stem_the_tide | Rp for captjacksparrow

Entry tags:

Rp for captjacksparrow

As is his wont, James wakens just after sunrise. This is normal for him, as is the sight of the half-hearted sunlight streaming in through the windows, the smell of the sea in the morning. What is not normal, however, is the bed he's lying in- deep and soft- the plush blankets covering him. As his sleep-grimed eyes blink further, he notes that nothing in this room is at all normal, and for a moment he cannot recall where he is nor how he's got here. But then his eyes alight upon the chair he had sat in the night before and there, sprawled in drunken sleep is Captain Jack Sparrow, and with a rush, James remembers all the tumultuous events of the previous day, down to his unaccountable worry about Sparrow before he fell asleep the night before.

Somewhat comforted by this memory (but not much), he slides out of the bed, stretching and yawning cavernously. He can hear his spine crack loudly and winces slightly. It is still fairly quiet aboard the ship, and as James begins to get dressed, he regards the sleeping pirate across from him. The chair is closer to the bed than it was before, as though Sparrow had been watching him before he fell asleep (a notion which could be either disturbing or endearing- he cannot decide which), and Sparrow seems to have melted into it like a liquid; he's clad only in shirt and breeches, and James's eyes rest for a moment on the gaping V of golden skin exposed by the shirt before he looks away. The pirate's head rests on his shoulder, and a nearly-empty bottle of rum dangles loosely from his fingers, cradled in the crook of his elbow; his mouth moves slightly in nonsense syllables. He's as sloppy as ever sleeping, but the light of the rising sun on those high cheekbones and the black-painted eyes now closed give him a strangely feminine air. James shakes his head; he's not usually prone to such poetic rubbish- it must be prolonged exposure to Sparrow, he decides.

Once fully dressed, he ties his hair back in a queue (no reason to wear the wig now, and privately he rejoices that he needn't wear the itchy, hot thing) and seats himself on the bed once again, his legs crossed under him. He keeps his voice soft as he calls out.

'Sparrow...' it's almost sing-song, the way he says it, and he wrinkles his nose. 'Sparrow! Wake up, man. A captain should rise before his crew, should he not?'

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

James listens to Sparrow tiredly, and shakes his head. What he says makes sense, in a way, but it's the sort of sense that only works for men like Sparrow. When James had been courting Elizabeth, for example- if he had gone up to her and caught her up in his arms and kissed her until she was breathless- there would have been consequences for both of them, none of them pleasant. And yet that was what James had longed to do every time he had seen her. A moment's pleasure and a lifetime's guilt. That was what selfishness meant for James.

'I'm afraid, Sparrow, that such a philosophy works only if you believe yourself to be outside the constraints of society, as you clearly do. A Commodore cannot do what he pleases and damn the consequences, no-matter whether he would or no.'

He looks at Sparrow, seeing perhaps the faintest glimmer of understanding there. 'Surely, Sparrow, you have known something for which you have forsaken your own whims. It's not-' he breaks off, unsure how precisely to articulate what he's trying to say, 'A man is not selfless because he is afraid of what will happen if he is not,' though he often is, of course- not that he'd say that to Sparrow. 'He is selfless because he cares for other people. He serves other people. That is what I do; it is my duty to serve.'

A sigh fights its way up out of his chest as he looks at Sparrow, and suddenly he remembers. 'Are you ever going to tell me why you want me as first mate aboard your ship, Sparrow, or am I simply to languish in your cabin for an indeterminate length of time?'

It's a ploy to get Sparrow off this topic, he will admit. But surely he cannot be blamed; this is not the sort of thing he wants to discuss with anyway, much less Jack bloody Sparrow. It's personal, and it's painful. Besides, he really does want to know.

"Maybe duty is not what truly fits your purposes best," Jack says before he can stop himself, though Norrington didn't really give enough of a pause for him to respond in due time. It's more muttered under his question about first why Jack wants him as first mate but he is sure Norrington heard it anyway.

What Jack really wants to do it talk Norrington around to see his side of coin. To see how easier and less complicated life is without holding to duty or service or titles. A Commodore cannot do what he pleases. That is exactly what Jack does not want, does not and cannot understand. Why someone would choose that life over a life like his own. Placing restrictions on things for no reason. For no profit. A life lived like that, sounding painful, where as if Jack talked about his life he'd steer it away from all the pain. He'd run from it. That's what he does. Why anyone would want to live any other way he cannot fathom.

But Norrington changes the topic to something different. To the question Jack will most happily answer if he can have his question answered in return. Perhaps that is part of the reason Norrington lives his life the way he does. Perhaps he unconsciously steered the coversation to a place Jack could find his answers.

"I'll answer you as soon as you answer me." He cocks his head to the side and narrows his eyes. "Why pirates? What'd they do to you?"

He keeps the space between them this time, not wanting to push Norrington in this matter. Somehow pressured force and uncomfortableness isn't going to get him his answer, Jack knows. And he does want this question answered.

The more he talks to Norrington, the more he wants to understand him. Or rather, have Norrington understand himself through Jack's eyes. What the world sees when they look at Commodore James Norrington. And what James Norrington sees when he looks at the world.

Sparrow gives him a pause, looks at him steadily, unflinchingly. He does not understand, James can see; in his eyes is the look of a man trying to understand a language he cannot speak- an Englishman in Italy or France. For his part, James cannot decide whether he wants Sparrow to understand him or not. He can see nothing else for it, though, and so, after a sigh, he begins to speak, his voice strangely toneless

'When I was a lad aboard the Empire Gull, there was a man- one of her crew. He was a fine sailor and a fine soldier; a better man you couldn't ask to find. Everybody loved him, even the captain. He was the sort of man who was everyone's friend; he... would tell stories belowdecks, the most outrageous tales to make us all laugh, and on cold nights he could manage to get us all another half-ration of grog. He was friendly to me, a boy still freshly come from England- helped me... find my sea-legs, as it were. But great sailor though he was, he was not suited to military life, and one night, he... disappeared. We had been on shore leave, and were still near port, so it was thought that perhaps he had returned for one last go at a wench he favoured or some such, maybe he'd been molested by brigands, perhaps he'd had too much to drink, and had fallen over the rail. We were disheartened by his loss, but there were plenty of explanations for it, so we were fine. Some months after his disappearence... we were attacked by pirates. The Jade Rebellion was the name of the ship. We boarded her, and as we fought, I heard someone call my name. It was him. I barely recognised him, kitted out in pirate rags, but it was him. He smiled at me, as if I should be glad to see him.'

He paused and swallowed, hard, not looking at Sparrow. 'We won the battle. Every man left alive was hanged, their corpses hung up in the quay as a warning. I never forgave him. He'd been my friend, and because he decided to turn pirate, he was dead, feeding the ravens like any common brigand.'

His fingers twisted on the tabletop, fingernails catching on the rough wood, and he looked up, meeting the eyes of the man across from him. 'That, Sparrow, is why I hate pirates.'

He's never spoken that aloud, never, not even to any of the men he crewed the Empire Gull with. It was meant to be a secret pain, the bitter cup you had to drink from. But now... he doesn't feel light, as one is supposed to feel after the telling of a great secret. No, his burden had not been lifted, but he does feel different somehow, though he cannot describe how. He sees for a moment the line of hanged pirates, swinging in the sea-gale outside port and clenches his fist on the table.

'You have your answer. May I have mine?'

Jack listens like any soul accostumed to the hearing of tales. Eyes trained on Norrington but growing unfocused as the story progresses. Painting the images into his mind's eye and allowing himself to be swept along with the words and Norrington's voice, hollow sounding as it is.

He picks up on what intonations there are, the pauses that result. His mind latches onto the strange phrasing of helped me... find my sea-legs, as it were and wonders briefly if there is something more to that than Norrington admits; but doesn't visibly or aurally react through the telling. Stays, for once, silent and calm and lets the tale wash over him. It is not until the end, the reason as to why Norrington hates pirates, that Jack reacts.

With a bow of his head paying respect to good men and good pirates what face the gallows does he feel his blood run cold. For the first time, Jack begins to wonder if he misjudged Norrington. Gravely misjudged what he could hope to accomplish by keeping the Commodore on board. He once thought it might be possible to take Norrington as a bedmate, as a friend maybe, and in doing so complicate his mind as to whether or not hang Jack. Eliminate a threat. Have a little fun in the doing. But now -- oh now. Jack is beginning to rethink his brilliant plan. He never once stopped to consider that even if Norrington cosidered him a good man, a worthy man; if James considered him a bedmate -- he never considered that the Commodore would still hang him. Out of a damn sense of duty.

Jack feels like spitting on such a disgusting realisation. Feels a deep sadness seep through his bones. Such a waste of valuable life to live in such a society where duty and honour cause the death of good friends. Instead he looks up to catch Norrington's eye and sees the anger still there, the hatred.

He says quietly, "All pirates with a portion of wit allowed to them know that the noose stretching their necks is a likely future for them. Will die not as lubbers die but with blade or pistol or rope." Jack folds himself in half and props his elbows up on his knees. "Know it just as well as you do, if not better. Just decide that it's worth it. Worth living and dying a free man than the other alternative."

He tries to keep his voice even but it hardens of it's own accord when he says other alternative. An obvious disapproval of what Norrington did, and how little he truly understands.

Jack stands, unable to keep sitting there, staring into the face of a blind man, a prejudice man any longer, and walks the length of the cabin to where he keeps a ration of rum. He pulls the bottle from the cupboard and stands there with his back to Norrington before speaking.

"As to your question." Which Jack doesn't want to answer anymore. Doesn't want to give away how stupid he can be, how gullible. But in the name of fair trade feels in necessary to reply anyhow. "I asked you to be first mate... I asked you. Because I thought mates don't hang mates. Even Commodore James Norrington could learn to get on with a pirate and then have no ability to see him swing. Proved me wrong on that."

He uncorks the bottle and takes a long swig, keeping his back to Norrington.

No. No, no, no, no, no. He feels a panic rising in him, choking him; that was not what he meant, never was what he meant. And the tone in Sparrow's voice stings, stings more than he would like to admit. He rises from the table, almost knocking his chair over in his haste, feeling a sick sort of fear behind his eyes, pressing at his temples. Why does he care so much what Sparrow thinks of him, after all? Why should it matter?

Because he's a good man, that little voice in the back of his head pipes up again, sounding smug, And you want him to think of you as a good man as well, don't you?

'Sparrow,' he says, and his voice shakes, 'Jack. That is not what I meant- I did not hang him! I was a boy of fifteen; I had to watch him hang, I could do nothing- I stood and watched a good man dance with Jack Ketch. And I hate watching anyone hang, be he a pirate or no.'

He stopped, struck by a sudden inspiration. 'Sparrow; they call me Commodore Death, pirates and corsairs- do you know why?'

The use of his given name catches Jack's attention. The way Norrington says it. How... fearful he sounds. And Jack doesn't know what to do with that. Feels something like hope rising up in him that he was right about Norrington. That his plan will work. Has already begun to work if Norrington cares that much to defend himself.

But he still doesn't know. Whatever faith he wished to place with what kind of man Norrington could be was just rattled by his story. Shaken and almost cast off to leave Jack beginning to think about whether or not he should be keeping the Commodore in his cabin. Should let him off at the next port and leave the Caribbean without him. Or if he should never let him loose again, and have him stay from now 'til eternity aboard where he can't be a threat to Jack.

Still, Jack cosiders himself to be a fair man when he's given the occassion to be so, and if Norrington wants to explain himself Jack should let him. Even if he does want to argue back that hating a once friend for being simply what he was, for making a different choice (the right choice, the sane choice in Jack's mind), that it does not allow for much in the way of trustng James to do right by Jack now. That duty still means more to him than what kind of man Jack is, what kind of mate, could ever mean.

So he turns slightly, taking another sip from the bottle to hide whatever look he wears on his face. He has the suspicion it reveals too much of where his thoughts wander.

"I would be assuming it has something to do with the death of said pirates and corsairs?" he answers glibly, buoying away from the intenisity of Norrington's tone with a playful one of his own. He raises an eyebrow at Norrington and lowers to bottle, compelling himself to remain in the room even though such quantities of tortured revelations make him itch to flee to safer ground. "Lest you plan to prove me wrong again."

James's breath catches in his throat when Sparrow pauses; thank you he thinks desperately, though he's not entirely sure who it is he's thanking.

'They call me Commodore Death, S- Jack, because I give men a chance to die fairly; quick and clean. I do not kill in cold blood if I have any other choice; I know the sword is preferable to the noose. If,' he draws in another deep breath, 'If you were to look at the records kept at Fort Charles you would see that less men have been hanged during my time at Port Royal than under any other commander.'

He stares at Sparrow, willing him to understand, knowing that he probably won't and hating it. 'This man,' he says suddenly, 'The one in my story- his name was Twynam, Oliver Twynam- I did not hate him.' He shakes his head, wondering suddenly what Sparrow must think of him, 'I never hated him. If I had, do you think it would have caused me any pain to watch him swing? He was a friend- a shipmate- I respected him. Do you know what unbearable pain it is to have to hang someone you respect?'

He falls silent, transfers his gaze to a point over Sparrow's shoulder. 'Why did you think I have you one day's head start?' He asks, and his voice is very quiet indeed.

He does not know what it is like to hang someone he respects. He has never been put in that position, because he has never been in control of which neck the noose touches. And if he can, and oh he will damn try to make sure that he can, the noose at Fort Charles will never touch his neck again.

There are still pieces of James's tale that Jack does not comprehend. Why the man hates pirates yet feels remorse over the death of a friend that were a pirate. The emotions behind such a thing too convoluted for his mind to wrap 'round as it stands presently. But he believes James. (And it is James as long as he is Jack; he will give the man that honour.) Believes him when he says he kills fairly when possible. That still doesn't do Jack much good, because he refuses to distinguish between a fair death and an unfair death when it is his own.

But he believes the man when he implies that respects Jack. And that makes him falter even more. He drops his eyes to the floor.

"The only thing I know is what it's like to be headed for the noose under the orders of someone who once claimed to treat me fair." The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. But once they're out, Jack sees no point in stopping, if he can make him understand. "Mates don't hang mates, James," he says, catching Norrington's eye. "Except when it is more profittable to do so."

Jack wants to ask something more. Wants to ask If I let you go, will you still try to capture and hang me? but shies away from the answer he'd receive. Now is not the time to ask that. Not yet.

James stops dead when Jack calls him by his Christian name (Doesn't notice, though, when in his own mind he suddenly thinks of him as 'Jack' instead of 'Sparrow').

They are equal now, in their misunderstanding. Jack cannot know what it is to order the death of a mate, as he would say, and James cannot know how it feels to be in the position of that mate, to face the gallows under the command of a friend. He is curious now, though, what Jack is referring to; it is not his near-hanging at Port Royal, for James had never at that point made any claim of treating him with fairness. Clearly, however, it's something significant, something that's made an impact and stuck with the pirate as much as his own experience with Twynam.

Curiously he looks at Jack, cocks his head to one side. He wants to ask, but he's not sure if it's really entirely wise to do so. He wavers for a moment, studying Sparrow, before deciding that wisdom wasn't really going to get him anywhere anyway.

'Who?' He asks, gesturing vaguely, referring to Sparrow's comment. 'I mean, who... ordered the noose for you?'

It's awkward, the way he asks it, but he knows no other, more delicate way to phrase the question, especially considering that they were only moments ago discussing James himself almost hanging the man. He wants to know, however; it's part of this insane curiosity, this desperation to understand Sparrow, Jack, whoever he is. It might help, he thinks, if he could understand himself why he cares so much.

"Doesn't matter. A name that will most likely mean nothing to you."

He doesn't say such harshly. Just states the fact. Jack doesn't know how high up James has dealing with East Indian Trading Company. If he would have ever met Cutler Beckett. Heard his name, surely, as all who concern themselves with English trade do. But to hear stories of a man and know the man himself are two completely seperate things. Jack knows this better than anyone.

And he is tiring of this sober coversation. Takes another long drink of rum and ambles back towards the table, to have something else to do and look at apart from James. Apart from the still frazzled look that mars his features. Jack prefers him teasing, jibing than brunt openess. May even prefer the cold exterior of the Commodore to this, as little fun as he is that way. But like this, it causes Jack to feel unbalanced. Doesn't know where to place his next footfall. Doesn't know the terms of the trade they are actually doing right now.

It makes him feel like telling the man. Confiding in him. And what a dangerous thing that may prove to be, with Norrington being as honest and open as he is right now. Jack feels like he owes him and he doesn't know. He's sure he doesn't.

And yet...

Setting the rum on the table, Jack stares at the array of maps before him. Studies the outlined coast of Africa and tries hard not to remember.

"It weren't the noose, exactly," he murmurs. "And it weren't exactly me either what was condemned. Not as I am now."

He rolls his arms until his sleeve falls back enough that he can make out the pirate brand. The bottom, tip of his sparrow tattoo. He isn't sure if James can see it or not, or will possibly understand what Jack is almost, sort of, telling him. Jack doesn't understand quite himself why he should feel obliged to tell him such a thing in the first place.

James follows Sparrow's eyes down to the inside of his wrist. He cannot see, for the pirate's arm is turned in, but he knows that on that arm is the puffy, white scarring of the pirate brand Sparrow bears. Not the noose then, but the label of pirate? The eternal threat of the noose hanging over his head? But if that's the case, then that would mean that Sparrow had not chosen piracy, as he so proudly claimed, that he had indeed been forced into the life he now led.

But by whom? That's easy enough to guess- some high-ranking officer in either the Navy or the East India Trading Company, for it is they who carry the political weight in the Caribbean, and they who have the power to brand a man a pirate. And if the man in question had promised to treat Sparrow fairly... a superior then, perhaps. Had Sparrow been in the Navy? That was an unnerving thought indeed, but it made sense, in a way James was not entirely willing to contemplate.

Sparrow, of course, has not told him this much; James doubts that he will- at least not now- but it would explain quite a bit about the pirate. Betrayed by society, he leaps into his new role as pirate, uses it to spite the people who had made him such... it works, and James looks at Sparrow in- if not quite a new light, than at least an altered one.

'I see,' he says, and leaves it to Sparrow to work out whether he actually does or not.

But perhaps a change of subject is in order now. This seriousness of conversation with Sparrow is no end of unnerving- to speak so honestly with a man who boasts about his own dishonesty is unsettling; it throws him off balance.

'So,' he murmurs after a moment, 'Is the offer of first mate still valid, Sparrow?'

Gone is the sobre, serious note in his voice. He hopes Sparrow will take note of it and follow his lead.

"Are you asking in way of accepting?" Jack returns, liftng his voice to drop the sombre note just as James did.

He inclines his head minutely in his direction, almost as if offering thanks for changing the subject, the tone. To get away from confession as if they were both clerics and sinners, trading off the guise in each turn.

He still doesn't know if Norrington truly does understand. He suspects not, because he still spoke cryptically about it. How could he know what Jack referred to then if Jack doesn't specifically tell him? But he gets the impression that the man inferred something. The real meaning behind his waffling. That's good enough for now.

"And if you are, you'd best get use to calling me Captain." He gestures theatrically to himself and grins. Before adding in a more straight-foward way. "Or Jack."

He searches out Norrington's -- James's -- eyes and stares into them. Willing him to know that Jack is preferrable to Sparrow. That he recognises a truce between them now. An bond of some sort that wasn't there before. They'd both survived and passed through an awkward revelation with each other and that should be commemorated now.

Sparrow is as relieved as he to escape the uncomfortable sobriety of their discussion, James can tell, and he nods back ever so slightly when the pirate inclines his head in James's direction, a gesture of thanks and recognition. The fact that he doesn't question James's understanding of his admittedly cryptic hints is rather comforting as well; makes him feel as though he's somewhere on the right track. James smiles. It's not a terribly broad smile, but genuine nonetheless.

'I do believe I am,' he says sincerely, one eyebrow lifting in a familiar gesture, and then after a pause- 'Captain.'

There's no mocking behind the word now; no jibing, no flirting, nothing but 'Captain' the way Sparrow- Jack so likes it. The pirate has, perhaps, earned the title, James feels now, knowing what he knows (or thinks he knows) now. Meeting Jack's eyes there is a pause from both of them, and then he grins.

'Or Jack,' he echoes the other man's words, 'If you prefer that.'

There are, of course, a whole slew of consequences to be taken in mind; Commodores of the Fleet taking the position of first mate aboard a pirate ship, after all, was not at all the sort of thing the higher-ups in the Navy took well. At the moment, however, James doesn't really feel like considering them, so he turns his gaze on Sp- Jack again.

'Duties, Captain?'

The grin Jack gives him at the title is one of his finest, wide and pleased.

"Good then! All settled."

Except it's not all settled. Now that Norrington has accepted his offer as first mate, Jack isn't entirely sure what to do with him. It's been years since Jack has sailed with a first mate. Has sailed with a crew at all in fact. Coming back to the Pearl and being her captain again, while exactly what Jack has wanted these many years, has not gone as smoothly as he would've liked. Too many bodies clambering for action and not enough of his command to go around. Commands like "open water" don't exactly serve them best, and Jack is too aware of the fact that he needs to give them a heading sooner or later.

Better be sooner with thoughts like that.

He flits his eyes about the room when he realises he's just been standing there awkwardly for too long, having not answered the question posed to him. Jack straightens himself up to try to look Captain-y and then looks at Norrington.

"Duties, Mr. Norrington," he repeats, trying very hard not to raise it into a question. "Your duty is to help your Captain find the rest of the crew a heading. And then some lunch, I think."

It's been a few hours since the banana he had eaten. They're due for a bite after all this... talking.

"And... you can sign the papers while we eat," he finished, fishing around for something else to give Norrington to do.

He still doesn't trust him out of the cabin. To stay on board and not try to signal the Navy. Not yet, anyway. Not until they're farther away where such things can't tempt him.

James tries very hard not to betray his scepticism at Sparrow's words. Find a heading. James has never been a first mate aboard a ship himself, but he's commanded plenty, and he knows that generally finding a heading is the Captain's duty, possibly the navigator's, if it's a large ship and they have a navigator at all. But if Sparrow wants him to help find a heading, he surely can do that; perhaps find out more of what Sparrow wanted earlier with all his talk about England.

Furthermore, he is decidedly uncomfortable as to signing the articles of the ship. That puts him in full responsibility of anything he might do as a crewman of the Black Pearl, and that makes matters awkward for when he finally does return to Port Royal (for there was never a doubt in his mind that this is not a permanent state of affairs, and that eventually he'll resume his commision). There's no way, though, to refuse to sign the papers after he's just accepted the post of first mate, and he is not eager for another fight with Sparrow.

The food, however, he has no qualms about. All he's eaten today was that orange, and he had really hardly tasted it, given the... purpose for which he had been eating it. So he offers Sparrow a thin smile and says

'Indeed.'

He's about to offer to accompany Sparrow, but a look on the pirate's face suggests that he leave him be at least for the moment. He'll need to inform the crew, for one thing, that they've taken on the Scourge of Piracy as first mate, and quite honestly, James would rather not be present for that. Instead, he inclines his head in the direction of the door, a vague invitation for Sparrow to be on his way, and sits down at the table, pulling across to him the map they'd been examining earlier.

A short answer and a small smile was not quite the enthusiactic response Jack was hoping for. If, indeed, Norrington is capable of showing much enthusiasm the way Jack takes the meaning to be for anything. He turns to the door, feeling more like a small boy being permitted to leave then a Captain of his own ship, and says, "Right."

And then doesn't take a step to leave at all.

He knows he should go out on deck and have a chat with Gibbs. Tell him what to head for and have him fetch some parchment to write out the articles on for Norrington to sign. Which would mean telling his crew that he's taken on Norrington as first mate. Not exactly a conversation Jack wants to have. Not without something to offer in return as proof that he's not just risking their lives for no reason.

A heading would be better for that. Jack fingers his compass speculatively. Looks again at Norrington as if his face will have the answer written on it.

"Erm, before you..." Jack gestures with a hand to encompass Norrington reading the maps. "Might I suggest you take a look at this instead?"

He pulls the compass from his belt and sets it in front of Norrington. Jack has no desire to go anywhere but out of the Caribbean. But Norrington... Norrington might. And it would show Jack whether or not to trust him, depending upon where the compass points. Back to Port Royal, to the Navy, Jack will not let him out of the cabin. Not allow him any duties he cannot perform from in here and will hold off from telling the crew. To anywhere else, Jack will reconsider.

Brilliant. Answer found.

With a little smile, Jack places the closed compass in front of Norrington on the table, and then positions himself behind his shoulder to read it.

James regards the compass before him with blank-faced incredulity before turning to Sparrow, who is peering over his shoulder as though it were a wall, and he a small child who had scaled it. His eyes are trained on the compass as if he expects it to get up and start turning cartwheels. James raises one eyebrow, his mouth twitching into a smirk.

'Sparrow-' he coughs and corrects himself, 'Captain. I fail to see what use it is attempting to read this compass; it is broken, the same as it was the first time I saw it.'

James remembers the compass, yes, the compass that doesn't point north. Why on earth, then, should Sparrow cling to it, so? Why plunk it down on the table in front of James as if it had some magic of its own that would solve all his problems for him. He cranes his neck at an awkward angle, meeting Sparrow's gaze.

'What precisely am I supposed to do with it?'

Jack rolls his eyes when Norrington says it's broken and then stares at him as though he were the thickest man in the universe. Which he very well might be as far as Jack in concerned.

"Seems to me people open compasses when they want to read them," he answers cheekily, bobbing his head so his beads and bangles clack together.

He pauses for another moment but when Norrington makes no move to check the compass again, Jack sighs deeply. Norrington still somewhat thinks of him as a bumbling pirate, after everything.

"S'not broken. Just doesn't point North. Points to other things instead."

Jack leans in closer to Norrington and whispers lowly, "Things what as your true heart's desire."

James flushes at Sparrow's last comment. Not that he has any doubts as to the fact that it's complete and utter fantasy, but the insinuation in the pirate's voice... he shakes that thought away before he can further contemplate it. No. He'll humour him and look at the compass, but he knows it's useless. There's no way a compass can do anything but point to the magnetic north, or, if it's broken, as this one is, point... somewhere else. To think that it has some kind of magic to it is nonsense, absolute nonsense.

'My heart's desire,' he mutters, 'of course. Because it makes perfect sense that a compass should be able to figure that out.' But Sparrow makes no comment, so after a moment's more hesitation, James flips open the lid.

The needle is already spinning as the lid opens to reveal it, but when he trains his gaze upon it, it seems to waver and come to a halt, before starting in the opposite direction. Its movements are jerky as James's eyes follow it; for a moment, the needle comes to rest pointing at Sparrow over his shoulder, before twitching away. For several moments, the point swings back and forth; towards the cabin door, to the east, to what James thinks is the direction he and his men came from, back to Sparrow himself, and then to rest on the pile of charts in front of them. He thinks for a moment that it's going to stay there, but it swings back again, and he snaps shut the lid with an irritated sigh.

'You see,' he says, 'broken.'

He watches the compass with interest, a slightly feral look on his face when the first thing it points to is hisself.

Interesting, that. Very interesting. Jack can't help but smile secretly.

But what of the other places it points? To the east is open water. To where they are currently headed, which is nowhere. Jack can't think what lies out there what interests Norrington, except, perhaps, the desire to sail with them. To go where Jack will take him. (Which is quite a nice thought, indeed.) And back again the opposite way, where the Navy is, Port Royal -- all the things Jack does not want to go back to in any rush. The door means nothing to Jack, for he cannot think what is out there; and directly north, to the table in fromt of them, again is unclear to him.

So many things Norrington wants simultaneously. Jack chuckles.

"No, mate. You just don't know what you want."

He pats Norrington a few times on the shoulder and then stands to approach the table. As if by accident, he pushes the nearest map towards Norrington.

"If I were you, I'd be working on a way to figure it out."

Jack flashes a grin at Norrington and moves to the door.

"Otherwise, that compass will get you nowhere. And then where will we be?"

James turns his chair around to face Sparrow as he makes to exit the cabin, almost- but not quite- glaring. There is no way that now he's accepted Sparrow's offer to be first mate aboard this vessel that he's still keeping him in this cabin. He's about to say something suitably loud and angry when a thought strikes him, and the glare on his face melts into a smirk.

'You know, it seems to me that if you're relying on me to find you a heading, you can't know what it is you want either. Why don't you take a look at the compass, Captain? See where it leads you?'

He snatches the compass from the tabletop, standing smoothly as he does so and holding it out to Sparrow. Sparrow, he is sure, is just as conflicted as he as far as what his true 'heart's desire' is, and the pirate just having had the privelage to see where the compass pointed for James, he considers it only fair that he get the opportunity to see where the needle will spin for Jack Sparrow.

He cocks his head to one side, his gaze sliding from Sparrow to the charts on the table and then back, and steps a bit closer, holding out the compass in invitation.

Jack freezes at the door, stopped from his way to gather food and possibly talk to Gibbs if he can't avoid it.

Look at the compass himself? Don't open it, his mind hysterically thinks for a second, jarring him even more. He reassures himself that he does know what he wants. He wants... He wants... Out of the Caribbean. He wants to know whether he can trust Norrington. He wants Norrington himself. Jack looks up at him as the man approaches, compass held out to him. Looking as if he has no intention of moving away anytime soon.

Jack suddenly feels trapped in his own plan.

"I know what I want," he says, but it sounds feeble to his own ears. But he does know. He knows what the compass will show him, if anything, if he opens it. "I know what I want," he repeats, stronger this time as he locks his gaze to Norrington's.

Slipping his fingers around the compass, Jack takes it. Plans to just place it back on his own belt when a thought strikes him. "Why do you care what I want though? What could it matter to you to know if this points me anywhere? As proof that it works?"

Jack holds the compass aloft, not moving to tie it back in it's place, and stares questioningly at Norrington.

Ah, he's hit a sore spot then, if Sparrow's feeble mutterings of "I know what I want" are anything to go by. More trying to convince himself than James, by the sound of it, and James can feel his lips curve into a smile. He shrugs at Sparrow's question.

'Fair trade,' he offers with a raise of an eyebrow, 'You saw what I want,' he nods at the compass, 'Seems only right that you do me the same favour in return. Or, if that's not reason enough for you... as first mate, I must confer with the captain before deciding on a heading. Or perhaps I'm simply curious.'

He smirks at Sparrow, feeling delightfully in control. 'I already know that it doesn't work; if it did, you would have a heading and you wouldn't have bothered me with it.'

James tips his head to one side then, gazing inquisitively at the other man. For one thing, he is dreadfully curious to see if the needle will point to James, as it pointed to Sparrow for him. That was more embarrassing than he'd care to admit, and for Sparrow to share his shame would assuage the sting of it somehwat. Furthermore, he really does want to know what is so vexing the other man, why he cannot decide where to go with his precious Pearl now he's gained it back, and why he seems to need James's help in doing so.

Jack raises a finger to illustrate a point. "Ahh, but I only asked you to read the compass to see if you wanted to go back to your little mates on board your boat. Ship!" he quickly corrects, remembering the large and angry man what once took great offense at Jack terming his vessel as such. "You've proven you don't. Why would I want to know something what it is that I already know?"

But the argument of fair trade catches Jack. He likes to use that argument when it suits his own needs but to have it used against him seems dreadfully unfair. It would be easy to resist, to say no and tell Norrington they made no agreement so Jack should owe him nothing. That as a pirate, Jack doesn't always operate under the laws of fair trade, for then he certainly would be a rather poor pirate. But that might make it hard in the future to use that argument with Norrington again. By signing the papers, Norrington would become a pirates hisself and would have no cause to give Jack anything that Jack tried to barter from him.

Bugger.

Why does Norrington care so much what the compass will read for Jack? He doesn't believe at all that finding a heading for them is what Norrington cares for. Or, at least, doesn't believe that Norrington believes the compass will show to Jack their heading anymore than it did for Norrington. Curious, he said. But why? Jack wants the truth. And there might be a way to get it.

"Fair trade..." Jack murmurs, pulling at one of the braids on his beard. "Fair trade, then, that you tell me really why you want to know what the compass will show me and then I will show it to you?"

Jack banks on the fact that he already suspects what the compass will point to. Two things, if he's right. And one he doesn't need the heading to know how to reach.

James curses silently at Sparrow's ridiculously roundabout reasoning, but bends his mind to thinking of how to answer. He wants to know... simply because he wants to know. He always wants to know why and how, especially with Jack Sparrow, who is so maddeningly difficult to figure out. How to articulate that, though... To say I want to see if it points to me is not an option, not at all. It's absurd and most of all, it suggests that he wants the needle to point to him. Which of course he does. But that isn't the point.

He draws in a deep breath and brings his eyes up to meet Jack's. 'Because,' he begins, not entirely sure what he's going to say, 'I would like to know why it is you need me here, now. Why we're having this conversation in the first place.'

He is struck by a sudden epiphany and he snaps up a finger, looking at a point somewhere next to Sparrow's head. 'For the same reason you want me to call you Jack, I expect, whatever that may be.'

James doesn't know if that will work. It's the truth, by all accounts, but it is perhaps not quite the sort of truth Sparrow seeks. He can do no better, however, at least not at the moment, and he hopes that the other man will recognise that.

Rp for captjacksparrow

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject