Author's Note: It has been incredibly difficult to finally get this chapter up and running. A virus is on my computer, and I've been literally thrown in and out of my freetime this holiday season, it's been crazy. I tried to keep everyone in character, but Jack Sparrow is the impossibility of reason, and I've even had to watch the DVD a few times to regrasp the reality as Jack knows it. As my sister described it, "Sometimes he has complete control and sometimes he doesn't know what the hell he's doing." I've determined his main behavior categories, however: how he acts around Will and how he acts around Norrington are two completely different complexes. Thank you all for reviewing!

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CHAPTER FOUR: A THRILLING PASTIME

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Captain Francisco had made it undoubtedly clear that he had no interest in keeping either Jack Sparrow or Norrington alive once they had finally passed out of English waters, but the Commodore had never depended on that for his means of safe return. For now, however, he could still use it as a bargaining chip for at least his life; but from the looks of where he was now there was not much time to waste before he would indefinitely have to act.

He and Jack Sparrow had been taken to the very lowest level of the ship, even below the respective brig. Captain Francisco called the little room his "guest of honor" quarters, which consisted of water barrels and a newly applied set of iron bars. It was dark save for a lantern, and Norrington had taken in as much as he possibly could about the ship's design, but it had not been as much as he had hoped. An escape plan would be near impossible, or at least a successful one.

It was cold, and Norrington had been stripped of his coat. He wore only his white undershirt now, much like Sparrow did, and only he was not soaking wet and shaking like a leaf. The pirate certainly had no qualms showing how incredibly weak he could be. Jack stayed huddled between the two water barrels, arms folded across his chest and his dark eyes set hard on some distant point on the wood panels of the floor. His gold teeth chattered against his white ones.

"You wouldn't happen to have any clothes to spare, would you, mate?" He asked from his corner, and Norrington gave him a distasteful look over his shoulder. There were times when he would rather just take a pistol out and shoot Sparrow rather than follow the code of the Navy, which was to give all prisoners a fair and just trial before sentencing. Norrington had never felt more bitter, but Jack seemed more focused on how cold he was than how exactly they would escape. He poked his elaborately decorated head from behind the curve of the barrel. "Look, I know you hate me, but can we put that aside for now and huddle or something?"

Another venomous look from Norrington and Jack backed off. "It would do you more good to try and think up a way for us to escape rather than sit there and shake all night," He growled, giving their surroundings a survey for probably the twentieth time since he had been so gracelessly tossed into the cell with Jack. There was nothing to help them. No wonder Francisco had decided to use this little hold rather than the actual brig. There was absolutely nothing. Jack stirred in the corner.

"If I may inquire…?"

"What?"

"This escape plan you keep referring to," Jack once again poked his head around the barrel and raised both brows decisively. "What exactly do you think we'll be able to accomplish, eh, Commodore? If indeed we do escape this here cell and break out into the open deck we will be caught and disposed of immediately." Norrington glared over at him, and Jack just spread his hands in further inquiry, making sure to keep his flexibility to surrender to the Commodore whenever necessary open and obvious. "Just pointing it out, mate."

"Is it your intent to stay here while they wait to kill us both, Sparrow?!" Norrington finally snapped, uncaring how his voice carried throughout their cell and the hold. Jack recoiled at the thundering new sound, and looked round about them as if he feared guards would appear from the thin air and silence them. "I, for one, have a crew to get back to and a ship that was put under my responsibility. I have duties to uphold, and part of my duty is to find any possible way out of here – "

"Even if death meets you first?" Jack finished for him, and Norrington was caught off guard. That was, indeed, part of an officers duty to his fellow crewmen and to King and country – but it had never felt so real and near to him as it had when Jack spoke those words. The Commodore set his jaw and went back to himself, deciding it best to just ignore Sparrow before he killed him out of sheer frustration. The only real moral conflict with blatantly murdering Jack Sparrow was Norrington's respect for himself. He refused to sink so low.

And yet the hours pressed on. Norrington tried to think through every scenario of possible escape, and Jack continued to shiver and make unnecessary and irritating comments. His voice was grading, and Norrington's nerves were as raw as flayed game, yet he still tried to ignore the other man. He remained at the bars of the cell, looking out and watching the closed door as if he expected it to move or open or speak to him. None of that ever really occurred, but just when Norrington was tired enough to begin hallucinating Jack Sparrow began to sing.

The sound was so slurred and off key that as Norrington turned to look and see if Jack had stumbled across some liquor he wondered if the pirate actually had enough alcohol content in his blood to will himself intoxicated when he needed to. No, Jack had no liquor, but he seemed to have given up on warming up. He leaned against a barrel with his chin to his chest and his finger making eddies around invisible swirls in the space before him.

"Yo-ho, yo-ho –"

"Sparrow…"

"A pirates life for me! We kindle and char inflame and ignite, drink up me hearties, yo-ho – "

"Sparrow!"

"Yo-ho, yo-ho a pirates life for – " With a speed Norrington knew no man capable of, Sparrow shot to a sitting position in a flash of beads and drying white silk. With a rattle of his hair he turned to his cellmate with wide dark eyes as excited as a boy on his birthday. "I've got it, mate! I think I've finally got it!" Jack crawled on over to the bars and wrapped his calloused fingers around them, deciding to join Norrington in staring at the closed door. "Of course it all depends on our sheer luck, Commodore."

"What does?"

Jack turned to Norrington with the devil in his eyes, their dark shine illuminated in the darkness of their cell and the intensity ignited with his grin. Norrington found himself frowning at the sight of it – it was borderline disturbing and nightmarish, the image of Jack Sparrow's mind working. "My plan, mate."

"Alright, then, what is your plan?" The only reason Norrington found any interest in any plan Jack Sparrow conjured was because he, at the moment, had absolutely no plan and as much as he hated to admit it…Jack Sparrow was clever when it came to impossible odds. Maybe it was sheer luck for the dimwitted – or maybe Sparrow really was, as it was said from port to port, a bloody genius. Jack turned to face him on fully, holding his hands out to speak, as he always seemed to do.

"We need those guards in this here room." Jack said simply. Norrington wasn't sure quite what he was getting at, but he sat back and watched as the pirate came to his feet and started banging on the doors immediately, and shouted for the guards. The shock of the noise gave Norrington an almost instant headache, and he cried out and clutched the sides of his head, doubling over. At this point he could have guiltlessly killed Sparrow and slept easy that night. "Hey! Hey you lads out there, we need you in here! It's a matter of life in death, mates!"

The door's locks were thrown open on the outside of the door, and finally it swung open. Several Spanish officers filtered in, all scowling at Jack and staring at him like he was mad. To Norrington they just looked bloody angry for being so randomly disturbed by Jack's sudden enthusiasm. Jack felt to his knees beside Norrington and grabbed two fistfuls of his shirt, looking up with as desperate an expression as Jack Sparrow's half-drunken air could muster.

"The Commodore, mate, he's sick!"

Norrington released his head, and looked over at Jack, completely deadpanned. That was it. That was the magnificent plan Jack had thought up all by his lonesome; the old 'my cellmate is sick, please come in so I can wallop you over the head' gig. He met Jack's eyes, and the pirate tried to signal for him to play along.

"You've got to come in here, he's going to die!"

"Sparrow."

"Look at him! His head! It's going to explode!"

"Sparrow, enough."

"It'll be on your conscience, mate, if you don't help him!" Jack waved the rather unconvincing threat around and discovered he had absolutely no reaction whatsoever. He paused, finding himself directing in the path of some very displeased eyes. Jack grinned, pleasantly. "What would your mother think, mm?" Jack was knocked flat on his backside through the bars, and the Spanish officers stormed out of the hold and back to their posts. Sparrow scowled as he gingerly pulled himself up, and looked over to Norrington with a heavy browed glare. "Why thank you for your support, Commodore."

"Doesn't matter anyway, Sparrow," Norrington leaned back against the bars and absently reached up to smooth his wig down, another of those smug smirks coming to his lips. "They only speak Spanish. I only speak French, German and write in Latin. Pity.  If I ever get out of this fix I'll certainly have to learn it, won't I?"

"Not if you go on spoiling all me brilliant plans, mate," Jack said rather dryly, and moved back to sit between his barrels. "I'd like to see you come up with an idea half as good as mine, then you can go around with your…" Jack shook a finger at him, as if unable to properly express himself. " – Your puffy white collars and smuggy attitude, eh?" This time Norrington's smirk fell.

"At this rate, the Captain will have us both dead by tomorrow."

~~~

"My young Commodore, if I may interrupt…?"

Norrington paused suddenly, a little taken aback by the exuberance by which the admiral so aptly spoke. He nodded. "Please."

"Mr. Sparrow's account differs somewhat here…he claims that his plan did eventually work," Hawk gave the diary a little thump – the diary, the little book that could see them both swinging from the gallows in no less than half a shake. If he and Sparrow's stories did not match up, then by all means the admiral could discredit them and put them away for the rest of their lives, or simply hang them with no more than an hour-long trial. No other evidence supported them. Luckily, the admiral seemed to have some sympathy for his part. "His 'brilliant scheme' that apparently saved both your necks." The admiral finished.

Norrington cleared his throat. "Yes, well, that 'brilliant scheme' had us both floating in the Caribbean sea for two days straight," He shuddered at the memory. The water had been cold, and the sun had been merciless. He was probably several shades darker than any respectable Commodore should have been. Hawk raised his brows and flipped through the diary to find his place again. "I mean, it was fairly clear what had to be done in order to properly escape."

The admiral's face took on a wry grin, and he gave a knowing nod. "There was just no possible way of doing it."

"Exactly."

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Six hours went by like lifetimes; in truth Norrington had no real idea of how long he and Jack Sparrow sat idle in the hold of that miserable little storage room, seeing as how there was no way to even tell if morning had rose and night had finally departed. He did not sleep. Norrington could barely bring himself to close his eyes, but as least the pirate had gone out of his sight. There was something he could not stand about even looking upon Jack Sparrow. Jack did not seem to take their situation seriously at all.

He remained silent, however, sullen in his corner by the water barrels and as far as Norrington might have known, dead. He only moved again when the pirate attracted Norrington's attention to the dimming flame in the lantern. Jack moaned a wordless dismay, and crawled out to curl his brown fingers around the bars, pressing his face into them and staring intensely at the dying flame. Norrington stirred as well, drawing himself up beside Jack.

"How long has it been?" he asked hoarsely, and already his nerves were raw with the silence and the cramps in his muscles. There was hardly any room to stand in their little prison, and stretching his legs out was near impossible. Jack shrugged, and his darkening silhouette turned to face Norrington solemnly. The lantern died.

"God only knows, mate. It can't be dawn," Jack answered, a straight answer – perhaps one of the first since Norrington had met Jack Sparrow. It earned him a quick glance from the commodore, but nothing more. His dark head moved in the darkness, and his headpieces rattled. The light from beneath the door reflected white on his nearly black eyes. A shadow moved past it. "The watches have changed twice, I know that much."

"What does he think to do?" Norrington asked rhetorically. "Take us both back to Spain or kill us ere we leave English waters?"

"Well I would certainly say there was hope for you if that wasn't a member of His Most Catholic Majesty's army, as it were," Jack shrugged, moving to lean into that little space between the water barrels again and disappearing into the darkness. Norrington remained by the bars. "They'd probably, you know, hold you for a ransom or something very devious and Spanish like," He shrugged thin shoulders, and when Norrington threw him another glance he saw gold teeth catch the bright light beneath the door. "Only problem is he can't have you going back and letting the entire world know what the Spanish are up to."

"So," Norrington speculated numbly, leaning his back into the iron and keeping his eyes focused on the little bit of light that shined opposite the door. "I am to be silenced, then. Never to be seen again," he laughed, wryly. "You would like that, wouldn't you?" Jack said nothing. "And what of my crew? He let them go."

"That man isn't confident because he's mad, mate," Jack said grimly. "He knows your boys won't make it more than three days so far out to see with no supplies and a foiled rudder chain. And when someone stumbles across their remains, they'll blame it on the pirates."

"No," Norrington felt his heart speed up at the very thought of Jack's theory becoming a reality, and he felt his nails bite into the palms of his bare hands. "They may have been stranded but they're not witless. They will find their way back to port." He hoped to the very pit of his soul that his words were true, and even harder did he try to believe them himself. From the corner Jack's grin turned into another steady, silent regard. He nodded, once.

"Well, I admire your faith, Commodore. Even if your boys do make it, you an' me will still be swinging from Spanish ropes," Jack folded his arms, and tucked his chin to his chest as he finished his speech. "Or sinking to the bottom with Spanish bullets in our heads."

"What are you doing?"

Jack glanced up, and Norrington met his dark eyes with a scowl. The pirate shrugged. "Sleeping, if I may. Keep it down, will you, mate?"

"Sleeping?! How can you possibly relax, Sparrow?!"

"Well I just sort of bend my head and then rather subtly drift off, it's quite simple," Jack replied simply, and Norrington threw his hands up. How Jack could always be so calm was a complete mystery to him, but at this point it was just getting irritating. The pirate's face held mild concern. "You might try it, too, commodore. Maybe you'd be, I don't know…" Jack's chin dropped to his chest again. "…Pleasanter."

"Pleasanter. Of course." Norrington snorted, and though he was uncomfortably alert and aware of everything about him, he admitted his exhaustion. The cold seemed to be sucking his energy from his body, and the events of the day had left him weary. He crawled to the corner opposite the cell bars and drew his knees up to his chest to keep his warmth within his own body, and sat like that for what seemed like an hour. Sleep came, hard.

~~~

"And then you were attacked by the guards?"

Norrington stopped, taken aback and utterly confused. His dark brow rose. "I'm sorry?" His question was almost instantly answered when again the admiral waved the little brown diary up in the air again. Of course. Sparrow's drunken account of the events. Whatever it was obviously had the admiral choking in his attempt to hold back laughter. Norrington rolled his eyes, trying at least to keep his dignity out of Jack Sparrow's telling of their misfortune. "I don't recall…"

The admiral ignored the protest, and opened the diary to the appropriate page. He held it up. "If I may?"

Norrington exhaled hard through it nose. "By all means…"

Hawk licked his thumb and flipped the page with unfeigned delight. "'The Commodore had been knocked senseless by one of the Spanish fellows by the door, and I knew that when next he would return he meant to kill the both of us. I knew the commodore had more in him than the yelps he'd given when the guards knocked him around, and that if we were going to get out of the hold I would need his help, so being the considerate and good hearted man that I am I tried to wake him.

'So far I'd had no luck with yelling at him and prodding him, so I hauled off and slapped him. He still didn't wake up, so I hit him again and he sat up like the resurrected dead and started singing old Navy tunes. I asked him if he remembered his name, but all he did was start to have an argument with himself about what sort of rat would win in a fight, an alley or ship rat. After declaring the alley rat a tactical genius, he then turned to me and introduced himself as William Shakespeare, General of the West Indies, and offered to show me some alley rat ground strategies. I slapped him again, and he was back to his usual charming self.'" Hawk closed the diary over his thumb and glanced up at Norrington, his brows raised in silent query, probably wondering the same thing Norrington was: what sort of mad man were they really dealing with?

Norrington stared straight back at the admiral, his jaw slack and his face three shades paler. He put a dark emphasis on his defense. "How drunk was he when you spoke to him?"

"He was very lucid when I had him write his account." When Norrington tried to come up with how exactly anyone could perceive Jack Sparrow as lucid, Admiral Hawk just waved his hand with another of those tormenting smiles. He removed his glasses. "I am just wondering how exactly this is going to turn out for the two of you. The stories are so different that one would certainly perceive them as false," Hawk gave the diary another wave. "But then there are such details that are strikingly accurate it is insane." He leveled a stare to Commodore Norrington that once again filled the younger man with doubt, and the admiral's wry smile did not give him any comfort. "I would have you both thrown out of my protection instantly if I were not so enjoying this account. Do continue."

"Ah – right, well," Norrington almost wished for another drink, if only to calm his nerves again. "They eventually did wake us both up. In a fairly civil manner."

"And how much longer exactly did you stay in that hold?"

"Not so long as I thought he would keep us down there," Norrington answered. "After we were given breakfast we were taken to see the captain. He only wanted to check our conditions, and let us get some fresh air."

"This 'brilliant plan of escape'," Admiral Hawk put in, folding his arms over his desk and leaning forward. "When did you manage it?"

Norrington hesitated. He drew in a breath. "Well…there was a storm coming."

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"You have been on many voyages, I am certain," Captain Francisco said with his back facing Norrington and Jack, his arms folded behind the small of his back and his dark eyes following the quickly moving clouds as they started to block out the midday sun. It was quickly becoming cooler, and darker by the minute. Captain Francisco turned to face his two captives, chained together, and the gleam in his glance was dangerous. "I assume you have ridden the storm before."

Norrington did not feel like replying. He kept his gaze to the shifting waters, and beside him Jack coughed, once. The commodore half expected Jack to say or do something stupid to annoy the captain, but the pirate seemed more concentrated on the breeze, and the steady rhythm of the ship itself. He narrowed his eyes against the sea air and inhaled deeply, weighing it with his senses and stiffening in anticipation- the eerie quality of watching another captain prepare for certain disaster chilled Norrington to the bone, but he kept a straight face and quietly regarded the waves himself. 

"Of course you have," Captain Francisco's tone was like a vacuum, sucking every ounce of enjoyment it could from toying with Norrington. He could not seem to care less for Jack Sparrow, and took his confident steps up to Norrington with a twisted smile on his face and a vicious demeanor. "Of course you have. You are a commodore, sir. A worthy adversary of the sea."

"I am out here to watch a storm brew?" He asked mildly, and the other man's smile widened. "Is this a favorite pastime of yours?" As if answering a call, the wind seemed to sweep up from the deck and then past them in a dangerously strong gust that sent Jack's hair whipping. Norrington stood firm. Captain Francisco was right: he had seen many storms in his years, but the commodore had always taken them as they came, at every turn checking the safety of his men and never openly challenging the fates. He never welcomed storms the way this eccentric man did, and despite his logical and sensible upbringing, even Commodore Norrington believed there were some forces in nature and in heaven one should not test.

The deck creaked as the ship moved to satisfy the air, and Captain Francisco looked up into the darkening atmosphere. "Indeed, Commodore Norrington, and a thrilling one," he called out as he turned away, going to stand alone. "I think you will agree."

The distant curtain of grey rain neared, and in a flash of lightening was pouring over them in heavy drops. Jack grimaced and tilted his head back to look at it straight, and Norrington once again shifted uneasily his half of the bonds. The chain between himself and Jack Sparrow was not very long at all, and it made Norrington's sense of independence and free will shrink into the floorboards- that was something he hated. He no longer felt, in the presence of the Spanish officers, like he was set apart from Jack Sparrow anymore. In their world of thievery and brutal injustice, he was almost worse.

Captain Francisco seemed to hold a sort of grudging respect for him, but not nearly enough to keep him in a standard cell and certainly not enough to count him as any different than the infamous Jack Sparrow. He seemed to be quite infamous himself around these parts, and Norrington could not help but hold back a bitter scowl at the thought of his distinguished record catching up with him. These Spaniards, if what Sparrow said was indeed true, were as close as the Spanish could come to being pirates. Cut throat bounty hunters and spies. Of course Captain Francisco was thrilled to have captured Commodore Norrington. In these late days Norrington had almost forgotten that he had once been Captain Norrington. Most knew him only by that title.

He once again twisted his wrist in the metal ring, and gave a frustrated hiss when once again it only bit his flesh and left him still bound. Being tossed overboard was a likely fate, and if it were to be then Norrington would have preferred to not be chained to the biggest walking live target in the Caribbean.

"He's mad," Norrington muttered to no one in particular, squinting to keep the stinging rain from his eyes. With his free hand he pushed his wet dark hair from his forehead. "Absolutely mad." Beside him the silent Jack stirred, and when their gazes crossed there emerged that little smirk rather than the solemn patient Captain Sparrow that only moments earlier had occupied the other half of the handcuffs.

"No, I'm mad," Jack replied, and looked back to the turning ocean. "He's bloody stupid."

"The storm will send us far out," Norrington said, raising his voice when the wind truly began to howl above their heads, and the waves violently roared as they collided with the side of the ship. They were not so high yet. Jack allowed himself a quick glance at the other man. "Chances of returning to English waters now are at this point nonexistent."

"Probably," Jack agreed. His tone earned them several suspicious glances from the Spaniards and one nasty smile from Captain Francisco. "But there is one good thing to come out of a storm like this one, Commodore."

"And what is that?"

"The sharks, mate," Jack called as rain sprayed him from what seemed like all sides, and he shot another dark-eyed look up to the rigging. "They tend to stay far below the waves, you know?" Norrington frowned, and a heavy wave rocked the ship, making him almost lose his balance and knock shoulders with Jack. The rain became even harder, and the spray of the sea washed over them. He quickly straightened, and the pirate turned to him. Norrington once again slicked the wet hair from his brow. "Just out of sheer curiosity, mate- can you swim?"

"Of course I can swim!" Norrington snapped back, lurching and almost stumbling again. "Why?!"

"Because, I think I found my way out." It took Commodore Norrington a good thirty seconds to fully catch on to what Jack was actually planning, and then it all hit him at once. He started to shake his head, but one of Jack's strong fingered hands took fierce hold of Norrington's bicep and lightening flashed in the sky, and roared as it struck the mast. A heavy groan moved above the whirlwind of chaos, but the mast remained standing, though blackened. A heavy splinter fell off, and caused minimal damage upon striking the deck. Jack yanked Norrington to the side as the entire ship lurched. He managed one more look at his fellow captive. "And unless I plan on losing me left arm, you're coming with me."

"You are mad!" Norrington snarled. "You want to dive overboard now - ?!" A sharp turn, and the ship seemed to nearly flip onto it's very side. Norrington felt his weight thrown against the flat boards of the deck, and splitting pain followed as his cheek cracked against the wood – and cold water was suddenly all around him, on top of him, under him, as rushing waves beat at the Fantana and washed over her surface. Norrington struggled to his knees and pulled himself out of the water, thankful to still feel the deck beneath his boots.

When again he opened his eyes there was no sign of Jack – had his entire arm been taken off?! - And he felt warm blood pool beneath his skin where his face had struck the plank to form an instant bruise. Another lurch sent him on his back, bending his arm far behind his back at an uncomfortable angle and twisting them hard. The rain stabbed at him, a thousand sharp drops falling all at once and impairing his vision and his senses. He shook his head hard, and jerked his aching body to it's knees, searching around him for Jack.

A hand twisted into the back of Norrington's shirt, and when he whipped his head around to identify his violator he found Jack. "Not now," Jack shouted, hooking a hand beneath his arm and hauling him to his feet with a quick yank as if to challenge the speed of the ship's lurching. "At the opportune moment," Jack managed to get out, before he thrust Norrington bodily forward, and kept pushing him as he ran blindly into the rain. Norrington could see nothing but grey and foaming waves. And then it hit him, exactly where Jack was headed.

"Sparrow!" He meant to shout, but it was too late. His shins cracked against the familiar wood, and before he knew it the wood was gone and he was no longer on anything. He was falling free, through wind and rain and finally Norrington plunged headfirst into the treacherous, and freezing cold, sea. The water folded and slammed down on top as he landed inside of it, as if in effort to shove him even further down into a personal whirlpool.

When he was a boy, not fourteen years, Norrington had fallen overboard. It had been nothing like this; just the result of two irresponsible midshipman playing where they should not have, but he remembered the water more fearfully than he had the flogging afterward. It had somehow been worse than the sting of the stick – a cold, pressing, heartless being, the sea. That day he could have sworn it had fingers, and every time he had tried to fight for the surface it had swirled and brought him back down again. Norrington had felt himself begin to sink, and he had panicked. His chest seemed to close within itself.

Now it was the same only worse. The fingers were hands, clawing at him, stinging him with the cold and not allowing even a chance to swim to the surface- the surface. If only he could break the surface he could keep himself above the water. A yank of his nearly numb arm and he opened his eyes, seeing beside him the blurry sight of Jack Sparrow, kicking with all his might to find the surface. Norrington thoughtlessly followed. He begged himself not to breathe.

After what seemed like centuries he broke the surface, and gasped, dragging in long scouring breaths of cold air and rain that raked along his throat. The burning tightness in his chest eased up as his lungs accepted the air, and despite the chaos and danger around him Norrington felt sick with relief. Beside him Jack blindly fought for some control – his thick dark hair was in his eyes, and when he managed to free his hand to shove it out of the way he looked straight on to the distant shape of the Fantana.

Jack spit out a mouthful of salt water, and he shouted over the wind as he looked over at his chain mate, "Bloody luck that was!"

"Luck?!" Norrington thrust himself up to avoid being sucked under again, but was unable to avoid his mouth being flooded by the foul seawater. He spat. "You call that luck, Sparrow?!" Jack just shot an arm out past the commodore's drawn face, and gestured to a barrel that had fallen overboard with them. It had been split in two, but was still kept together by its iron wrapping, and was quickly escaping their range of grasp. Jack pulled on their chain, and Norrington followed suit.

"That is luck, mate," Jack finally breathed when he was able to throw both arms over the wood. "Or nothin' is."

"Unless of course they come back for us," Norrington replied in as flat a tone as he could manage. "Now that would be bloody fantastic – and I suppose you haven't considered the chance, the very likely chance, that we will die floating on this piece of wood before we find land or are picked up!"

"Well would you rather sink to the bottom with a pirate attached to your wrist or a Spanish bullet in ye skull?" In the moment of cowardice all human beings are guilty of, Norrington considered the fact that a Spanish bullet would be a much faster way to meet his maker. And more importantly, much more dignified.