"No Paradise"

Work: Pirates of the Caribbean (Dead Man's Chest)
Genre: Angst/Romance
Character(s): Norrington/Gilette
Rating: PG


There were some things in this world, James Norrington thought, that simply could not be borne while one was sober. Unfortunately, his entire life seemed to be one of those things.

Andrew was dead – that was what it came down to. Forget his career, forget his reputation – Andrew was dead, and it was his fault.

It had been sheer idiocy to try to sail through the hurricane, yet James had been so passionate about catching Sparrow that he was willing to risk life and limb to do it. The crew had muttered with dissatisfaction when they heard they were to sail through, but Andrew had merely nodded, given a "yes, sir," and carried on with his duties. Andrew had always trusted him completely; he had put his life in James's hands, and only death had come of it.

He took a long swig from the bottle of rum and stared down at the table, scarcely noticing the burning sensation that had once made him abhor the drink. He knew he looked a right mess: tattered commodore's jacket barely recognizable, hair tangled and unwashed under a white mess that had once been his wig, a week's growth of beard on his face. But appearance didn't count for much, not here in Tortuga. He had come to the pirates' port out of desperation, having no other place to go. He was ruined and friendless – but so were all the other people who called Tortuga their haven, which was a bit of a comfort to him. He spent most of his time in the taverns, observing the brawls and getting piss-drunk. For the first few nights, women had approached him with promises of pleasures, which he had refused (though a part of him had wanted it, had wanted to feel in control of something again). After that, word had gotten around to the prostitutes of Tortuga that there was a man refusing a woman's company; the next several nights, he'd been approached by young men, whom he had also refused (he did not want them in the slightest, he had only ever wanted Andrew). And thereafter, he had, for the most part, been left alone, which suited him fine.

Occasionally he wondered what Andrew would think if he could see him now, disheveled and usually drunk. He imagined the lieutenant looking down at him with that disdainful expression he'd seen a thousand times before – but that would change when Andrew realized it was no ordinary derelict before him but James Norrington. His hard eyes, the green-grey of a stormy sea, would soften as few had ever known they could, and he would take James away from this squalor, take him somewhere safe and somehow make things better.

But why should Andrew care anything for him when he had as good as killed him? And what fate awaited Andrew after death? James wasn't sure if he believed in Heaven and Hell, but he had fought against a ship of undead pirates, so he supposed anything was possible. He knew that most people believed that a terrible fate awaited men like him and Andrew, but he could not bring himself to believe it too. A man as good as Andrew, so caring and loyal, deserved nothing but Paradise.

And here I am in Hell, James thought grimly.