Author's Note: Here she is, chapter three. I apologize for the long wait, a thousand things have happened since I last updated this fanfic. Pyper: Yes, I figured I was doing something wrong. I'm actually in French, but I've got a few friends in Spanish that corrected me. Unfortunately, Captain I-unrealistically-translate-my-name-for-English-Sailors shall have to remain Captain I-unrealistically-translate-my-name-for-English-Sailors. U_U I hope you still enjoy the story. Again, I apologize for the wait and thank you all for your reviews!

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 CHAPTER THREE: HOSTAGES

~~~

"With a Spanish ship in firing range, her eccentric – as you say – captain boarding your ship and Mr. Sparrow hidden away in your cabin you…" Admiral Hawk trailed off, and motioned with a wave of his hand for Norrington to finish. "…Well? Inevitably he did discover you had Sparrow…how?"

"We decided to discuss the custody of Mr. Sparrow like gentlemen." Norrington shrugged, but Admiral Hawk's jaw dropped near to the desk surface.

"You mean you told him you had Sparrow aboard?" The older man sputtered in disbelief. Norrington suddenly felt very stupid. "What happened to leaving that between the officers and yourself, my God, man, whatever happened to strategy?!" The younger man ran a weary hand – thankfully unbound, through his short dark hair and averted his eyes to his lap, trying to think up a response.

"An honest man, in any case, has nothing to fear –"

"Except in this one, where your honesty clearly almost got you killed –" Admiral Hawk stopped and shook his head, putting his spectacles back up the bridge of his nose and grazing the diary's page with his skeptical eyes. "Yet nevertheless there you stand. Did you consent to giving him Sparrow, or did you refuse?"

Norrington cleared his throat. "No, sir, I…" he paused. "I refused, of course I refused, sir." The admiral's brows rose, and he leaned back in his chair with a somewhat suspicious regard of Norrington, as if he knew the entire truth was not being given. Norrington knew that look all too well, and repressed a wince when the admiral asked him the inevitable question.

"Why?"

"I did not feel I had the legal right to hand over a prisoner of his Majesty's Navy." The younger man answered, giving his chin a little tilt of confidence, though confidence was the last thing he had at this point with those stern eyes on him. He felt like a midshipman all over again, and holding his breath was all he could do to keep his nerve and not look away. The admiral leaned forward again, and restated his question as if it had never been answered in the first place.

"Why did you lose your ship, and endanger the lives of your crew for the infamous Jack Sparrow?"

--- --- ---

"Why, indeed," Captain Francisco murmured quietly, his hat gathered in his arm at his side. Norrington exhaled softly, arms folded behind his back as he watched the other man's reaction. The Spanish captain seemed disappointed, but civil about it. "I do not understand your logic, sir, but I will respect it for my part."

"I thank you for that, Captain," Norrington said with a curt nod of his head, and an inner smile forming. He enjoyed being right most of the time. "My crew and I have already dined, but if I may invite you to have a drink with me…?"

Captain Francisco held up a hand and shook his dark head, fitting his hat over his head and distractedly glancing back to where his men waited by the throw ladder. "With regret I must decline, Commodore Norrington, you see my men and I are keen about our business," he gestured to the dimming sky, and when he glanced back at Norrington grinned, showing both rows of teeth. "And the night is young, no?"

"Well, then," Norrington smiled at the Captain and glanced over his shoulder at the three marines that held Sparrow, receiving a look from the pirate captive he couldn't quite distinguish. The dark eyes watched him, solemn but unreadable. He frowned back, and turned to the Captain again, bowing politely. "I should hope to see you cross our path again sometime, Captain Francisco, and you can rest easy that the convict Jack Sparrow will be paying for his crimes."

"Of that I am glad to hear," Captain Francisco gave a short bow as well. "Farewell, Commodore. I wish you my very best." And he spun on his heel, striding faster than his English escorts over to the boats. Norrington watched him quietly for a long moment, tipping back onto the balls of his feet lazily and keeping his hands behind his back. Norrington turned slowly to face Sparrow, knowing how smug he must have looked at that moment, and the pirate furrowed his dark brows.

"Proud of yourself, mate?"

Norrington snorted a short laugh, and took a few steps over to where the other man was bound in fresh irons, both his arms being clamped onto by steel faced marines. "It is truly amazing, Mr. Sparrow, how far one can get without having to steal and cheat and wave a rusty sword around," he gave his brow a little jump and smugly spun on his heel. "Take him below."

"But we 'ere having so much fun, Commodore…" Jack attempted, though his grin immediately vanished when the marines began pulling him along again. "Wait, wait, just a moment lads – Commodore," Jack struggled to turn around again, but this time the marines held fast. Norrington did not bother to listen, and without so much as another glance went back into his cabin. "He'll be back, Commodore! I swear me life away on it, he'll be back!"

"Come on, you, Commodore's got more important things to worry about."

Norrington settled back into his hammock, nodding to the boy that quickly cleared away from his table what was left of he and the doctor's dinner. Outside Jack Sparrow clumsily let his protests be known, but only a moment later was he silenced and escorted back down into the brig. Jack had not lied about being pursued by the Fantana and her captain, and that very fact shadowed Norrington's certainty with an eerie doubt. It was the little things about Sparrow that set his alarm bells off – the man was, for the most part, unreadable. Jack Sparrow had no reason to lie, and from the looks of it, he seemed genuinely frightened when Captain Francisco boarded the Dauntless.

He shook his head once; as if worry was a physical dust he could simply shake away, and let a dry hand slide over his brow. The day had finally brought him to exhaustion, and Norrington was tempted to just fall asleep in his coat and wig. Thoughts of Jack Sparrow and the Fantana finally faded away from his conscious mind, and Norrington drifted off into a dreamless sleep, with the night wind brushing by and the sound of the departing Fantana slowly disappearing.

It was only two hours later that a spontaneous crash and tremor wracked the ship, and threw him from his sleep. Norrington pulled himself out of his hammock and shakily stumbled to the door, thinking of nothing but answering it before the crewman on the other side broke it down. The ship lurched again, and Norrington hit the oak door hard. The door pushed open, and a frightened midshipman stood with eyes wider than dinner plates.

"Commodore, sir, we're under attack!"

Norrington shook his head hard, and gripped the doorjamb to support himself. "What?! By who?!" Of course he knew the answer before the young man could stammer it out. Jack Sparrow had been telling the truth, and the Dauntless would have to take on a Spanish war ship with just a skeleton crew aboard. This match would be bloody – and Sparrow had tried to warn him.

"It's the Fantana, sir!"

The Fantana. Norrington rubbed the sleep out of his eyes in a split second and darted past the midshipman, stumbling when another canon ball struck the belly of the Dauntless. He spouted a curse when he hit the deck, and several bodies crowded around him, all crying his name and asking him questions about how many fingers they were holding up and whatnot. Norrington shook his head, focusing and pulling himself quickly to his feet.

"Commodore! Commodore!" One pale boy cried, and another. "Commodore, are you all right, sir?!"

"Gillette!" Norrington shouted over the chaos, quickly scanning the panic of the ship. Officers were running here, there, crewmen were bellow – Gillette must have been below, commanding the guns. He couldn't think, couldn't concentrate – and then another hit struck the ship, and it rattled the deck so hard he fell back again, hitting hard. He practically felt his tailbone bruise. "Gillette, where are you?!"

"Here, sir!" Gillette was suddenly before him, somewhere in those jerks and wracks. Blood streaked his face, as well as soot. "Sir!"

"Is Jack Sparrow below?!" Norrington demanded, seizing the younger man by the elbows. "Is he still below deck, where is he?"

"Aye, sir, he's in the brig."  Gillette replied, and Norrington immediately released him, taking off again like a shot for the bowels of the ship. Gillette followed him for a few steps longer. "Commodore, sir, are we going to make the exchange?!"

Norrington was certainly considering turning Jack Sparrow over now, but he had no time for regrets, and only scrambled down the hatch and dropped down below. By the time he had reached Sparrow, the pirate had practically squeezed between the iron bars of the brig. His expression upon seeing Norrington was nothing save disinterested, considering all of the marines had left their posts, and Norrington was in no position to stop an escape.

"Happy with yourself, Commodore?" Jack said between gritted teeth, still, in all the noise and excitement, able to keep his mild attitude – which was an over all disrespectful one, and even now drove Norrington mad. The pirate was having a considerable amount of trouble getting his triangulated arms through the narrow opening, and yanked hard again. The cell shook, and around the tanned, soot ringed flesh of Jack's wrists Norrington saw where the metal had began to chafe, and blood was beading up. Jack stopped at nothing, and kept pulling. "You've made a – " another rattle of iron bars. " – fine mess out of this one, 'haven't you?"

"I suppose you would have preferred me to turn you over, then," Norrington snapped, and the ship racked again. A distant shout followed, and several others rose to join in. The word was passed for the commodore, and Norrington turned back to Jack with a murderous glare. "What can we do to end this, Sparrow, you know the captain!" Norrington felt the hate behind his question rise up into his throat and he wanted to spit it out like bad liquor, but he managed to keep himself composed.

Jack snorted. "What can you do, Commodore, but return fire. Your little canons against their little canons, y'know?" He yanked again at the bars, clenching his teeth hard in obvious pain and throwing Norrington another vaguely spiteful glance. And of course a little grin followed. His gold teeth caught the dim light. "Better go, they're calling you."

"We did not come armed for a sea battle, Sparrow, not chasing after the likes of you – "

"Suppose I was more than you expected," Jack winked at him, and took a moment out of his violent thrashing to address him full on. "I'm just full of surprises, mate." Norrington, for the moment, appreciated the fact that he had at least an inch's height on the pirate and could give him a long hard stare. Then he shot a hand out and seized Jack hard by the forearm, the tips of his aristocratic fingers biting into the dark wiry muscle as he held him in place. Norrington's other hand fumbled with the keys, and he quickly removed the cuffs, allowing Jack to reposition his arms and duck out of the bars.

The pirate's wrists were a bit bloodier than Norrington had really cared to notice, like a trapped animal willing to chew through its own limb to once again gain freedom. The commodore chose to ignore it, and once Jack was standing before him he snapped the irons back on and pulled the other man along. Jack stiffly allowed him to, and slid Norrington a quick dark-eyed side glance. "What exactly do you plan on doing, mate?"

"What I should have done from the very beginning."

"Oh – um, no, Commodore," Jack tried in an attempt to speak appealingly. "- What happened to everything – " Jack was shoved up the steps of the Dauntless, and the dim torch light from the surface broke upon his startled, but dazed features. "- You said, about…"

"I have a crew to consider, Sparrow," Norrington said hard, bracing his self hard against the stair railing when another blast racked the ship. That had to have been the sixth or seventh hit, and the ship was holding fast – but not for much longer. He pushed Jack onward again. "A hundred good souls of His Majesty's Navy are more valuable than the skin of a thieving pirate."

"There's a wee problem– "

"If you think I'm going to listen to another word you plan on spitting out…"

"Aye, but remember what happened the last time you swept little Jack under the rug, mate?"

Norrington's steps faltered, and he had to stop for a moment. Countering his rage, he gave the side of Sparrow's face a long considering glare as he debated whether or not to listen to him this time. So far the bloody pirate had not lied, and if he did not do something soon his entire ship would be destroyed. This was truly the downside of being a commodore in His Majesty's Royal Navy. Jack finally seemed to find the courage to look him in the face again, and Norrington released a hard breath. He seized Jack by the shoulders and pressed him to the hand railing of the steps.

"Alright, then. You are going to tell me right now what the 'wee problem' is, or I am going to put a bullet through that thick skull of yours and make it look like you were killed in the attack," Norrington, on any other given day would have been horrified by his own behavior, but now he just gripped Sparrow's thin shirt and shook him once. "Now elaborate. Quickly man!"

"Captain Francisco is Spanish. I'd think you'd know this better than me, but the he's breaking every treaty in the book, mate," Jack motioned vaguely above their heads with his bound hands, and shrugged witlessly. "He hasn't exactly been disowned by his country, I can tell you that much…"

Norrington scowled. "Are you trying to tell me he's no bounty hunter?"

"Well I'm sure it's a nice hobby, but I'm not the only reason there be a Spanish Captain, hostile, in English waters –" Jack withered beneath another of Norrington's glares when it seemed the Commodore was beginning to doubt him again. "He's no renegade, Commodore, he's one of their own. If word got out that it was not Pirates but the Spanish that attacked the HMS Dauntless..." Jack trailed off, and Norrington released him, hard. He swore viciously.

"Then he means to destroy us. Even if we do hand you over."

"I believe that's what I said earlier today as well…" At another glare from Norrington Jack obediently ducked his head. "Sorry, mate. S'just that ol' Jack Sparrow is just a pretty face. No one decides to listen to a bloody word he says until they've got a cutlass in their gullet."

"Enough," Norrington snapped, his voice had gone soft with indecision, and he once again took Jack's elbow and lead him up the staircase. "We will strike our colors," he said finally. The firing had ceased, and there was a lull about the deck as they rose to it that was both unnatural, and resigned. Even Jack Sparrow kept his mouth shut and his head respectfully down as Norrington announced his defeat to his second lieutenant. "Strike our colors, and let us negotiate before we lose the Dauntless."

"Aye, sir," Gillette quietly conveyed his orders to the crew. On the dark horizon, the Fantana watched the flag rise.

~~~ 

"You surrendered, then."

"Well, I…" Norrington cleared his throat, and busied himself with smoothing the rags that were his pants over his legs. Admiral Hawk did not seem at all impressed with anything Norrington had accomplished so far. The young commodore had been so pleased with himself, so sure of his actions and duty and experience that he had never in a hundred years pictured himself sitting before an Admiral, being judged like a ten-year-old boy. "I would not necessarily call it a surrender. We made a negotiation."

"Did you?"

"Yes."

Admiral Hawk pushed his glasses down his nose, and took the diary of Jack Sparrow into his seat with him, almost protectively. "What were the terms?" As he spoke, a young man set a glass down beside him and began to pour nondescript golden liquor into it. Norrington watched it fill the glass, and for one of the few times in his life, would have been perfectly content to be as he was in that cell the night before: drunk as ever he had been and oblivious to the world around him. "Obviously to hand the pirate over, but how did you manage to get separated from the Dauntless?"

"The first was of course to hand over Jack Sparrow," Norrington recalled, reaching back to out of habit scratch the base of his skull. "But as you know Captain Francisco had everything to lose if word of his presence was to enter the English ports."

Admiral Hawk raised his brows and took a quick sip of his drink, momentarily closing the diary and letting his thick fingers tap against it. "…And? I would think execution, every last man, to be the most appropriate action…how did you manage to escape?"

Norrington shook his head. "I didn't. He spared my crew in exchange for me. The Dauntless he ravaged of supplies and left crippled, where Sparrow and I were taken as prisoners."

"Did Francisco not think of the Dauntless returning to port and spreading word?"

"That's where my being taken hostage came in," Norrington explained, and the admiral nodded, willing to listen. "I was insurance, to be dropped off from the Fantana as soon as she left English waters. In a life boat, with minimal supplies, he said."

"That still leaves the fact that an entire English crew witnessed the attack of a Spanish ship." The admiral pointed out, balancing the glass between each of his fingers as it rest lazily in his palm. "I suppose you would be discredited with no evidence, of course, and no trace of the Fantana…"

"Precisely," Norrington rubbed his temples with his fingertips, hard, massaging the tense flesh and squeezing his eyes shut. "But I was given two minutes to part with my crew, as a gesture of gratitude for our good sportsmanship from Captain Francisco."

"Well," Admiral Hawk gave a helpless shrug. "That was nice of him."

--- --- ---

"I am not usually so merciful, Commodore," Captain Francisco said, twisting one of those fingers into his dark mustache and watching the younger man with a gleaming black eye. "But your situation breaks my heart. Go on. Part with your officers, my men and I will wait patiently, as gentlemen."

Norrington was twisted around, and two of the captains men held his wrists firmly together as they were clamped in irons behind his back. He was shoved hard in the direction of Gillette, who still wore his coat, unlike the commodore, but lacked a sword or pistol. He seemed no more than a boy at the moment, but Norrington had no time or energy to be a tutor any longer. He nodded to the pale young man, who averted his eyes as they were given a moment of privacy.

"Five years you've sailed with me, Gillette," Norrington murmured quietly, staring him down and keeping his chin up, back straight, and his feet firm beneath his erect body. Gillette nodded, muttering an 'aye sir' and trying to hold that intense blue eyed gaze of his superior. Norrington's voice lowered to a whisper. "Now you are the one I trust. You are appointed the acting captain, second lieutenant, it is now on your shoulders to bring this crew safely back to port."

"But Mr. Furland is second in command, sir…" Gillette began, but Norrington only dismissed it with another headshake.

"You are the acting captain. Get to a port as quickly as you can, and re-supply. You tell anyone who will listen of what you have seen here."

"They'll kill you, sir…"

"Gillette, they plan on killing me either way," Norrington moved in closer, so his lips nearly grazed Gillette's ear. The young man looked so scared he could hardly keep his dinner inside, and Norrington knew he was putting the weight of the world on his shoulders, but also did he know that under circumstances as their own men were at their best. And he trusted Gillette to see the Dauntless safely home. "Listen closely. This very well may be the brink of a war. Make note of our bearings, the Fantana's guns, special markings, anything. Do you understand me?"

"Aye, sir."

Norrington took in a breath to speak again, but one of the Spaniards seized his elbow and yanked him back. He looked through the darkness to give Gillette one more meaningful stare, one as hard as a slap in the face, and chilling as the sea air. Gillette only nodded, and stepped back to allow the crew of the Fantana to disembark. Norrington was guided down the ladder first – the Spaniards did not seem to have any qualms about making him walk down with his hands bound – they awaited with a boat down at the bottom to pull him in if he should fall.

"Jack Sparrow," Captain Francisco said with a wide smile, his mustache bending around his curved lips and displaying yellowed teeth. Funny how no one seemed to notice how ugly the man was when he had been civil and gentleman like that evening. Jack made a face and ducked out of the Spanish captain's speaking path – even Jack Sparrow had an idea of personal space when it came to his own welfare, but Captain Francisco only moved closer. He leaned in so far Jack's back hit the railing. "It gives me great pleasure to see you again, in chains, finally."

"Yes, well," Jack gave a quick, nervous smile and turned to look at the cold water slapping against the hull, sending spray whirling up. He cleared his throat, and turned back to Captain Francisco with a little shrug. "What can I say, mate, I aim to please."

"Mhm, of course you do," Captain Francisco folded his fat hands behind his back and glanced Jack over, taking in his bound ankles and hands. The pirate shifted uncomfortably before him, and the chains clinked together and against the deck. "I would imagine it to be difficult to make it down the ladder, as your friend the Commodore has done."

"You're probably right, maybe you should just leave me here –" Jack was cut off by one of the captain's fists connecting hard with his already bruised cheek, and in the next few seconds was physically flipped overboard by Francisco, hands and ankles bound as they had been. There was nothing but a yelp before he hit the water, and the crew of the Fantana broke out into uproarious laughter. Francisco leaned over the railing and signaled to the crew waiting in the boats.

"Go on, fish him out, to the rest of you," he turned to Gillette and the crew of the Dauntless, and gave them an ugly smile. He tipped his hat. "I wish you a safe voyage."

Norrington sat in front of several officers, and kept reminding himself to keep his posture erect and his eyes forward. There was no need to lose his dignity in what would probably be the last days of his life, and he intended to keep every ounce of it. If this was to be his end then he promised himself to not go down as a prisoner, but as a Commodore, and nothing less. That sense of determination and faith in his self lessened somewhat when a gasping, soaking Jack Sparrow was pulled into the boat beside him, and was thrown against his side.

Norrington scowled and leaned away from him as Jack managed to pull himself upright, and instead of asking if Jack was all right turned his eyes up to the side of his ship. They began to depart, each stroke of the oars in the water sounding as foul as a nail on a blackboard. He did not see any of the Dauntless' crew after that.

Beside him Jack shivered, and nudged his with a cold wet arm. Norrington exhaled hard through his nose, and sharply directed his attention toward the pirate. Jack held one of his bound hands up as he spoke, as if he had to trace the syllables as he spoke them. "I would just like to say that was a noble thing you did there, mate."

"Don't touch me."

"If you try an' pin this on me, I swear on me mother's grave I'll never speak to you again," Jack said with a lazy tone of mock hurt, and he pulled his arms close to his torso and chest to conserve his body heat. He knew closing in on Norrington or one of the officers would probably get him killed. "Besides, s'your fault we're here in the first place, Commodore."

Norrington shifted restlessly, and lifted his chin higher to the night air. He tried for the most part to ignore Jack Sparrow as he bickered and argued with the officers rowing the small boat back to the Fantana, and kept his eyes on the Dauntless, which, by the very moment was becoming smaller and smaller. Beside him, Jack yelped when one of the Spanish officers walloped him in the back of the head for talking too much – or because they just didn't like him. Which was easy enough to understand.

Norrington could already see a lot of Jack Sparrow in his near future. More than he really could stomach.

~~~

Norrington paused, and felt himself slouch into the angle of his chair. He glanced up at the admiral to check his reaction, and certainly enough the older man looked about as dismayed as the current turning point in his story. He might have even seen real sympathy etched into those aged features. Hawk raised his brows, and sat up in his chair, pulling his chin from his upturned palm.

"And that is – essentially – how you lost the HMS Dauntless."

"Essentially." Norrington confirmed, keeping his eyes on the way he had unconsciously folded them in his lap. "How I lost the HMS Dauntless."

Admiral Hawk stirred again, picked up the liquor, and reached across the desk to pass it to Norrington. "Here. Have a drink."