Author's Note: Here it is, chapitre deux! I'm glad you all like the last one. This one was considerably harder to write. Long, you know…gah, it's hard to stay in characterization, as I was saying to a friend of mine at lunch the other day. Upon considering writing Jack's point of view, we decided it would be near impossible. You can't actually enter that man's mind, you can only observe. Blah. Hope I'm doing well. Enjoy this, and thank you for the reviews!

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CHAPTER TWO: DOMINIC FERDINAND HIDALGO FRANCISCO THE MAGNIFICENT

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They had remained in Kingston for hours after to restock supplies, and by the dimming of the afternoon they had gone underway again. Jack Sparrow had not said three words all night, which had, needless to say, not pulled any complaints out of the commodore.

When the day faded into a starlit evening, Jack stirred within the dankness of his cell.

"'Ey. You there," Jack strung his arms through the widely spaced bars, taking a moment to scowl at the chipping black paint, and then leaning over thoughtfully. The marine at his cell did not even acknowledge his existence. Jack reached out and nudged the stiff red sleeve of his uniform. "I know you can hear me, lad."

"The commodore says we're not to speak to you, or you to us." The young man replied stiffly, almost giving in and casting the pirate a side glance of nervous blue eyes and flaring nostrils. Jack rolled his eyes, and tipped his hat back further on his head.

"And why'd he say that?"

"Because you're a bad influence."

"Me?" Jack laughed at that, and stepped out of the bars to remove his hat and sweep a little triumphant bow. "Always happy to be of service, though I'm harmless to the likes of you if I do say so myself."

The marine cleared his throat, and frowned at the opposite wall when once again he resisted looking at Jack. "They say you're raving mad."

"Raving mad," Jack repeated a bit distantly as he fed his arms through the bars again, and rest his chin on his forearm. His hat twisted upwards against the steel as he leaned into it. "Well sometimes I wake up and don't know where I am, mate, but that can happen to any man. D'you think that can be constituted as 'raving mad'?"

The marine finally turned his head and shot him a disapproving look like he wanted to say something, but then snapped his gaze straight ahead again. Jack laughed.

"Or, did you go the extra step and think to yourself how exactly a man such as myself can be so articulate and yet raving mad at the same time?" Jack straightened again, and spread his hands apart to fully display himself. He grinned. "There's more to me than a bucket of black goo and an irresistibly charming smile, m'lad."
"See, it's talkin' like that that gets those rumors started," the marine stammered, taking a small side-step away from the bars and going as far as to wave him away. "Now go on, behave yourself! Stop talking to me!"

"I can't, I'm lonely," Jack admitted, though whether or not sincerity could be found in anything Jack Sparrow ever said was a complete mystery. He leaned down on his folded arms, chin pressed against his shoulder and muffling his words. "Gets boring down here...I know! I've got it!"

"What."

"You can take me to see the Commodore Norrington, he'd like that." Jack encouraged, and motioned for him to unlock the cell. "Well come on!" The marine made a suspicious face, and shook his head hard at Jack. "What?  'E would, we're mates!"

"If you an' the commodore are mates then I'm Sir Francis Drake."

"Well, Mr. Drake, if you'd be so kind as to – "

"I'm not him," The marine interrupted rudely, fixing Jack with a murderous glare for making him talk this long. "And you're no friend of the commodore. He's a respectable sort."

"Are you saying' I'm not respectable, mate?" Jack asked defensively, repressing a smile beneath his dark mustache, as the marine seemed to transform into several different colors before landing on the hue of a tomato.

"Will you just be quiet?!"

"What do you have to lose?" Jack encouraged, his voice soft and almost convincing as he leaned into the bars almost far enough to reach out and grab the marine. He almost got yelled at again, but the flustered young officer didn't seem willing to waste the breath. He only snorted at him and straightened again, indignantly. Jack cleared his throat in the awkward silence, and then added with a little move of his head, as plainly as ever, "You've got a whole lot more to lose if you don't take me to see him then if you do."

"Right. That won't work, so just bugger off."

"Oh, I really mean it. You know the story of how the commodore caught me this time 'round, eh?"

The marine turned deadpanned eyes, and raised skeptical brows. "Aye, I heard it. Something about your sails catching fire and you diving boots first into the bay."

"Yes, but why would a scallywag like myself let the ship he loves probably more than his mother randomly catch fire?" The pirate challenged with a glimpse of bottled excitement sparking across his features for the moment the words occupied him. The marine looked unimpressed, but not untouched. He tried,

"Because he's an irresponsible scallywag with nothing in his future but a hangman, a noose, and God's undeserved mercy."

Jack didn't miss a beat, but still managed a convincing kicked puppy look. He started as quickly as he had stopped, and even offered a quick laugh. "For friendships sake I'll ignore that and tell you any way."

"Don't trouble yourself."

"You see, it's quite simple really," The marine made a wordless frustrated noise in the back of is throat, but Jack just reached out and lightly jabbed his red shoulder. "The Pearl met with some unexpected company outside the harbor, mate. The Fantana, heard of it?" Jack's dark brows raised over his shadowed eyes, and his mouth spread into a smile as the marine shook his head. "Course you haven't. She's a Spanish ship, those don't wander into Kingston very often."

"If there's a point please feel free to come to it."

"I'm only saying the Fantana is after me," Jack finished, leaning into the bars again carelessly. He glanced up in time to see the marine blanch, and Jack Sparrow grinned viciously. "And her captain'll be stopping at nothing to have me neck swinging from a Spanish noose."

The marine relaxed, after a considering pause. "That's no problem. The commodore'll just hand you on over to the Fantana, and let them deal with the likes of you."

"No, mate," Jack answered, frankly. Danger lurked in that thoughtless smile, and the young man outside the jail cell unconsciously curled his fingers tighter about his weapon. "The Fantana isn't one of those to sail by the common codes of decency. She'll take what she comes for, and then blow the Dauntless out of the water."

--- --- ---

"I always did like nights like these," Commodore Norrington gripped his fork lightly between his middle and forefinger, absently studying the way the unbalanced metal shifted weight from side to side. "An almost windless night."

"And hardly a better one you've had, Commodore," Doctor Garrett, the ship's surgeon remarked lazily. He leaned far back in his chair, so the wood beneath his lean form creaked as he stretched his legs out before him. "You bagged Sparrow easily enough, and you have us underway, back to Port Royal."

"Yes, well, pulling back to port is all I could possibly desire at this point."

"You've never been so eager to be home in all our years, Norrington. Something troubles you?"

Norrington flicked his contemplative gaze briefly over to Dr. Garrett. He grunted in amusement, and flipped the fork back into a more sensible position. "No, I wouldn't say that. There's just no point in dawdling around the sea when my duties await me in Port Royal."

"Yes, I keep forgetting you're a commodore now," The doctor chewed thoughtfully, moving a piece of eaten bread around in the bowl of his soup with his spoon. He furrowed graying brows. "Do you remember landing twenty miles from Montego Bay? All along that coast?"

"You've asked me that every week for a month now, Garrett, and I keep telling you I don't remember much after running aground," Norrington reminded him mildly, unexpectedly stabbing a green bean on the spikes of his fork, and quickly putting it into his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, and queried suspiciously, "Did I get drunk and dance naked around a camp fire, is that why you keep asking?"

Garrett made an alarmed noise in the back of his throat, and threw a questioning glance in Norrington's direction. "What?"

Norrington snorted lightly and impaled another green bean. "What brings that to mind?"

"Just...you used to enjoy your work more, is all. Saw it in your eyes, we all did."

"I suppose that comes with getting older. You know, responsibility," Norrington emphasized the word good naturedly despite the wide gap in the doctor's and his age – Garrett was nearly twenty years his senior, and yet Norrington still felt he always played the part of the older man. "And who is 'we' anyway?"

"Oh," Garrett swallowed. "Crew. And myself."

"Well now I know what I've been missing during the brandy hour," Norrington remarked dryly. He shrugged. "I didn't come into the Navy to enjoy myself, I came to work. To make something of myself, and it along the way it all meant more than I could possibly have anticipated. Now I've achieved one of my highest goals."  Feeling the eyes of the doctor on him he looked up to meet them. "There's a time when boys have to become men, doctor. I discovered that early on."

"Oh, yes," Garrett nodded enthusiastically. "Your father would be very proud."

"Well," the commodore smiled quietly to himself, though the image of it was not so convincing; the way his mouth twisted at the ends could not really be described as a smile. More a satisfied expression of a man willing to settle and continue with the path his life was leading him down. "It was his idea I join the navy. He told me I would find meaning."

"Aye, and a fine one." Garrett shook a finger at Norrington, earning a little chuckle from the stoic young man. "You were one of the youngest captains, and now one of the youngest commodores. Meaning, indeed."

Meaning. Of course. There had been plenty of meaning in his life with every adventure he had come across as a young officer in the service of the King. For a fleeting moment he was thrown back to his first captain years – returning to port and describing each and every one of his sea tales to the Swann family, watching Elizabeth, only a girl then, giggle and clap at the climax of the story. It had become one of his favorite pastimes.

Now the title was the job, and Norrington, as a commodore, was to surrender his ship to some green captain, and find an office in the fort back home. Strangely enough, where other captains his age would fight the concept until raw, Norrington had no objections. There was no more Elizabeth to impress, and dark as it seemed to him sometimes, no reason to keep climbing the ladder.

A knock rattled on the heavy oak doors of his cabin, and Norrington frowned upon turning to face them. He had specifically ordered no interruptions. "Yes?"

"Apologies, sir, but..." the officer outside hesitated, indicating to Norrington that it certainly wasn't Gillette's voice he was hearing. There was a slight scuffling noise behind the frosted glass, and then, "Mr. Sparrow wishes to speak with you."

"No, tell him I wish to negotiate with him." Sparrow's voice, muffled.

"No, I told him what I told him, and if he says go away then I'll hog tie you!"

"Your father slapped you around when you were a boy, din't he, lad?"

There was a vicious, but inaudible retort from the marine, and finally his voice came again through the wood. "Commodore, are you in there, sir?"

"Marine, what is Mr. Sparrow doing out of his cell?" From across the table the doctor arched a brow at Norrington, and the young commodore glanced over his shoulder again towards the source of disturbance. "I ordered you not speak to him."

"Sir, I know you did, sir, but he says it's urgent!"

"Tell him it's a matter of life an' death, mate."

"Do I have to gag you?!"

Norrington glanced over at the doctor and rolled his stern blue eyes, waving at the door before turning around in his chair again and resting his ankle on his opposite knee. "Come in, then."  The heavy doors were silently pushed open, save for the grunt of effort from the marine.

Jack didn't even wait to be escorted in before tromping inside, quickly surveying his surroundings, and then sitting down in the chair nearest the commodore. His hands were still bound, but he didn't complain. Jack nodded to Norrington. "That was nice of you."

"Don't mistake my agitated curiosity for hospitality, Sparrow," Norrington watched the pirate's face change considerably, from a sort of unreadable optimistic to a puzzled frown. He cleared his throat. "Whatever it is had better be urgent as you say it is. Marine, leave us."

"Thanks, mate," Jack said to the marine, waving him away and receiving a silent snarl from the indignant young man. The oak doors closed neatly, and Jack turned back to Norrington. "Right, then, where were we?"

"You were interrupting my dinner."

"Right, right." Jack scooted up to the edge of his chair, and spoke with his hands. "There's something I didn't tell you before about my being in Kingston."

"You're a blithering idiot?"

"Ah, no, mate. You've gotta give me credit for at least trying' to keep me neck as short as it is. I wouldn't have let you catch me that easily. If it were up to me, I'd be playing catch with you all over the Caribbean, Commodore," Jack winked at Norrington, and like a hungry dog with his two front legs arched up expectantly, he leaned over the table and let his gaze fall to the unfinished meal set out. After fixing greedy eyes on Norrington's plate, he reached out and plucked a potato slice up. "Are you going to eat that?"

"Now I'm not," Norrington shoved the plate in Jack's direction, proud, fine features distorted in disgust as the pirate began eating hungrily. "You're welcome."

"Do you not fear the noose, Mr. Sparrow?" Dr. Garrett's tone was worlds more civil than Norrington's, and he observed Jack as if he were a scientific experiment in the making. "Or is there another escape plan awaiting us all in Port Royal?"

"Oh, don't worry, I still fear for me life," Jack nodded fervently toward Norrington with a cheeky smile, his lean cheeks crammed with potato slices. He swallowed hard. "I know you're relieved to hear that, Commodore, but it's true. I've seen a sailor's head pop right off his shoulders from the force of a good rope."

"If you've seen the consequences of your actions then why in God's name do you still engage in piracy?" The doctor questioned, blind to whatever logic Jack was trying to convey. The pirate stared back at him, dark eyes going still and unreadable as he chewed slowly, vacantly.

"Well," he finally began thoughtfully, popping another green bean between his lips. His entire demeanor was simply artless, and Norrington sighed doggedly. "It does cut into one's social life. My lady friend doesn't seem to like me line of work, if you get what I been telling you." Jack swallowed.

"And what is your lady friend's name?" The doctor seemed to be trying to keep the conversation at least a bit respectable, or even polite - and Norrington just covered his brow with a hand, not wishing to even hear it much less participate. Jack frowned incredulously at Dr. Garrett, and snorted at the startled expression he received.

"How am I supposed to know, I can't keep track of them all."

"There's more than one?"

"Oh, aye, and sometimes she gets attached to me and I have to leave her crying. Never liked that part much, but it's hard to get around these days," Jack shrugged, saying over his shoulder too-casually, "It's a cut-throat business."

"You treat it like it's a normal occupation, man!"

Jack arched a puzzled brow, and for a moment he looked almost innocent to the judgmental eyes of Commodore Norrington. Before he could get anything else out and further sink the overall integrity of the conversation, the commodore pulled himself up in his chair and waved in sharp dismissal.

"Yes, yes, back to the topic, Sparrow. Supposedly there was a point to this meeting," Norrington drew his brows together, unimpressed but willing to listen. "You in Kingston, just under our noses without so much as a prayer. Why?"

Jack gulped down two more potato slices, and he pushed the plate again with one of bound, still soot-covered hands. "Long story short?"

"Please."

"Well, to be perfectly honest I'm being hunted by vicious bounty hunters all serving under the flag of one Spanish captain that would very much like to have me skin hanging on his wall."

"Of course." Norrington shifted, skeptical. He smiled vacantly, folding his hands over his lap. "And you tell us now?" At that Jack cocked his head, decorations all rattling together as his abundant dark hair fell to the side. It was as if he felt Norrington's distrust was the element at fault.

"As a friendly warning, mate," he finally clarified, offering a slight smile that received only one of Norrington's famous eye-rolls. "The Fantana will come for me, but she'll also take the Dauntless as a prize ship. Very greedy, that one."

"Vicious bounty hunters, right.  So you're saying instead of turning you over to these 'bounty hunters', we should avoid them completely."

"Exactly!"

"That still doesn't save your neck, Sparrow."

Jack flashed a grin too arrogant for his easy character. "You don't have the heart to try and hang me again, commodore."

"I assure you, I have every intention of watching you swing from the gallows." Norrington actually sounded quite sincere, with that unchanging tone and resilient stern glance that never seemed to go tarnished even after hours of wear.

"But," Jack stopped him pointedly, a delicate finger in the air. Norrington waited, his expression unintentionally quizzical. "It would break dear Elizabeth's heart, wouldn't it?" Jack reminded him suddenly. A white hot flash of something quite indescribable, jealously, resentment, bitter recollection – it wiped any expression from his sharp features, and the moment the words left his lips Norrington to closed within himself. His stern face hardened, dangerously.

"I cannot forgo my duty," Norrington bit out, voice completely void of even a single tremble. He watched the pirate obliquely. "…To please Elizabeth Swann, Sparrow."

"Well I suppose that explains why she's not Elizabeth Norrington right now, eh, commodore?"

Norrington felt himself physically jolt at that, and a muscle leapt in his clenched jaw at the flare of his temper. Doctor Garrett saw the silent exchange between the two men, and he came slowly to his feet with a nod at each of them, sensing the cue for an exit. "Do excuse me gentlemen." Garrett said, a bit awkwardly with another nod at Norrington. His exit was hasty.

The cabin was silent, and Norrington would not have even noticed a canon ball's impact had it slammed right over his head. At that moment he felt lower than he had in a very long time, and it sank into him like an anchor had been dropped onto his person. Perhaps Jack was right about Elizabeth, and maybe he wasn't. Maybe Elizabeth's choice was conceived when she was no older than ten years and could never have been altered, even by him, but the pain still lingered as strong as the menacing presence of another human being. Jack was, indeed, right, and he hated him for it.

"Mr. Sparrow," It was cold, his voice. Almost unrecognizable to his own ears. When at one point Norrington might have even admired Jack Sparrow for his aid in rescuing the woman he loved, there was nothing more now but a streak of bitterness that would not soon be gone. "You will be escorted back to your cell without further commentary, do you understand me?"

"That came out wrong, mate, it wasn't your fault Liz didn't love you," Jack made a quick recovery, realizing on instant the mistake he had made. He motioned vaguely with his hands, trying to find the right words that clearly were just not coming out. Something in the eyes just was not right with Jack; they lacked their usual sleaze. Nothing dishonest, no ulterior motive. The image was visually bewildering because of how wrong it looked. Jack's very air was wrong, he always looked confused, or so far from a reality plane that he couldn't even focus for five moments at a time. Norrington drew in a breath to say something, but Jack raised a hand to stop him, and attempted to look appealing. "I think you're a fascinating, charming, dashing young man, commodore-"

"Sparrow – "

"- And I, for one, would marry you, mate, I don't know what was wrong with Bethy," Jack flashed all of his gold and pearl teeth quickly, but it faded when the look Norrington gave was almost tenfold more irate. A blink snapped across Jack's face, and he quickly clarified, "Eh - nothing funny, mate, it's...you know, a compliment."

"First and foremost, you will refer to Elizabeth as Miss Swann, and soon enough Miss Turner," Norrington was surprised he was capable of snapping out that last bit and still keeping his voice steady, and dignified. He stiffened in his seat. "You will not address such a fine young woman as Elizabeth Swann so disrespectfully in my presence again. Not while I still have a sword -"

Jack's near black eyes did not waver, and their shade seemed to alter from something decidedly blank to a steady solemn stare. Meaningful, a rare sight. He seemed unaffected by Norrington's threat, and the commodore found puzzlement rather than insult writ large across his place. Jack's very posture changed. "I was rooting for you, mate," Jack's brows contorted in an almost pitying expression, and his voice lowered. "Don't think I was lying about that."

Norrington closed his mouth, not realizing it had been slack, and he finished slowly, " – to put you back in your place."

Jack snorted at that, and Norrington made a mental note to stricken his overall delivery. He frowned as Jack hunched back over the plate, picking another piece of potato up and raising it to his lips.

"She was a real catch, though, wouldn't you say, commodore? In all honesty, I'd make a sweep at her – "

"Sparrow!" Norrington snapped, and Jack only glanced back up at him with wide, almost black eyes, chewing slowly. Norrington's hand found the grip of his weapon, and he held a tensed forefinger up in a straight threat. "You go to far, keep your comments to yourself lest you wish me to teach you the manners your mother never bothered to!"

~~~

"Oh, Lord, no!" The admiral visibly shrank back in his chair, moaning and covering his face with both hands. "Teach him manners – God save you, that's horrible! Where do you come up with these, man?!"

Norrington inhaled deeply, rolling his eyes up to study the ceiling planks with his tongue in his cheek, letting the admiral's wheezy laughter echo on through the room with a patient grace and not too much of a scowl. Maybe the admiral had not been accused of murder lately, and didn't fully understand the situation that resulted in Norrington's lack of a lighthearted bearing. The admiral held up a hand, still chuckling hard and pinning a hand to his breast.

"Apologies, lad, by all means continue." He finally managed, and Norrington opened his mouth to continue, but the admiral interrupted once again. "Just out of curiosity, how many more of these can I expect?"

Norrington frowned at that, and drew in another sharp breath, his fingers flexing restlessly against the arms of his chair. "Clichés?"

"Yes."

"If that's Mr. Sparrow's account, you can fully expect me to leap up on the table and do an Irish jig." Norrington said in a decidedly dry tone, but when the admiral gave no reply he caught the hesitance in the other man's gaze, and his jaw went slack in sheer disbelief. "No – "

"I, well…" the admiral just motioned with his hand vaguely for Norrington to continue, and raised the diary to shield his face from the young commodore's (probably to hide another eccentric smile. The old man was having far too good a time with this whole ordeal). "What happened next? Did you actually fight him?"

"Oh, um, no…" Norrington casually lifted a shoulder. "Not exactly. We had a few more words, nothing too serious. I have more sense than to fight a pirate in front of my crew. More dignity, rather."

"No doubt about that." The admiral agreed with a chuckle, and reopened the diary to where Norrington and Sparrow's story matched time wise. "Was the Fantana story a lie?"

--- --- ---

The dispute over Elizabeth had been solved easily enough through several dignified threats from Norrington and a Jack Sparrow that retreated with a good grace. It didn't convince Norrington let him stay, however.

"I honestly don't know why you've stayed this long," The commodore commented wryly as Jack was dubiously lead out of the cabin still chewing some of the forgotten potato slices. Norrington nodded to Gillette, who seemed almost too pleased to once again lock the pirate in the bowls of the ship. "But if I have to stand guard myself, you'll not leave your cell again."

"Well if you stood guard I wouldn't have to, mate," Jack reminded him, though his amused grin had twisted into a puzzled frown when he found Norrington was serious (as usual), and he really was being lead back to that little brig. "Suppose it's a good thing ye listened to me warning about the Fantana, eh, commodore?"
"Mr. Sparrow, I would have to be mad and fevered to ever believe a single word – "

"Commodore!" One of the older lieutenants, Matthews, called from several yards away, catching Norrington off guard. "Sir, there's an unmarked ship approaching!" Norrington narrowed his eyes to see Matthews pull his spyglass and peer through it, then turn back with a lost expression. "She has released the white flag!"

Norrington blanched, literally feeling the blood drain from his face and his stomach, pooling into the soles of his feet. It only occurred to him to glance over at Jack, a disturbing realization dawning on him like a set of cold fingers scrabbling up his back. The look in the other man's dark eyes was solemn, a sort of quiet fear lying in their black shades that unnerved Commodore Norrington.

He cleared his throat, and drew his brows tight. "Lieutenant Matthews, draw our flag of truce."

"Done, sir," Matthews nodded to several of the midshipmen, and they scampered off to comply. Matthews bent over the railing and peered into the dimming evening. He nodded to the commodore.

"Commodore, sir, they request permission to come aboard."

"One moment," Norrington said sternly, turning to Jack with a straight-edged stare warning no foolishness from the generally eccentric pirate. "You were telling the truth."

"Interesting how no-one ever believes me until it's too bloody late," Jack remarked despite the sparking tension in the sea air, and one of the marines gave him a little shove. He nodded, gravely. "Aye, it was the truth."

"And this captain. Do you know him?"

"Only by reputation."

"Of course," Norrington muttered with a bitter disposition, and signaled to Matthews. "Very well, granted. We will see how far we can sort this out through a gentlemen's meeting, rather than risking an open battle. That is, if you're not lying about this captain." He added, inclining another distrusting look at Jack Sparrow.

"I lie about a lot of things, Commodore, that I do," Jack said, softly. "But some truths ought not be bended."

Norrington only arched a skeptical brow at the pirate clutched between two impatient marines, and he nodded to them. "Take Mr. Sparrow back into my cabin. I think it best, in the case that he is telling the truth, that these men do not know we have him."

Jack laughed at that, as the marines lifted his arms up partially to pull him away. "You don't honestly think they're here for conversation, do you, Commodore?"

"One can only hope. Not a word out of you," Norrington warned, harshly, and the marines quickly obeyed the order to lock the pirate in the commodore's cabin. Norrington drew in a deep breath, and folded his arms neatly behind his back, taking easy steps over to join the lieutenants awaiting the little boat that made it's way on over. He stood beside Gillette, and said under his breath, "What do you think."

"I don't like the look of it myself," The younger man replied evenly, tilting his head to get a better view of the large ship, the Fantana, drifting only several yards away from the side of the Dauntless. "But I hardly think a Captain would order his crew to attack while he walked into the hands of the opponent, sir."

"It seems so," Norrington murmured, watchful blue eyes observing quietly as the roped ladder was extended over the port side of the Dauntless, and thumped upon making contact. "However, after the events of the past month I'm having a hard time considering what your average captain would normally do a reliable source."

"Point taken, sir."

"You're a fast learner, Lieutenant." Norrington finished in a low voice, and raised his chin to greet the men coming aboard. They were smartly dressed, decorated with many gold buttons and even a few medals of some sort – dark hair and eyes, and a very charismatic walk. Norrington offered a diplomatic smile. "Welcome aboard, gentlemen. Commodore Norrington, of his Majesty's ship the Dauntless."

One of them stepped forward, leaving the other two men behind him as he removed his hat and swept an exaggerated bow before Norrington. The man quickly straightened as fast as the bow had come, and he lightly place his tri-corner hat back on his dark head, regarding Norrington with a mild expression. "Captain Dominic Ferdinand Hidalgo Francisco," he said in a heavy Spanish accent, and a little smile twisted his mustache upward into his cheek. "The magnificent. It is a pleasure, Commodore Norrington."

"The pleasure is mine, Captain Francisco," Norrington replied with all the politeness he could muster. He half turned in order to face both Gillette and the captain. "My crew welcomes you aboard."

"You are young for your rank," Captain Francisco remarked, out of the blue and catching Norrington off guard. There was something in those surveying eyes that gave Norrington the need to close his face, and become unreadable to the searching eyes of the captain. Part of him was still battling the doubt Sparrow had planted within him. The captain arched a black brow. "I assume a distinguished record has put you in your place, Commodore."

"We in His Majesty's Navy strive for just that, captain," Norrington said, lifting his chin. "I fear I have not been told your reason for boarding my ship, is here anything wrong? May we offer aid?"

"Very kind of you, but no," The captain said, quite obviously disinterested. "It is our belief that you carry the pirate captain Jack Sparrow on your ship. We wish to take him off your hands." The captain raised both brows. "Do you have him here, Commodore?"

~~~

Cheek on his palm, the admiral pushed the wire spectacles down the bridge of his nose and glanced up at Norrington. "Might have been a good idea to lie then, lad."

Norrington cringed inwardly. Indeed.