to keep from smiling. He had been in the water, swimming away from the remains of a shattered rowboat, at the time that the comment was made, but he knew exactly which phrase Groves was talking about. Everyone knew about it. It had become legendary. 'That's got to be the best pirate I've ever seen.'

As if reading Gillette's mind, Groves grimaced and pressed on, saying, "I've spent the past four and a half years trying time and again to convince him that I feel exactly the same way that he does, totally and unequivocally in favor of the capture and execution of any and all pirates, but it hasn't done any good. These days it's impossible to mention Sparrow's name without the Commodore looking like he's going to rupture something, so I can't even try to explain myself without making things even worse. When this commission is over, you can bet that he won't be recommending me for command of a ship."

As quickly as it had come, Gillette's urge to smile was gone, replaced by a scowl that he made no attempt to hide. "And therefore I should let you pop off for a bit of fun while I do my duty to king and country, so that this imbalance in the scales of social justice might be righted?" Gillette muttered in tones somewhere between a grumble and a growl. "If that's what you're saying, then you might want to be careful, because if you have too much fun it could upset the scales in the other direction and earn Commodore Norrington the right to distain you even more than before."

"What exactly are you saying?" Groves asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Me? I'm not saying anything at all," Gillette snapped. Oh well, so much for his good mood. It had been nice while it had lasted.

"Well, all I'm saying is that the Commodore might be a little more agreeable to the suggestion that we go off into the night, chasing after pirates, if the suggestion came from you instead of from myself."

"So the extra pair of warm bodies is just a consolation prize then? Most of us make do with nothing at all when we don't have Norrington's favor."

"And that's why you're so bitter all the time." At that, Gillette began to turn dark red and splutter. It was a fair approximation of Norrington's usual reaction to someone mentioning Jack Sparrow, only in Gillette's case there was actually about ten times more indignation visibly twisting his features. Groves took a step back, carefully placing his two consorts behind himself, just in case Gillette exploded, either figuratively or literally, right there on the spot. Groves also took advantage of his fellow lieutenant's inability to articulate, hurriedly returning to his original argument before Gillette regained the power of speech. "Look, it's not like I'm asking to stay behind and still get a full share of the prize money. I'll be onboard the Dauntless as soon as all liberty men are recalled. In the meantime, I plan to make efficient use of my remaining moments of leisure. There's no law against that."

Gillette opened his mouth to reply but then snapped it shut so quickly that Rosalind and Catherine (for those were the women's names, though he did not know it) would later both swear that they could hear his teeth clack together in the silence of the cooling night. He looked back and forth between Groves and the two women. The blond one appeared to be staring at an invisible spot on the wall of one of the houses across the street, but he could tell from the tightness in her jaw that there was some comment that she desperately wanted to make. The brunette was glaring at him with open dislike that bordered on hostility. Both women clung to Groves possessively, giving every indication that they would not relinquish their prize to Gillette without a fight. Groves himself just stood there, waiting for Gillette's answer. His face was schooled into a carefully blank expression with his eyes half lidded, as if he were afraid to give any sign that might turn Gillette even further against his cause than he already was.

It did not take Gillette very long to reach his decision. After all, there was nothing to be gained by fighting with his fellow lieutenant. As infuriating as it was, Groves was right when he said that there was no need for both of them to inform Commodore Norrington that Jack Sparrow had been sighted in Port Royal. And now that he stopped to think, Gillette admitted to himself that he would really be much happier if he could talk to James alone. Still, he was feeling obstinate, so he put on a show of carefully deliberating over the issue while the ladies grew impatient and Groves tried not to squirm.

Once he felt that the other man had suffered for long enough, Gillette said, "Fine, do whatever you want, but you'd best be quick about it. If the Commodore thinks that the situation is urgent enough, he might sail immediately with whatever crew happens to be aboard rather than waiting for everyone else to wander back to the ship in their own sweet time. He might not even bother to signal anything to shore." He had to finish his last sentence with his voice raised to nearly shouting level because, as soon as they heard the words, "do whatever you want," Rosalind and Catherine had eagerly turned Groves around and started to drag him back down the way that they had come. The smiling Groves was putting up no resistance.

"And then again, Arthur," Groves called back over his shoulder without pausing or even slowing his retreat, "he might say that it can all wait until morning or later."

"You don't know that he'll say that, Teddy!"

"You're right, I don't." Groves may have shrugged to emphasize his point, but he was moving through a thicker patch of darkness, so Gillette, whose eyes had grow used to the light from the window that he was still standing near, couldn't see well enough to be certain if he did or not. Either way, it didn't matter. "But," Groves continued from the darkness, still moving away, "you know where my rooms are. If the worst should happen and he says that we sail immediately, all you have to do is knock on my door as you go past on your way to the docks." He stepped into another patch of light, allowing Gillette to see that he was now walking backwards, grinning as his two lady-friends steered him by the elbows to keep his course straight. As Groves went, he had to lift his knees high to keep from catching his heels against the uneven cobblestones, so he looked almost like he was marching in reverse. Then he and the women slid into darkness again.

Gillette turned and resumed walking up the hill to Commodore Norrington's house. A moment later, a thought struck Gillette. He turned back to inform Groves that if they did need to sail on short notice, then showing a leg wouldn't buy him an extra ten minutes to get dressed, but Groves and the women were nowhere to be seen, not even as a rough three-headed silhouette in the shadows. However, Gillette could still hear them, not footsteps, but other sounds. He had underestimated just how eager those women had been for Groves's company. Judging by the noises that the three were making, Gillette could well imagine that Groves was living up to his word and making the most efficient use of his remaining leisure time as was humanly possible. It also seemed that, should the need actually arise, it would be quite unlikely that knocking on Groves's door would do any good because the man would be unable to hear it from his place up against a sweaty wall in a dark, secluded alley. Gillette paused, grudgingly wished a small amount of good luck (or at least a lack of pox) to Groves in his romantic endeavors, and then continued on his way up the hill, leaving his parting quip unsaid.