See Chapter One

The one French phrase I use in here I got from a website— I can't speak the language at all. It's supposed to mean "from an unfaithful and wicked lineage," technically. I got it from a paper on old French insults, which I thought appropriate for the time period. Except I went a little early, as the one I chose was most used in the thirteenth century. Ah, well. I thought it rather funny.

Ficpimp to Tarn for lovely smut, adorable Jack/Jamie and the word "buttsex" in an author's note. Also an amazing ability to keep to time period accuracy. Found under 'Tarneth' at Savvy, a Sparrington archive. Www(dot)freewebs(dot)com(slash)savvyslash.

E Re Nata

As Circumstances Dictate

James shut the cabin door behind him and staggered through the outer workroom and into the private cabin. Towards the bed. If the fight had gone on any longer... He nearly crumpled onto the goosedown mattress, but caught himself on one of the bedposts. More carefully, Norrington seated himself on the bed and carefully lifted his shirt over his head, hissing at the pain in his shoulder.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Idiot, he added for extra flavor.

He should have clued in on the hints that she wouldn't want to see him-- or at least notice that those that obviously didn't appreciate his presence on the ship were smirking as he made his way to the woman. James twisted his head to look at the wound that had been torn open a bit in the fight and grimaced. Blood was soaking through the bandage.

She didn't seem so much a woman, as a tiger. Fierce, that one.

But honestly, how could she have thought he was mocking her? Aside from the pure common sense not to anger a surgeon (because those who put you together know best how to take you apart) Anamaria most likely saved his life; wound-rot was a serious thing. The last thing he would do to someone he owed a debt to was mock them for something they had no control over.

James smiled ruefully at the thought. Most, if not all, of his contemporaries thought he was absolutely barmy in his opinions. They didn't want to consider the fact that maybe-- just maybe-- the color of one's skin had no effect on one's humanity. Or that women might actually have minds of their own. Most of his contemporaries hadn't had the privilege of spending summers with his great Aunt Margarette growing up, either.

Still, how could she have known that? The Commodore sighed, and then winced as the slight movement jarred his shoulder. He was getting rather tired of being judged by other people's standards.

A tiny voice in his mind snorted. 'Lo Pot, meet m' friend Kettle, here. Oddly enough, the voice sounded rather like Sparrow. He really didn't want to think about that.

James started to go for the basin of water on the table before he bled all over Sparrow's sheets but sat down abruptly as the room spun around him.

"Careful now, love." The pirate that had been conspicuously absent the last three days put a supporting hand on his uninjured shoulder. It was to James' credit that he didn't jump in surprise at Jack's touch. Lord knows it was only the Commodore's nerves of steel that kept him from yelping like a schoolboy who'd been pinched.

Sparrow swaggered only slightly as he crossed to room to wet a rag to use on his shoulder. James cleared his throat carefully. "For all your blustering, you can be as silent as a cat when you want to," he said in apology for his assumptions three days previous.

"Everyone 'as their 'speriences with bein' underestimated," Jack replied, acknowledging his apology and giving an unspecific one of his own.

They not quite smiled at each other in perfect understanding.

--

"HOW- COULD YOU- LET THEM TAKE HIM!" Accompanying Lieutenant Andrew Gillette's demand was a flying piece of crockery, which Lieutenant Groves dodged. He had given up trying to explain himself long before and just concentrated on not being injured.

And it was hard to even try when Theodore knew that Gillette was right, that he had failed.

"You- you-" Gillette sputtered, unable to find words, and instead hurled the last remaining piece of glassware in the cabin. Theodore ducked around the corner, and winced at the sound of glass shattering on the hallway wall. Perhaps is hadn't been a good idea to let the door be removed to shore up one of the walls, but then, the other option was sinking. So it was probably a good idea after all.

There was a suspicious silence in the cabin for a moment, and then a flow of pained curses. Groves cautiously poked his head back inside, and saw Gillette crumpled on the floor where he'd apparently been trying to reach more ammunition, face white with pain.

Forgetting the inherent danger in the move, Theodore hurried to the other man's side. Careful of the injured leg, he gathered Andrew into his arms to carry him back to the bed. The Lieutenant cursed violently at him, but as the pain made him too weak to fight back, Groves ignored it.

"Le lignage desloial et felon!" Gillette finished heatedly as Groves deposited him on the bed. Theodore froze and they both stared at each other, shocked eyes meeting horror-filled ones.

"You..." Theodore said eventually. Gillette hid his face in his hands. "Yes," he replied, voice muffled.

"Does... does the Commodore know?" The hunching of the other man's shoulders gave Groves an answer. My God. It explained so much. "That's why he always praised anyone who could speak French," he realized. "And that time—he spent the entire week speaking nothing but it, himself. That was for you." He couldn't keep the awe entirely from his voice.

Andrew slowly raised his head, but didn't meet Theodore's gaze. "You see now, why I'm—why my loyalty—" The Lieutenant couldn't finish.

"I do." And he did. A superior officer that would overlook his French heritage, who would make it possible for him to flourish in English society in spite of it—well, that kind of man was in short order, even without considering the war between the two countries.

Up until this moment, Theodore had thought that Gillette avoided the company of others (excepting the Commodore, of course) because he was a stuck-up little prick. But knowing that most of it was fear—fear of being caught out, of being betrayed. Well. He was more than a bit inclined to be more charitable towards the man in the future.

Theodore smiled at Gillette, who looked quite startled at the expression. "James trusts you, and far be it for me to doubt his judgment."

Looking like he hardly believed it, Andrew tentatively smiled back. "Ah... Lieutenant. Groves. What I was saying earlier—"

"Is entirely true," the other man interrupted. "I failed him, I know that." Theodore got up and started to fix up the damage Gilette had inflicted on the room, to distract himself from the feeling of despair that threatened to overwhelm him.

"Next time we shall just have to work harder to keep him, then," Andrew said, and raised an eyebrow when Theodore turned to look at him. We. Said so casually, as if it were something he said everyday. An incredulous smile stretched over Theodore's lips, and went wider at Andrew's answering one.

"Yes, we shall."

Gillette turned away, as if he had revealed too much, but Theodore couldn't keep the grin from his mouth. The day was shaping up to be much better than he'd thought it would, projectile crockery and all.

"What's your name?" he found himself asking suddenly. "No, not Andrew," he said when Gilette opened his mouth to speak. "Your real name."

The other Lieutenant's hands clenched at the bedsheets. "I...it's... Andre," he answered nearly inaudibly.

"It's a beautiful name," Groves told him. "And I insist you call me Theodore. If plied with alcoholic beverages, I might even let you call me Theo."

Andre looked like he didn't know how to proceed. "I suppose you can call me Andrew--"

"Andre," Theo corrected. "At least in private," he added, correctly interpreting the expression on the other man's face.

"In private," Andre relented, rightly guessing that the Lieutenant wouldn't give up until he'd won.

Raphe1 - :D You're going to spoil me with all these compliments.

Oneiriad - Well, you know what they say; relationships are thirty percent interaction and seventy percent miscommunication.

Elessil - Know now that I never abandon stories. It may take years for me to update, but I will eventually... XP

Saavik13 - You are amazingly perceptive! Are you perchance a psychic on your off days?

Sakurazukamori - I've converted someone to Sparrington? Brilliant! That's so cool, I've never done something like that before. Makes me think back to the good ol' days when Webcrow converted me from Jack/Will to Jack/Jamie.

P.S. What are V-plates?

Q - Like I said to Elessil, I never abondon stories. It may take forever for me to update, and I might edit it endlessly until I get what I want, but I'll post eventually.