Jack did not take his gaze from Norrington's face; he'd learned already what changeable waters the Englishman's eyes were, full of shifting currents, the shadows of reefs and things long sunken. But clear, clear right down to the bottom. Shock. Then just for a moment a pale memory of that anguish he had worn on the harbour wall. It made Jack think unkindly thoughts of Miss Elizabeth, for he had nursed the man for nigh on a month, and threatened him with a public and squalid death, and still there was not half the look of heartbroken betrayal she had achieved with two words.

But there was some, even so. Enough for him to realize that Norrington had begun to think of him more friendly-like. Enough for him to feel a kind of triumph and sadness both, for it was not in Jack to enjoy being thought a betrayer.

Norrington's disappointment became a smile of costly amusement, and then a more inward look; dispassionate, professional. Jack almost laughed; so vulnerable the man seemed - so young and friendless and maybe even a bit beautiful, with that white shirt and pale skin sleeked by the golden sun - yet the fact was that taking the uniform away had not made him any less the Commodore. No part of his personality had changed with the shed clothes, and the look in his face now was the strange, chill joy of a Navy commander about to go into his last battle.

"I think it a fine plan," he said. "Comical, in a gallows fashion. I heartily approve. Let it be done at once."

"Eh?" There weren't many folk who managed to surprise Jack - after Barbossa he'd sworn there would be none. Everyone had an eye for the main chance, and he'd been a fool to think otherwise. Everyone did right by themselves first; difference was that pirates were the only ones honest enough to say so. Yet this was the third time James had failed to jump the right way. He didn't rise to the bait of glory, he gave up the girl, and now... now what the hell was going on in his head?

"Thought y'wouldn't be thrilled. Ye're supposed to go 'no Jack, anything but the humiliation - if the offer's still open I'd rather join y'crew, mate, thanks all the same.'"

Norrington looked up with that arrogant little jerk of the chin he gave when he was feeling particularly pleased with himself. "If you make a public spectacle of hanging me, Captain Sparrow - a rout of common criminals daring to pass judgement on a Commodore of the British Navy - it will be such an affront to the Crown as to constitute an act of war. Every ship we possess will be thrown into destroying you utterly. We will raze your ports to the ground; burn everything at anchorage there. The seas will be white with sail. You cannot imagine! So I say yes, let us go to it without delay. I am impatient to begin."

"Mother o'God!" Jack almost found himself recoiling, turned it into a semi drunken stagger only just in time. "Y'take the prize for bloodthirstiness, mate. Never met a pirate like it."

Norrington gave him a level look; calm, decided. "Yours was the threat, Jack. Mine is only the response."

Now it was Jack's turn to feel disappointed. He'd thought James' look of regret, on the day of his hanging, meant the man was not one of those with an appetite for death. He'd thought the Commodore was someone who did a distasteful job well because it was his duty. It lowered his opinion, to think Norrington shared with Barbossa an enjoyment of the terror he caused. "You'd like that, would you? To see all the taverners and the doxies and their kiddies wiped off the Caribbean, like swabbing a bloodstain off y'scrubbed decks?"

"You misunderstand me." Frowning, James wiped a hand over his face, pausing to rub his forehead as if to soothe away a pain. He bent his head and returned doggedly to the splicing, though Jack noticed how his fingers shook from the effort. "No, I don't relish the thought of slaughter. I should prefer to carry on as I am, taking pirate ships one by one, in fair fight, making sure no innocent is harmed. But I cannot contemplate the full mobilization of the Navy - her glory, her awe and majesty - on my behalf, without feeling a certain anticipatory thrill, even if I were not there to see it."

With the kind of satisfaction that came from having a locked box in your possession for years and suddenly being handed the key, Jack stroked the Pearl's dark hull reassuringly, in case she should get jealous. Just the one of ye's enough for me, lass. For a moment there he had seen a sea brilliant with the many coloured, polished, shining hulls of a thousand ships, all different, all united. All sailed by officers Norrington understood like childhood friends, having grown up under the same regime. Ships changed, Captains and postings changed; lovers, wives and parents had to keep pace or fall behind. For only the Service and the sea endured.

"Not Elizabeth at all, then," Jack said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Granted." It was a little early in the day, but this deserved a toast - this moment of insight, this revelation. He got up and found the bottle of rum he'd left by the twelve pounder last night, wedged between a half empty powder canister and a clutter of chicken bones the cat was licking clean.

"What were you going to say about Elizabeth?" Norrington came to his side, looking ready to drop, but aggressive for all that. Prepared to call him out for the sake of a lass who could damn well take care of herself, as far as Jack could see.

"Just that I thought she was to you what the Black Pearl is t'me, but now I see ye may love her sore, but she's still not that. S'why y'aint destroyed at losing her. S'why y'still are who y'are. All the little ships and all the little men. It's the Navy, aint it, for you?"

"I'm not following." At the lack of insult, James - who had been staring at the deck, trembling gently with fatigue - collapsed slowly down to sit against the great gun, his head thrown back to rest on the warm brass, mouth open, eyes shut. It surprised Jack with a swell of unwanted affection. The bloke really had no idea, did he? Completely innocent of the picture he presented - as artless as Lizzie in her shift, and all the more alluring for it.

"Listen," he said, "I'll mix ye some grog. Less'n y'would rather have plain water."

"'M a sailor, Jack. I drink grog."

"Course y'do mate," said Jack fondly. "O'course y'do." And he took himself out of temptation's way, fetching a mug and standing looking down into the dark mirror of the water butt for some time. Young Lizzie had offered him encouragement on that island - thrown herself into his arms, no less - which made her fair game. But the Commodore was a very different matter. It would not do to be complicating things with him, in case it came to the noose after all.

Not that it will, for my part, he conceded, and not because of James' vision of avenging warships. He could just imagine what would really happen, if he tried to walk into Tortuga with Norrington in uniform and irons beside him. He'd never make it to trial, they'd fall on him and... They'd have the pride and the snark and the humour and the dignity out of him in mere hours, but they'd keep him screaming for days. Jack would not do that to his worst enemy, and Norrington was - despite their slight professional disagreements - very far from being Jack's enemy. Opponent, for certain sure. Personal pain in the arse? Ha, if only. But not enemy. Nah, another plan bolloxed up, back to square one.

It was beginning to look as though Gibbs notion of marooning would be the way to go, but it was unsatisfying. Unimaginative. Not worthy of either of them. "No bloody fun!"

"Gimme a brace of pistols an I'll make im dance for'ee, Cap'n."

Jack looked around, then down. Still wasn't sure whether the beard braid qualified as the sincerest form of flattery, or theft of his own fine idea. Mind you, he was sure he carried his off with more aplomb, for whatever words came into his mind on seeing Marty down there, 'debonair' and 'handsome' did not come into it. "Hasn't got more'n a hop in him at present, Marty me old chum. Some other time, eh?"

Carrying the mug of grog back to the cannon, he found Norrington with his sleeves rolled up, rearranging the tie on the bandage that covered his chest. He hoiked the shirt down swiftly enough at Jack's tread and glanced up with a conscious, embarrassed look; a touch of fear. "Do you mean," he said, so quickly that Jack was hard pressed to stop from laughing - obviously trying to head off the dreaded salacious remark, "'Is the Navy my vocation'? The thing I feel I was put on earth to do? If so, then yes. But I fail to see how the Pearl can be that to you."

He slowed, warming to his theme - genuinely interested now, and Jack was taken aback slightly to realize the expression in those meaningful eyes was something verging on sorrow. Maybe even pity.

"How can a ship be enough? You, and it, alone? What about society? Fellow feeling? Friends? What about the satisfaction of knowing you are part of something greater than yourself? It seems a terribly empty universe in which you live, Sparrow. Inhuman, almost."

I seen enough of humans to last me a lifetime, mate, Jack thought to himself bitterly. He found himself fingering the long scars that ran up his forearm. A ship you could rely on to be... well, to be a ship. But relying on other people? That was just asking for pain. He thought about Bootstrap, who he would have sworn was a friend - and how Bootstrap had been in on the mutiny, taken his ship and left him to die. Then he thought of Bootstrap's son, young Will, who smacked him in the face with an oar and left him to die on Isla de Muerta. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate Will's heroic rescue - he did - he would just have appreciated it more if it had not come on top of betrayal.

But y'knew where you were with the Commodore. Even if that was on the end of a noose, there was a certain certainty about it that made him feel easy. You could rely on the sun to rise, and the horizon to fall away before you. You could trust the Pearl to bear y'up over the fathomless deeps. And you could trust the Commodore to deal honourably with sweetheart, rival, and enemy alike. It gave Jack a surprising wrench to think of that being lost - Norrington being replaced by someone as venal and bribable as the snake in the grass he'd succeeded.

Better for piracy maybe. Not better for what really mattered in this world.

"I am part of something greater'n meself, lad." There was the tickle of an idea just at the base of his skull - not ready to come out, but there all the same, he could feel it lurking. He scratched at the tangled elflocks, examined the dirt under his fingernails. It did seem to be saying something. "I'm part of the legend of Captain Jack Sparrow!"

"That pack of lies?"

Jack grinned and waved an admonishing hand under James' nose. "Uh, uh, uh! I did do all them things, as you have cause to know yourself, having underestimated me sorely when last we met and learned better to your cost. And maybe there's one or two little exaggerations, but that's all to the good, cos it aint lies, it's a legend. S'a story savvy? And what's a pirate story without a few sea monsters and cannibals and curses?"

He thought of myths and Mount Olympus - which in his mind was a volcanic peak rising out of a tropical sea - the gods striding out over the ocean. Bright Apollo, bringer of light and reason; bit of a stuffy, straight laced chap, in Jack's opinion, but fair, reliable. Honest as the day was long. And Dionysus, dark, giggling in his cups, dancing over the waves to bring a little madness into the dull world. In Jack's thoughts, Dionysus had always worn a red scarf and baubles in his hair; too beautiful for a man, too sharp for a lass. Something indefinable and dangerous and nigh uncatchable.

He'd always thought Apollo blond - what with the sun connotations - but didn't it just seem right that the god should have clear, thoughtful, sea green eyes, and a jawline that practically had 'dauntless' tattooed on it. Governor Swann must be Jove - bewigged and genial; thought himself in charge. Lizzie was Venus, and Will managed to combine perfectly both of that supernatural strumpet's lovers, for he was Mars and Vulcan both... And now he was just getting too metaphorical for his own good, and he'd lost what he was thinking of in the confusion of gods.

"What was I saying?" he took a pull of rum to settle the fancies down and got back before the wind of his idea, "See, a pirate don't get to pass on much of a legacy. Only a story. But a story can teach folk to be free - show em something beyond their dull, dutiful little lives, something that wakes em up and makes em snuff the wind, like. And it can make me live forever. The immortal Cap'n Jack Sparrow, famous as Robin i the Hood. Hundreds o'years in the future, they'll still be telling tales of me."

He leaned forward confidingly, spread his hands on James' chest and whispered in his best bedroom voice "ye could be part o that, if it pleased you."

Norrington edged away, but he smirked, a crooked little upturn of the mouth that made him quite lopsided. "I could be your Sheriff of Nottingham? Is that what you're implying? I don't see all your money in the hands of the poor, Sparrow."

"Details, details," said Jack, amused. "T'aint the same story, is it? What'd be the point of that?"

No, this was a good idea, for all the best stories had something in them of what Barbossa had suggested. 'Two immortals locked in unending combat.' Pox-begotten son of a whore that he was, Barbossa had understood Jack more... more than was safe. Thought he could steal and trick his way into Jack's eternity. Thought he was Jack's equal, his foil. An thought wrong, didn'ee? Not sharing my legacy with the likes of him.

The question was, then, whether Norrington was up to the job. Wouldn't want to be locked in eternal combat with someone he didn't like. No fun in it. But at the same time, he wouldn't want an adversary that wasn't worthy of the tale.

And here was the solution, arriving fully formed like the breath of genius. He'd give the bloke one chance - that was only fair, as Norrington had no Will to engineer the opportune moment for him. If he took it, not only would this problem of what to do with him be solved, but Jack would know he was dealing with quality. If he let it slip, then he wasn't up to snuff, and Jack could maroon him with a clear conscience; put this whole messy entanglement behind him, knowing it wasn't worth his trouble.

"So," he grinned at the wind and the sky, "On another subject entirely..." A narrow look to see if James was following, but damn if he wasn't, he was doing that lounging thing again. Jack slapped him on the shoulder to wake him up. "Boring ye, am I? On an other subject, as I was saying, tis time we took on more powder and shot, and that means finding ourselves a pretty prize. Guests get first choice, s'only polite. Name a ship, any ship."

The look of horror on the Englishman's face was a treat. "You want me to single out your next victim?" But it was disappointing too. Obvious, unimaginative. He thought this was a mockery, a kind of torture. Despite his resolve not to prejudge the issue one way or another, Jack found himself thinking, come on, mate, work the maths, don't be s'bloody slow.

Then Norrington dipped his head on the pretext of looking into his grog, and suddenly those tell tale eyes were in shade, obscured, the rest of his face giving nothing away. "Then we'll take the Conquerant. She's a French privateer, her captain is Antoine Le Pelley, and she makes berth at Pointe-a-Pitre, Guadeloupe."

Jack's turn to gape. "Guadeloupe?" With the two French ships of the line, the dozen or so fast Brigantines and the fort on its lovely headland just ready to pound shot into his poor innocent boat? The thought had a kick rougher than rum. "I'm gonna have to talk t'ye about this death wish o'yourn."

"Are you, or are you not, the best pirate I've ever seen?"

And there it was, the challenge in return. He could have laughed, for what better proving ground for this mad strange conspiracy of theirs than a place that chewed up Navy and honest pirates alike, never to spit them out again. "Listen," he said, aglow with the thought of it, "Just keep repeating this, aye? One day it'll come t'you natural. O'course I am, lad. I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."

Author's note: Thanks to Dragon-of-the-North for pointing out the Robin Hood connection, and to Anna Wing for the Apollonian/Dionysian comparison. I hope you don't mind me putting them in the story - they were such good insights I wanted to share them! If you do mind, I'll take them out again, of course.
Also, I know I'm not supposed to do this but there's no other way - Thanks to all those reviewers who haven't left me an email address to thank you personally. It seems utterly mean not to reply and say that such wonderful reviews keep me going, but this site in its wisdom has said I shouldn't, so I'll just say a big blanket thank you instead. I am very grateful :)