Title: The Adventures of James Norrington, Pirate
Author: Zath Chauvert
Summary: Lost at sea and given the choice between dying as navy men and living as pirates, Commodore Norrington and Lieutenant Gillette choose life.
Chapter Summary: Will attempts to punish Gibbs, and the outside world intrudes on our happy little scene.
Rating: PG-13, just in case
Feedback: Yes, please! Any and all feedback, positive or negative, would be greatly appreciated. Just hit the Review button at the bottom of the page. You can also read my author profile for other contact information.
Disclaimer: See Chapter One for disclaimer. Nothing has changed.
Author's Note: Yes, I really am working on this story again. Shocking, isn't it? To anyone who first read Chapter One way back when it was originally posted, I apologize for the unforgivable length of the wait for Chapter Two. Let's just say that 2005 was a bad year and leave it at that. This chapter is dedicated to Honorel (a.k.a. Longjohn Showtime), because he didn't complain when he found out that I was working on it instead of the story that I had promised him for his birthday.

The Adventures of James Norrington, Pirate
By Zath Chauvert

Chapter 2: Fights And False Tidings

"Run, Gibbs."

For a moment, the blacksmith and the grizzled pirate both stared in shock. They were too dumbfounded to move. Seconds ticked by, and nothing happened. Then, Gibbs's alcohol-clouded mind was finally able to process and accept the fact that his captain really was sitting in the lap of his young friend. He opened his mouth to make a eunuch joke, but then his brain caught up to the fact that his captain had also told him to run. Gibbs had spent his entire adult life following orders from one source or another, be it naval officer or pirate captain, and he had long ago learned that following orders without questioning them was the best way to stay alive in most situations. Besides, as soon as he thought about it, he realized that running was a very good idea indeed.

And so Gibbs ran. Or rather, he tried to run. There were some difficulties. The tavern that they were occupying made a policy of using only long benches for seating, because, in a fight, the heavy benches were much more difficult to throw than individual chairs. The drinkers in the corner had been sitting three to a bench, on either side of their table, which had been fine as long as they all wanted to stay where they were. However, as soon as Gibbs found himself in need of a hasty departure, he realized exactly how limited the space for movement really was. He was caught between Anamaria and the wall, the proverbial rock and a hard place.

The bench was too far under the table to let him fully stand, and he couldn't swing his legs around. Gibbs had absolutely zero success in trying to move his seat back to get more space to maneuver. He looked behind him and saw that the rear legs of the bench were caught against the edge of a severely warped floorboard. He would have to lift the bench and carry it backwards if he wanted to move it at all, but between the solidly built bench itself, which weighed at least seventy-five pounds if not more, and the combined weights of his two shipmates sitting on top of it, there was no chance of that happening. He tried to push the table forward, but despite straining for all he was worth, he met with equally dismal results. Had he been in a position where he could have seen under the table, he would have learned that it was nailed in place. Once she realized that Gibbs was facing potential problems that were much more serious than embarrassment, Anamaria tried to scoot over to give him additional room, but she was only able to give him a few extra inches before she ran into Mr. Cotton, whose unconscious dead weight blocked the easy escape route. Gibbs began to panic.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the table, as Gibbs had his entire attention focused on trying to make his getaway, his would-be pursuer was engaged in an attempted escape of his own. At first, the appearance of a pirate in his lap had flabbergasted Will to the point that he was incapable of coherent thought. For a few vital seconds, the contents of his mind consisted of nothing but exclamation points and question marks without any words attached to them. Nobody moved. Then, as if a spell had been broken, at the exact same moment that Gibbs realized that he needed to run, Will remembered that he wanted to beat Gibbs senseless. As Gibbs fumbled to free himself from the table, Will struggled to free himself from Jack.

Unfortunately for Will and his sense of moral outrage, Jack Sparrow prided himself on his ability to climb the rigging in any weather and control a ship's wheel in any current, and subduing a bucking blacksmith utilized the same set of skills as those aforementioned feats, namely the ability to latch on to something and not let go of it no matter what. In addition to using his entire body weight to hold down his friend, Jack had also wrapped Turner in a bear hug at the first sign of resistance, thus keeping the young man's arms pinned to his sides. Will fought and thrashed with the full force of his anger, but he could not free himself.

"Let me go, Jack!" the young man shouted.

"Gladly," replied the pirate, "just as soon as you promise not to do anything that we'll all regret in the morning."

"Gibbs is the only one who'll regret anything!"

"I certainly hope that you're not trying to assuage my fears of you having hostile intentions towards my quartermaster, because you're doing a terrible job of it if you are."

"Let go of me!" Turner redoubled his efforts, but Jack just held on tighter. "You have no part in this!"

"That's where you're wrong, lad," Jack grunted as he was thrown against the table, then against the back wall, then against the table again. The pain was distant at the moment, but he was sure that, come sunup, he'd feel every single black and blue mark. "Good crewmembers are hard to find, so once a captain's found some, he needs to look out for them, even the ones who did amusingly inadvisable things long before he met them."

Will started to snarl a reply, but he was silenced by a hand pressed gently over his mouth. This particular hand was much smaller than the hand that had silenced his wife not many minutes earlier. It was also much cleaner, though not perfectly clean. It lacked the tar and general griminess that coated Jack's hands, but it was slightly sticky with spilled rum. This hand, of course, belonged to Elizabeth Turner herself, and the gesture did more to calm the blacksmith than anything that Jack had tried. Will froze where he was, still tense but at least no longer trying to fling himself and his battered passenger all over the place. He had apparently forgotten what his wife was there, even though he had just been fighting for a chance to defend her childhood honor.

Elizabeth peeled her hand away from his mouth and, with a smile, leaned in to gently kiss her husband on the lips. Then, she turned slightly, planted a kiss on the end of Jack Sparrow's nose, and finally settled back into her seat. Both men stared at her. Unnoticed, on the other side of the table, Gibbs continued his frantic scrabble to escape from the bench.

"Now now, Will," she chided, drawing his name out to 'W-i-i-i-i-l-l-l-l-l-l' as if pulling verbal taffy. "You shouldn't be angry at Mr. Gibbs. I'm sure he would have taught you the song too, but the ship's doctor said you weren't to be disturbed." She patted him consolingly on the shoulder and nodded to herself as if her words explained and excused everything. Jack briefly wondered if Elizabeth was trying to get Will to laugh or if, in her drunken state, she really didn't understand why he was angry. He decided that it didn't really matter as long as it had the desired results.

If luck had been on Captain Sparrow's side that night, young Mr. Turner would have started to relax despite himself, even without the help of any humor that he might have found in his wife's most recent statement. After all, Elizabeth could always have that effect on the boy when she wanted to, even when she was drunker than she had ever been in her entire life. She didn't even need words to do it. All she needed to do was smile and remind the boy that they loved each other, and Turner would turn to mush inside. Jack had seen it happen a dozen times, and he was sure that it had happened a thousand other times that he had not been present to witness.

If luck had been on the pirate's side, Turner would have calmed down enough for Jack to let go of him without having to worry about the continued health of his quartermaster. Once that happened, Gibbs could have stopped flailing around like a lame rat caught in a bucket. Then they could have all settled back and discussed the matter without coming to blows. As a pirate, violence was a way of life for Jack, but he hated fights where ties of loyalty to both parties kept him from being able to root for one particular side against the other. In his book, two of his friends fighting against each other equaled a no-win situation. Maybe those feelings were just caused by selfishness. Maybe they were caused by something a tiny bit nobler than common greed, something that the pirate wouldn't ordinarily admit to having unless he thought doing so would gain him something. Jack didn't have time to analyze his motives, because however difficult many of his adversaries may have found it to believe, there were indeed times when luck was most decidedly not in Jack Sparrow's favor. This was definitely one of those occasions.

By all rights, Will should have turned to putty in his wife's somewhat sticky hands, allowing everyone at the table to return to their previous business of enjoying themselves. What actually happened was that just as Will looked like he might have considered giving up the urge to fight, Gibbs chose that very moment to finally break free from the table, and the situation went downhill from there.

Working together, Gibbs and Anamaria had finally managed to push Mr. Cotton sideways off of the bench. The unconscious pirate tumbled bonelessly to the floor, while his parrot, suddenly bereft of its perch, let loose an indignant squawk and flapped up to find a safer roosting place among the roughhewn rafters. Anamaria immediately let out a screech of her own as Gibbs, unwilling to wait for her to move herself, kept right on pushing, forcing her off the bench and onto Cotton. His path finally clear, Gibbs muttered a quick apology to his fallen comrades as he scrambled over them towards freedom.

The twin shrieks were loud enough to get the attention of many of the tavern's other customers who, until that point, had been ignoring the group in the corner. Of greater importance, though, was the fact that the sound was more than enough to get the attention of the young man who had been beginning to get lost in the depths of his wife's eyes. Like a dog faced with a rabbit that broke cover right under its nose, the blacksmith seemed to have no choice but to give chase to the fleeing pirate. He wasn't even trying to think anymore. He was operating on pure instinct. Turner gave a massive heave against the man who was still holding him down, causing Sparrow's head to meet the wall with a resounding crack. Jack's grip instantly loosened. In a single motion, Will threw his former captor aside and launched himself over the table after Gibbs, scattering mugs, bottles, and people as he went.

Gibbs was only a few steps away from freedom when the younger man tackled him from behind. The blacksmith and pirate crashed to the ground amidst applause from various other patrons of the tavern. Through the noise, Elizabeth could barely be heard shouting for her husband to stop. On a tiny island whose main advantage was being far from the usual patrols of any country's navy, even a two-man brawl had the potential to turn into the best entertainment that most of the locals had seen all week. Many of the island's residents had developed at least a passing acquaintance with William Turner over the preceding month, whereas Gibbs was an unknown quantity who had not made a very good showing of himself in the brief moments that he had so far held the public eye. Even before the two men could untangle themselves from the fall, bets were placed all around them with four to one odds that Gibbs would be spitting teeth within less than two minutes.

Ironically, it was Will's flying tackle that had probably saved Gibbs from losing anything important out of his mouth. This was because at the exact moment that Gibbs would have reached the door, it was kicked open from the outside, passing with killing speed right through the space where the pirate's head would have been. Like the benches, tables, and everything else in the tavern, the door was solid timber built to survive bar fights, hurricanes, and anything else that fate decided to throw at it. In a confrontation between its mass and something so puny as a human skull, there would have been no contest. Turner was, of course, not aware of any of this. He was too busy straddling his victim with every intention of beating him senseless.

However, just as Will was about to deliver the first blow, there was a lull in the noise of the tavern. It was not very close to silence, but there was a definite drop in the level of shouting, and a lone voice carried clearly through the relative quiet. "Jack Sparrow is dead," bellowed the voice, sounding out of breath. "Jack Sparrow is dead!"

For a moment, there really was silence. Then the moment passed and conversations roared to life all around the tavern. The combatants on the floor were instantly forgotten, which was just as well, because their potential for providing entertainment had just dropped considerably. All fight had gone out of them. Turner and Gibbs stared at each other for the second time that evening, this time exchanging looks of dread, any trace of the previous hostility gone as if it had never existed. Then, almost as a single unit, the two men scrambled to their feet and pushed their way back to the table in the corner, where they found Elizabeth and Anamaria bent over Jack, who was looking groggy and sore but far from dead.

"Jack Sparrow is dead!" the voice shouted again. The voice's owner was the man who, if not for Will's lucky tackle, would have unintentionally rearranged Joshamee Gibbs' face with the tavern's front door.

"Yes, yes, we heard you the first time," Jack called back irritably. He shooed away his caretakers and staggered to his feet. "Captain Sparrow is dead. Long live Captain Sparrow!" He searched the table for a drink to lift in toast, but the recent altercation had taken its toll, both on the night's refreshments and on the man. Defeated, Jack slumped back into his seat, returning himself to Elizabeth's ministrations. He looked around for Anamaria, but she had abandoned him for the now semi-awake Mr. Cotton, who was sitting on the floor, blinking in confusion while his parrot screeched questions from up in the rafters.

Will and Gibbs had the good graces to look embarrassed.

"I'm so sorry, Jack," the young blacksmith said quietly, unable to meet his friend's eyes.

"As well you should be," the pirate captain agreed. At those words, Will's shoulders slumped even lower than they had been. "Still," Jack continued, "it almost wouldn't be a proper visit to the Turner family without at least one blow to the head of yours truly." Will looked up and saw that Jack was smiling. It was a pained smile, but it was genuine nonetheless. Will sheepishly smiled back.

"Perhaps someday I'll be able to break myself of that habit."

"Perhaps someday you might. In the meantime..." Jack paused as he searched through his various pockets, finally producing a disreputable looking handkerchief and a couple of coins. He started to toss the coins, then thought better of it and, instead, held them out for Turner to take. "In the meantime, you can make it up to me by getting us some more drinks. The remains of the last batch seem to have ended up on the floor." Jack practically had to shout the final few words because the noise level in the small tavern had been steadily rising ever since the sudden arrival of the stranger. "As for you Gibbs, do us a favor and see if you can convince our self-proclaimed town crier to come join us. I'd be interested in hearing what he has to say when he's not screaming it at the top of his lungs for all and sundry. Rumors of my demise aren't usually enough to cause so much fuss, not even is a place like this."

"Aye, Captain."

Jack watched the two former adversaries depart on their separate missions. Then he sighed, closed his eyes, and tilted his head back to rest against the wall, a move which he instantly regretted. He leaned forward again, hissing softly through his teeth. Now there was a pain that was very real and very immediate. There was no need to wait until the morning to find out how that spot was going to feel. Jack gingerly pressed the handkerchief to the back of his head. When he removed it, the bright red of fresh blood stood out against the assorted older stains on the cloth. There was not a lot of blood, only a few small spots, but any blood was more than he would have liked.

"Jack?" It was Elizabeth. She sounded worried, almost plaintive.

"Yes, love?"

Elizabeth didn't answer. Instead, she took the handkerchief from him, gently turned him away from her, and began examining the back of his head. Her movements were slow and deliberate, as if she had to think very carefully about each one. She had, after all, had quite a bit to drink. However, it was clear that the stress of the near-disaster between her husband and Mr. Gibbs had been enough to sober her at least a little, in spirit if not physically. Gingerly, she ran her fingers over his skull, inspecting the damage. It would have felt good if it hadn't hurt so much.

Finally, she turned him towards her again and said, "It's hard to tell exactly how bad it is with all your hair in the way."

"I'll be fine, Lizzie. I've had much worse, and I'm sure that I'll have to suffer through even worse yet before I shuffle off this mortal coil. In a day or two, it'll be like this never happened. Don't worry about Old Jack." He was about to tell Elizabeth that, while painful, a little knock on the head will forever seem like a mere trifle once you've been shot in the chest twice and seen the bones sticking out of your arm without the benefit of an Aztec curse, but Will Turner chose that moment to return carrying a bottle of rum. Some things were probably better left unsaid anyway.

At first, it seemed odd that Will had only brought the one bottle, but then Jack looked around and saw that he was the only one at the table with any remaining interest in drinking. Drinking alone wasn't nearly as much fun as drinking with other people, but if no one wanted to join him then he would just have to do what needed to be done. With a shrug, he reached for one of the scattered mugs, really having only one to choose from because the rest had been knocked onto the floor. Jack didn't know who it had belonged to, but it was his now. He uncorked the bottle of rum and was filling the mug when Gibbs rejoined the group along with the man who seemed so fond of announcing that Jack Sparrow was dead. Cotton and Anamaria made room for Gibbs on the bench. Lacking a place to sit, the other man had to make do with crouching and leaning on the end of the table to bring himself more or less to eye level with the rest of them.

Jack raised his eyes from the mug to inspect the newcomer. He was a large man, both tall and broad, with a tanned, pock-scarred face and messy blond hair that was receding from the temples. By the look of things and the smell of his breath, he had already been on the receiving end of the generosity of quite a few of the tavern's patrons in exchange for his news. Jack made as if to pass him the mug of rum, but held back.

"Do you have a name, sailor?"

"The name's Christopher Snyder." The name wasn't familiar, but that didn't always mean very much where pirates were concerned, and this man was definitely a pirate. If he wasn't a pirate, then Jack was the Queen of England.

"Well, Mr. Snyder, I hear you have some sort of very important news that just can't be kept quiet," Jack said, keeping a tight grip on the mug's handle.

"It's the best sort of news there is, for people like us," Snyder said, "if you catch my meaning."

"I don't think that I do, but hopefully I will once you've finished." Jack looked down again at the mug of rum then pushed it into Snyder's hand. The man happily took a swallow while Jack continued, "I'm curious how any of us would benefit from the death of Captain Jack Sparrow."

"Jack Sparrow's nothing!" Snyder started laughing but stopped himself when he saw the expressions of everyone at the table. "Now, don't get me wrong. If he was a friend to you and yours, then you have my condolences. Me, I never met the man, so his passing ain't none of my concern. Besides, him being dead is just the beginning." Snyder leaned in conspiratorially, taking the opportunity to leer at Elizabeth and Anamaria as he did so. "It gets plenty better from there."

"I should bloody well hope so," Jack muttered. If Snyder heard him, he gave no sign of it, so Jack raised his voice and in more friendly tones said, "Go on then. If the news you've shared so far has only been the appetizer, then I'm simply dying to get to the main course."

Snyder took another swallow of rum, leaned in even closer, and triumphantly proclaimed, "Commodore Norrington's dead too!"

To be continued...

Author's Note (again): Ack! This is the bar scene that would not die. I keep poking the characters, but they refuse to hurry up and get to the little bit of exposition that was the only reason that this scene exists at all. I promise: next chapter, we'll leave this dingy tavern behind, never to return, and poor neglected Norrington will finally be able take center stage in his own story. Honest! I also promise that Chapter Three will take a significantly shorter amount of time to deliver than Chapter Two did.