Disclaimer: I don't own anything from Pirates of the Caribbean, and I don't claim to.

Chapter Two
Off the coast of Jamaica

James slouched in his chair, holding his orders up to the light that filtered in through the windows. It was an unusually cloudy and cold morning for the Caribbean, and even though it was well past noon, they remained anchored in an unnatural fog. His cabin was dark, and he had pushed his chair over to the window in a weak attempt to get some work done, even while his nerves were prickling.

They had been at sea already for a week, and there was not a pirate ship in sight. The crew was starting to get superstitious.

The fine penmanship of the letter blended together again, and James lost his place for the fifth time. He tossed the letter back over to his desk in disgust and gave up trying to get anything done while all he could think about was returning to Port Royal with no pirates to speak of. He would lose his commission, just as he almost had when he let Sparrow escape. He was in no position to fail.

Looking out his window, he could just barely make out the outline of the low mountain of the small island they were moored near. He had long since given up trying to figure out exactly where they were. With the fog lasting for more than a day, always covering and blurring the position of the sun, the navigator had been unable to sight the height of the sun with his sextant at noon. And until they could find at least their approximate situation, it was dangerous to try to sail – who knew how shallow the reefs were?

The muffled sound of four bells being struck brought him back to the reality of his situation. James stood and stretched, slouching just enough to accommodate the low ceilings. He pulled his coat on and fastened the buttons up to his throat. Grabbing his hat, he walked out onto the deck.

The air was damp and cool, and James pulled his collar tighter around the back of his neck, unaccustomed to such cool weather in the Caribbean. It brought back memories of home in England, except that it wasn't raining.

He mounted the steps to the quarter deck, where one of the sailors was standing listlessly in front of the still wheel. From this new vantage point, he looked down upon the waist of the ship. Sailors stood or sat about, looking as useless as they likely felt. None of them spoke, except for the occasional whispered word. They were all waiting.

The captain emerged from his cabin below the helm. Upon seeing James, he saluted. James nodded in return. Quickly, he mounted the stairs. "Sir?"

James turned to him, hands gripping the railing.

"I was wondering if I could speak with you, sir. About the– situation."

"Yes, of course."

In his cabin, James motioned to the chair on the other side of his desk and pulled over his own from next to the window. Captain Earlson sat uncomfortably in his seat, back straight and formal. He began uncertainly. "It has been an honor–"

James held up a hand. "No stilted formality, Captain. Speak plainly."

Earlson looked down to rethink his words. He began again quickly, clearly unnerved by silence. "This has been awfully hard on the men. We can't stay inactive like this without discontent growing. The bosun has indicated that he has heard talk–"

There was a loud shout from outside, followed by a chorus of calls – a struggle. The two men stood quickly and raced to the door. The captain's warning had come too late. A group of men crowded the port side of the ship, with one man in the center, pushed against the railing and trying to get free. They were all grabbing for something.

Captain Earlson ran toward the group, shouting. He had to physically pull some of the men out of the fray before they gradually fell to order. As more and more men cleared aside, it became obvious what they were fighting over: a spyglass.

The captain stood in front of the excited group of men. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" He turned to the man in the center of it, who shrank back, clutching the spyglass. "Well?"

The man looked at his feet and touched his forehead in an unconscious gesture of respect and nervousness. "Sir, I–" He faltered, then handed the spyglass to his captain. "Two points off the port bow, sir."

The captain took the spyglass, regarding his crew suspiciously. "What exactly is two points off port?"

"A ship!" someone shouted, and then the deck was filled with such shouts. The fog took their voices, muffled them, reflected them back.

"Silence!" The men immediately grew quiet, but their agitation was clear on all their faces. Earlson stepped up to the railing and held the spyglass to his eye. He searched all along the horizon – what little he could make out of it – and turned back to the men. "There is nothing out there. It's clear that you are all beginning to imagine–" Something stopped him. He raised the spyglass again and stared at a point two points off port. The wind picked up, and some of the fog cleared away, if only for a moment. "Man your stations! Prepare to make sail!"

James raced to the captain's side, who had returned his gaze to the thick wall of fog, eyes widened. "What is it?" James squinted, but the fog made it impossible to see more than twenty feet away.

"A ship with black sails."

"Black sails–?"

But James had no time to think about the captain's words before he heard the unexpectedly sharp report of a cannon from this unseen ship. And then he saw it: the Jolly Roger grinning merrily down at its prey.

James ran down to his cabin as the men began climbing up to the sails and drawing up the anchors. It took only a second before he found his pistol and rifle and shot. He fastened his belt, sword lifting the tail of his coat and pistol making an awkward lump on his hip. He carried his rifle by his side and lurched toward the door just as the Albatross jumped forward with the wind in her sails and made an awkward turn.

For a moment, as he braced himself against the doorframe until the ship righted herself, his mind focused on the memory of Ingram lying dead and bloodied beneath wooden splinters and canvas and other corpses. Except now when he looked at Ingram, he was looking down into his own face.

The door to his cabin banged open, and a frightened looking sailor stumbled in, narrowly avoiding running into James. He looked around, and finally spotted James standing right behind him. He straightened and saluted. "I was sent by the captain, sir, to make sure that you're safe."

The first deafening explosion of the guns thundered all around them. The boy pulled James to the floor, and they waited for an answering fire.

But no more cannons were fired that day. Instead, they heard the shouts of someone – perhaps their crew, perhaps that of the ship with black sails. There was a struggle, and then–

Silence.

It had been less than ten minutes since the battle first began. The sailor, who had one hand pressing down on James's head, to keep him from looking up hand having his head taken off by an errant cannonball, pushed himself up onto his elbows. "They've stopped," he said fearfully. The two men listened in tense silence for sounds from above that would tell them whether they had made their first capture or whether they were now prisoners.

Someone knocked at the door to James's cabin. Neither of them moved to open it. The knock came again, this time followed by a frightened "Vice-Admiral, sir?"

James stood and pulled the door open.

"The captain asked to see you on deck."

James followed the marine out to the open waist of the ship. There were no men stationed at the cannons. He stepped into the bright light of the quickly clearing day. His eyes first snapped over to the other ship.

The captain rushed over to him, beaming. "They gave in without much of a fight," he said.

Without a word, James crossed over to the Black Pearl and stopped in front of the bowed form of Jack Sparrow. "Well," he said, "it has been too long."

Jack froze, then leaned his head back in an exaggerated attempt to focus on James's face. "Well! This is certainly unexpected; what a surprise!" He grinned up at him, only then separating James's form from the sun-lit fog behind him.

"I should have expected I would find you lurking around these coasts. I guess I assumed that you wouldn't be so stupid as to be found so near to the scene of the crime."

Jack looked confused, squinted his eyes and frowned. "Crime?" He glanced over at his crewmembers sitting closest to him. "We haven't committed any crimes recently, as far as I can remember."

"Captain," one of them said, "remember there was that ship–"

"Entirely not our fault," Jack interrupted quickly.

James stared down at the pirate, unmoved. "Now is no time to play the fool, Sparrow. Denying it will only bring a harsher sentence upon your head."

"First off, I wasn't aware there was a sentence worse than death. Second off, who's playing the fool? What the hell are you talking about, Norrington?"

It was too late. Any attempts now to reign in his temper were lost with Jack's last try for innocence. He turned sharply away, aware that on his first mission as a vice-admiral, it would probably be in bad form to kick his prisoner's face in – that could come later, when his position was guaranteed. "Bring Sparrow to my cabin."

He crossed back over to the Albatross, where the captain stepped in front of him. "Sir, what is the meaning of this?"

"I can walk just fine by myself, thank you very much." Jack landed heavily on the Albatross's deck, hands locked behind his back by iron cuffs and followed closely by two marines. He leaned over to Norrington before they could pull him away and said, "I hope this little chat of ours doesn't last long, mate, because I've got some business to attend to."

"I'm sure you do," James said, his voice flat.

Captain Earlson stared after Jack, who had now collapsed to the floor in protest and was making the two marines drag him to the cabin. "Do you know the man?"

"He will have valuable information for us, for the mission." He followed after the marines and left the captain standing on the deck.

Jack lay sprawled on his side in the middle of his cabin, working at the cuffs. When James opened the door, he looked up and stopped. His eyes followed James's wide path around him to the chair behind his desk, where he could only see the top of his head. He made a few feeble attempts at righting himself. "Would you mind terribly helping me to sit up?"

"I should hope that you are able to do that on your own."

"Well, usually I can, but I must say that it's a bit harder when one's hands are cuffed very tightly and painfully behind one's back." He waited hopefully. James didn't move. "Fine. I'll just lay here, then."

"Sparrow," James said. He looked over the table at Jack and found that he had to sit forward at an uncomfortable angle to even see his face. "Oh, for goodness' sake." He abruptly pushed the chair back; Jack shrank away from him, trying to worm his way across the floor, away from inevitable pain. But James grabbed one of his bent arms and hauled him up. "Sit." He returned to his side of the desk.

Jack made a show of inspecting the chair before he sat. "You had a reason for bringing me in here, I think? Just couldn't wait to get me alone?" He grinned, slouching to one side.

"Shut your mouth." There was no anger in his voice, just annoyance. He was focused on something else. "You have been sacking ports recently, haven't you, Sparrow?"

"I have not." James didn't look convinced. "Honestly, search my ship all you want. You won't find a single stolen good. Well maybe except for that– one thing. But that's beside the point."

"I won't find anything because you had enough foresight to get rid of your loot before going out to sea again. Yes, I'm well aware of the tactics commonly used by pirates. Confess, Sparrow. I'm in no position to draw this out, and neither are you."

Jack sighed impatiently. "I've told you: I don't know anything about these attacks. I've just come from up north, from the Colonies. I haven't been anywhere near Jamaica for almost a year."

"What were you doing in the Colonies?"

Jack said clearly, "Taking a vacation."

James glared across the table at Jack. "Now is not the time or place to joke around."

"Yes, you've said that." Jack watched him, eyes narrowed shrewdly. "You in a spot of trouble, or something?"

"No."

"Really? You seem a bit more– frayed on the edges than usual. More direct.I've known plenty of navy officers in my lifetime, and all of them talk themselves into a loop before they can get anything done."

"Like yourself?"

Jack smiled.

James looked at the papers on his desk, his eyes drawn to his commission that lay between his hands.

… James Norrington, he read, you are hereby charged with the responsibility of finding and eradicating Pirates from the Seas around His Majesty's Settlements in Jamaica and the Caribbean. You will have charge of a Fleet of Seaworthy Ships and are henceforth given permission to use Any Means necessary to fulfill your Mission. …

He looked up again at Jack. Any means necessary. "You say you had no role in these recent attacks."

"That's right," Jack said, now a little uncertain. "My hands are clean."

James said to himself, "I'm making a horrible, horrible mistake," but even this acknowledgement didn't stop him from taking a step off the cliff. "I have an offer to make, Sparrow."

The slouch went out of Jack's posture. "I'm listening."

If he continued now, he knew that he would never be able to turn back. "I– There have been a series of violent attacks on some port cities in Jamaica. Pirate attacks. And we have yet to find provocation or any of the culpable. The situation is getting desperate–"

Jack grinned, slow and wide, understanding immediately. "Can it be? Can it be that the great Commodore Norrington is asking for my help?"

"Let me put it this way: you will help me stop whatever pirates are responsible for killing these innocents, or else I will turn you in without a second thought, and this time I will make sure that you hang."

"And if our mission is successful?" Jack was at ease now, sensing that he could easily gain the upper hand.

"If my mission is successful," James corrected. "If and when that time comes, we will discuss an appropriate reward." He stood with effort and pulled a key out of his coat. "I trust that you realize that if you killed me now, you would only be killed yourself. All your crew members are locked away, and by the time you could reach them, they would be dead. I'm unlocking you as a sign of goodwill, Sparrow. Don't make me regret it."

The irons fell away, and Jack rubbed his wrists gratefully. "Oh, believe me when I tell you this, James dear: You can count on me."

Author's Note: Drop me a line; tell me what you think. Also, if you notice anything historically inaccurate – even if you just think it is – I would greatly appreciate it if you would point it out to me. Similarly, if you want explanations for any aspect of history that I present, just ask.
Thank you very much for the kind review! Any encouragement or criticism is appreciated; how else will I improve?