Chapter Eight

He remained on deck to watch the sunrise. He had see it many other times, watching the sky turn from dark violet, to rosy pink, bright yellow, then finally again to beautiful sky-blue. He had memorized the progression through a sextant or a spyglass, never seeing it as he saw it that morning. Dawn slid seamlessly into the sky as it did every morning, and would continue to do so for thousands of mornings after. But this one was different for him. A dawn in every sense.

His dawn.

His dawn, to make his own, and shape the day. Everything to the contrary of what he had been taught as a young man-- the rules are there to be followed, to protect, and you are to enforce them with a stern hand. Follow the schedule, follow orders, follow the code.

Damn the code. He followed a different code now.

Honor upheld by piracy.

He laughed lightly, arms akimbo as he faced the rising sun. It heated his exposed face, red with the lingering effects of the rum. He followed what his heart told him to be right. It had once been the navy that had steered his heart, but it had suddenly run foul through the involvement of the East India Trading Company. His beloved command-- his life, as it were-- dashed against the rocks of the occupied Port Royal. Now, to save what was once his only love in life, he needed to become what he had always hated.

To uphold the honor and pride of His Majesty's Royal Navy, he must defect against it. He must become its opposite in order to save it.

Piracy, to restore the Navy.

He put the rum bottle to his lips again, savoring the bitter taste like a long-lost memory. Become a pirate to find Turner. Find Turner to find Sparrow. Find Sparrow to retrieve the heart. Retrieve the heart to slay Davy Jones. Slay Davy Jones to regain control of the sea. Regain control of the sea to restore the Navy. Restore the Navy to be rid of the pirates.

Another drink. It was gone at last.

He was no longer sure of the last step of his plan. Piracy would save the Navy-- could the Navy save piracy?

Not should, but could.

"'Mornin', Mr. Norrington," said a familiar voice by his side. He looked over his shoulder to find a sprightly and eager Mr. Gibbs, a matching bottle in his own hand. Norrington nodded his own greeting. "Don' suppose you'll be wantin' a replacement, would ye?" Norrington looked down to his hand as Gibbs indicated the empty bottle. "Was headed down meself, wondered if ye'd like t' join me?"

He ended up below decks, awaiting Samuel's awakening with a fresh bottle of rum in one hand and a hand of cards in the other, facing Gibbs squarely across a small crate. Norrington's lopsided grin had remained on his features since he had plowed through half of the new bottle. Gibbs reflected it with one of his own, switching his cards around needlessly in his hand. Perhaps a superstition of some sort?

"And how was it you were roped into this business, then, Mr. Gibbs?" Norrington asked with the slightest slur in his speech. Gibbs laid down a card on the growing pile and pulled another from the dirtied deck.

"Well, Jack Sparrow has always been somethin' of a son t' me, I suppose." He paused, furrowing his greying eyebrows. "No, no, don't s'pose he was much of a son. A good friend, then, more than a captain." Norrington grinned stupidly and took another card, remembering only later that he'd forgotten to discard. "Seein' as there's somethin' I could do t' help rescue Jack, I was ready."

"There's another thing," Norrington cut in. He took a quick drink and settled back into his seat. "What's all this nonsense about Sparrow being dead if we're on our way to rescue him? I may have a bottle and a half of rum lying in my stomach, Mr. Gibbs, but I am no fool."

"Aye, that yer not, Mr. Norrington." Gibbs lay down another seven to match the three lying face-up on Norrington's side of the crate. "Truth o' the matter is, Jack Sparrow's soul now belongs to Davy Jones." He gave a short shrug. "Most likely it's gone down in the locker, seein' as ye were on the Flying Dutchman and caught no sight of him."

"Davy Jones' Locker," Norrington said with a single raised eyebrow. "If I hadn't been on that bloody ship, I would say that you were mad, Mr. Gibbs." He carefully inspected his cards before laying down a king, queen, jack and ten in consecutive suit. "And how are we going about locating this locker of his?" Gibbs settled himself down, not allowing himself to be blown away by Norrington's last match before them on the crate.

"That ol' gypsy wench Tia Dalma was the one what told us where the locker might lie. Only one who knows the exact location is Cap'n Barbossa, an' I'm not sure even he knows for a fact." Gibbs took a drink, reminding Norrington to drink from his own bottle as well. "We're t' sail for the ends of the earth t' save that ol' seadog's soul." He chuckled grimly, wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and laid down an even more impressive collection of cards: an ace, king, queen, jack and ten of hearts-- he was grinning like a madman. "I'm out, Mr. Norrington."

Norrington threw his unused cards on the crate before him, not bothering to count up his points. He hadn't caught that Gibbs had playfully stacked the deck, or that he, Norrington, had seven cards in his hand by the end of the game.

"And are we to outrun the Dutchman and the East India Trading Company, all while in search for something as small as a locker in the vast ocean?" He asked as he took a longer drink. He was enjoying it far too much-- something about being aboard a pirate ship and consuming rum was comforting and familiar, a thought his former self would have found disgusting.

"Who's t' say the locker isn't metaphorical?" Gibbs asked, gathering up his cards. "All I know is that Cap'n Barbossa has us headin' due east, out of the Caribbean and into the wide ocean. No knowin' where we go from here."

Norrington took a sober moment to consider the dangers of leaving the Caribbean, as well as the benefits. He leaned casually backwards, taking another swig. He was beginning to lose the feeling in his tongue.

"I suppose... I should be getting back to the Gorgon to report these findings to Gillette."

"Don't forget the boy, Mr. Norrington," Gibbs said with a laugh. Outside, seven bells was rung, and several hands moved about according to orders. Norrington would rather not meet again with the seething Barbossa, so he thanked Gibbs for the company and the game. He moved to where Samuel still slept and gently woke him.

"Come now, scallawag," Norrington urged with as sober a disposition he could manage. "All hands on deck." Samuel sat blearily up in his hammock.

"Captain?"

"Aye, sailor. Time we were back to the Gorgon. God knows what Gillette is doing without me."

"Captain, I had a strange dream," Samuel admitted as they climbed the stairs onto the open deck. Dark clouds had gathered while he'd been below decks, and a strong wind was blowing. The smell of rain was on the air.

"Oh?" Norrington asked, feeling more genial toward the boy for some odd reason.

"Yes, sir. In it, you handed me a map, with a small island circled several times in red-- it looked almost like blood. I don't remember your exact words, sir, but they were something along the lines of, 'She wants you to memorize this map.' I'm not sure who 'she' was, Captain, but it seemed very important, so I tried to remember the map as well as I could."

"Could you reproduce the map if given the time and means?" Norrington was genuinely interested, the boy's dream somewhat like his own.

"Perhaps, sir. I could try."

"There's a good lad." Norrington looked up to find Will and Elizabeth on deck, with Barbossa thankfully nowhere to be seen. "Mr. Turner the younger," he said to catch their attention. Both turned-- Elizabeth was looking slightly recovered, and Will's eyes were full of concern. "Samuel and I will be needing a longboat back to the Gorgon as soon as is convenient."

Elizabeth's eyes hung on Norrington's a moment too long for Will's liking, and he stared the captain down angrily. But, thankfully, he refrained from choice words while Samuel was in their presence. Heavy footsteps approached, and Norrington winced at their coming. Barbossa had arrived.

"No man'll be leavin' my ship with the storm approachin', Mr. Norrington," Barbossa said with an important swagger as he came upon the four of them. "And when yer aboard my ship, Mr. Norrington, yer no longer a captain. You an' Mr. Turner here are needed on deck t' prepare for the storm. The lady an' the boy can stow below decks t' wait it out."

"I can help," Samuel protested from behind the protection of Norrington. Barbossa caught the boy's pouting eyes but steady chin. Elizabeth mirrored the child's posture.

"So can I."

Norrington smiled despite himself. She had never quite been the kind to wait a storm out while the men met it head-on. She caught his gaze, and he diverted it quickly, cursing himself for doing so quite obviously.

"Ye've been warned, Miss Swann," the gruff captain said in a huff, moving toward Samuel and staring down at him. "And I'll be takin' no lip from a pint-sized sailor such as yerself, lad."

"The boy," Norrington growled with a quiet ferocity, "is under my command, not yours. You would kindly refrain from treating him as you would a common pirate." He immediately regretted his choice of words, for Barbossa grinned with yellow teeth.

"A pirate, eh? Now, I'm wonderin' if this is the same lad what called himself pirate t' yer crew, Captain Norrington." Barbossa watched as Norrington straightened his spine awkwardly.

"Your point is made," he responded. "While on your ship I will follow your orders, Captain Barbossa, so long as you do not presume to control my personal aide, Samuel."

"Agreed," Barbossa said roughly. "Now, get t' work on those sails-- they won't furl themselves, will they lads?" He strode away, laughing as the dark clouds blotted the sun from the sky. Elizabeth crossed her arms defiantly as she watched him go.

"I can't stand that man," she said with slitted eyes. Will sighed, watching her eyes sadly.

"He's our only chance of finding Jack," he said with defeat in his voice. The first rain began to fall on deck as Will moved out onto deck to follow Barbossa's orders, glaring at Norrington as he passed. Elizabeth looked sadly between the two men, as if to say, "I'm sorry about him," before she strode off after him. Norrington looked down at Samuel as the raindrops began to grow in size.

"I am sorry to say so, but I believe that Captain Barbossa was right. You should return below decks before the storm escalates any further." Samuel's eyebrows furrowed indignantly, but he knew better than to disobey orders. "Perhaps ask one of the crew members for a spare bit of parchment to sketch out that map." The boys features lifted slightly, and he gave a salute before running to the stairs and disappearing below deck.

Norrington watched the dark-haired head disappear with a sad grin. The boy reminded him of himself. Especially the his unwillingness to follow certain orders. His first punishment had been on a day much like this, in fact. He had been older than Samuel, fifteen to be exact, but his ideas were larger than his head. He'd been simply "James" then, and served under Captain Harris of the Royal Navy. He had spoken out against a direct order, and a whip had met his back five times for his insolence. Upon his arrival in port, his father has simply laughed and claimed that he was more of a man for his experience.

He shook his head grimly and moved toward the mast, following Elizabeth and Will.

His hands took familiar hold of the ratlines, a motion long-forgotten in his ascension through the ranks. With a practiced strength, he pulled himself up toward the mainmast, where Will, Elizabeth and a few other sailors were beginning to furl the maintopsail. He, too, gathered handfuls of sail and began to pull the sail safely to its resting place. The rain came harder the further they sailed into the blackness overhead. Elizabeth was directly to his left, Will further down the spar. Lightning flared somewhere in the distance, and the loud crack of thunder fell over them.

The wind suddenly caught in the half-furled sail, billowing it from their hands. One sailor cried out something intangible against the howling wind. It was too late by the time Norrington had thrown out his hand. Elizabeth's grip on the spar had loosened, and she began her long tumble toward the deck. Norrington leapt without thinking, grabbing onto the spar with one hand and arching down to grab a slippery hold on Elizabeth's hand. She gripped it fiercely, nearly popping his shoulder from its socket in the process. The rain made both of his hands dangerously slick, and he was only able to keep his hold on the spar with the sudden help of William Turner, who had grabbed his hand just as he had caught Elizabeth.

"Is she all right?" Will asked against the gale and the flapping of the sail. Norrington grunted against the weight being thrown onto his arm as Elizabeth dangled.

"Let us ask these questions when we have returned to the spar, shall we?" He rebutted, gritting his teeth as he pulled Elizabeth up to his chest. She shivered in fear and through the cold as she locked her arms safely around Norrington's neck. He didn't have time to worry about the sudden flush in his cheeks as Will and another crewman pulled the two of them back up onto the spar.

Three looks were interchanged-- Elizabeth to Will, Will to Norrington, Norrington to Elizabeth. That was all they needed. The work on the sail continued as if it had not been interrupted.

The sail had finally been caught and controlled. Once only the mainsails were left to catch the wind, the sailors had returned to the deck, taking whatever shelter could be found from the torrents. Norrington was surprised when not only Elizabeth but also William joined him under an outcropping. Elizabeth held two steaming cups in her hands, and Will held one of his own. She offered the captain one of the cups, and he accepted with a head-nod. Thank God-- it wasn't tea. After being with the East India Trading Company, he'd had his fill of tea. A black, almost thick cup of coffee met his eyes. Perhaps from the middle east... who was to know where this ship had been?

"Thank you," Will said at last, the first to speak. He hadn't looked up from his cup. Norrington raised his eyebrows without looking up as well. That was his response. Elizabeth looked between the two and made a small, irritated sound in the back of her throat.

"Would you two stop that?" Both men looked to her sharp eyes. "Look, Jack was on Isla Cruces, too, and yet here we are, out to rescue him." She looked at Will. "Jack is our friend, and he's a rotten scoundrel of a pirate. Why can't we say the same of James?"

Something flashed in Will's eyes. He, too, then, must know something of the way Jack and Elizabeth had flirted mercilessly aboard the Black Pearl. Norrington kept his eyes down.

"Say what of me?" Norrington said at last. "That I am your friend, or a rotten scoundrel of a pirate?" He watched with a smirk as Elizabeth's mouth turned up slightly at his remark.

"Everyone needs a friend."

"Elizabeth," Norrington began after taking a long drink of the hot liquid she had given him, "it is very understandable that William is loath to place his trust in me so soon after I betrayed him-- betrayed all of you. It is smarter of him to distrust me than to place, perhaps, false hope in me. His logic is perfectly understandable."

"No," Will said quickly to interject. Norrington's head shot up. Will's eyes met his. "I'm being stubborn. Elizabeth is right." He held out a hand. "You deserve another chance."

They met eyes-- this time, nothing was hidden.

Norrington gripped his hand in tight brotherhood. A half-smirk seized his lips as his hand returned to his side. "Your father is rightly proud." Will tried to smile at the compliment, but failed.

"We'll get the heart back," Elizabeth urged, placing her arms comfortingly around Will's shoulders. "Once we have Jack, we can get the heart back."

"Only God can help us until then," Will murmured into her hair, returning the embrace.

Norrington looked anywhere but to the two of them, sipping lightly on his quickly cooling coffee.


AN: Woah, no narrative breaks in this chapter! Go me! Heh, anyway, I hope this one follows the tradition of being good and stuff. I tried really hard to get Will in character, but he's just... hard. Harder, I think, than Barbossa. Probably because he's conflicted at this point he's not sure what he should be doing. Oh well. I'm having fun and I hope some of you other folks out there are. Tell me anything that needs fixed and I'll see to it. Thanks, and happy reading!