stem_the_tide | Shore Leave

Entry tags:

Shore Leave

A shore leave, Sparrow had decided, was in order, and so when he had gone off to do... whatever it was he was doing, James had set about helping the crew to unload the necessities, and he himself had gone belowdecks to make sure that all the supplies and victuals housed therein had not been upset by the storm. One of the barrels of fresh water had sprung a leak, but it was quickly sealed, and since they were anchored, it had caused no worry. Now the work has finally finished and the men gone ashore, James leans back and passes a hand over his brow, breathing in the scent of vegetation and dark, wet earth that hangs heavy upon the air. The air is cool and James finds his ire at Sparrow melting away with every breath he takes.

His momentary feelings of restfulness, however, are soon cut short as a shrill voice cuts through the slapping of waves against the walls of the cove and the strangely loud rustling of the heavy, wet leaves of the trees which grow all about them. James sighs. Already he is getting tired of that voice.

'Hey! Navy man!'

He turns, twisting his mouth into a pained smile. The woman (he realises suddenly that he has no idea what her name is) is soaked through and looking positively vicious, her white teeth bared in a sneer James does not like at all. He suddenly wonders if she really does live in a state of perpetual fury, or if it's just something about him that so riles her. He is equal to that, however, and he raises an eyebrow at her. 'Miss?' He says, the epitome of restrained politeness

She scoffs. 'Don' take that tone with me, Norrington. Mebbe you're Commodore, yeah, but that doesn' mean you don' have to do what the rest of us do. We're to gather supplies- water, fruit.' She jerks her head in the general direction of the jungle and sets off without bothering to see if James is following her or not. He sighs, but follows after her anyway. She makes her way smoothly through the dripping foliage, slapping branches and massive leaves out of her way as she goes. No-matter how he tries, James seems always to be a good few metres behind her. After about ten minutes of walking (and it's more like jogging, James has to admit), and no sign of any gathering of supplies, he calls up to her.

'Where exactly are we going?'

She does not turn, just calls: 'To meet the Captain.'

James groans audibly, gritting his teeth when suddenly they do come to a halt and there before the pair of them stand Jack Sparrow- looking rather dementedly cheerful- and Mr. Gibbs. He runs a hand through his wet hair, droplets of water flying from his fingertips. Lovely, he thinks, how really bloody wonderful.

What he says is: 'Captain. Mr. Gibbs.'

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Important thing, coconuts. Not really nuts, though. Or like cocao beans either. Grow on tress instead."

Jack's not paying attention to what words are coming out of his mouth. All of his consentration is busy watching the figures of Gibbs and Anamaria shashay into the distance. Well. Anamaria kind of stalks. Gibbs has a nice little hip twist to his walk though. Then they're gone, and he can't see them anymore. Perfect.

Turning on his heel as quickly as he can, Jack tugs at Norrington's wrist and then briskly walks off in the opposite direction. He wants to be as far away from prying ears to have this conversation. If only he can think of a good way to start it. Perhaps something like, We are not talking about this and neither are they, so don't talk to them. He hopes Norrington will be able to understand all that and not act as daft as usual.

Looking over his shoulder to make sure Norrington is still somewhere behind him, Jack calls back to him. "Keep up!"

All he manages to process is some nonsense about the importance of coconuts before Sparrow's hand is on his wrist and he's pulling him off into the jungle. James stumbles after him, dodging quickly to avoid being poked in the side of the head by a rather thorny-looking branch. It's so much like his pursuit of the woman when she was leading him to Sparrow that he lets out a small, slightly confused laugh. Eventually, however, the novelty wears off (it doesn't take that long, really), and James grinds to a halt with a 'Stop, will you?'

Sparrow does stop, if only for a moment, twisting violently to look back at James, who points up to the tree above his head. Clustered amid the fanlike leaves are the large, misshapen, green and yellow shapes of coconuts.

'I believe,' he says, 'that we've found what you're looking for.' A pause, and he swallows, bracing himself. 'And if you're looking to have a deeply personal and awkward conversation, I'm sure we are far enough away that we shan't be overheard.'

Bugger. Coconuts are apparently exceedingly plentiful on this island. Jack tilts his head up to study the silhouetted spheres high up on the tree. "Erm. Don't remember them being this easily accessible last time." (Truth be told he doesn't remember much of last time at all, except a lot of heat and rum and a small dinghy, but that's neither here nor there.)

He chooses to completely ignore Norrington's second comment, because as he sees it, it might be too close to the truth and therefore is completely unacceptable. To pass the time he squints a bit more at the coconuts, hoping that if he stalls enough Norrington will say something else.

The sun is very bright in the sky. It's hurting his eyes. Jack's plan doesn't seem to be working.

"I reckon they know," he finally says to the coconuts.

James shifts slightly on the spot, his eyes flickering from Sparrow up to the coconuts he seems to be so intent on. They are utterly unremarkable, really quite the same as every other coconut James has ever laid eyes on. Not that he expects them to be anything otherwise; it's quite obvious that, now he's actually dragged James out here, Sparrow hasn't a clue what he ought to say. When he finally does speak, James nods grudgingly.

'I should imagine so,' he says lightly, keeping out of his voice all the horror he actually feels at the knowledge. 'After all,' he continues, feeling the need to fill the horribly, horribly awkward silence hanging between them, 'I hardly imagine it's... usual for the first mate to spend that long in the captain's cabin and finally emerge in a state of... deshabille.'

His face, he is quite sure, is burning red. To contemplate anyone, anyone knowing about his... sexual activities, much less those concerning men, is a desperately shaming thought. Furthermore, these are not the people he would choose to know, were he to have to choose anyone. Why though, he wonders suddenly, should Sparrow care? Surely, if he's the wanton he acts like, his whole crew is aware of his conquests. His eyebrows knit together and he cocks his head to one side, regarding the pirate curiously.

'Why... do you care?' He asks. The rest he cannot bring himself to explain, but he supposes that Sparrow ought to know what he means. And if he doesn't, well... they'll deal with that in a moment.

There is a strange, bubbling sensation creeping up his throat. Quite the feeling of laughter but Jack fears that if he lets it out, it will be the high-pitched, nervous kind, and not really the type of impression he wants to spread around about how Jack Sparrow handles these things. Except Jack Sparrow has never had to handle something like this before. He chuckles low in his throat and keeps his eyes planted on the coconuts. They're evolving into little black dots of nothing in his blurring vision, but it's better than looking at Norrington.

"Never been one for the usual -- " he begins to respond flippantly, but quickly cuts off at the question.

His chin snaps down to stare dumbly at Norrington for a few long, clueless moments. "What?" finally falls out of his mouth. "I don't," he says, and then: "Because." But nothing else follows that. A second "What?" clunks to the ground.

He blinks in honest surprise at how thrown Sparrow seems by his question, and, seeing nothing else for it, repeats himself.

'Why do you care if they know?'

It's not as if you have a reputation to worry about, it's not like you have to worry about breaking the law, surely they know every time you bring someone aboard the ship to dally with, you are their captain, after all...

There are a multiplicity of possible things to say to explain himself, but he remains silent. He's genuinely curious, and to accidentally offend Sparrow is not at all the way to go about getting an honest answer, if indeed there's any way at all.

For the first time in a long time, Jack finds himself at a loss for words. Why does he care? He doesn't, but he does. If they know, the crew will soon know. They'll talk. They'll want to talk to him. Gibbs will begin some jabbering about bad luck and Anamaria will glare furiously, but really -- it can't be much worse than the pain of this conversation anyway. Probably best to just get out with it then and end this.

Jack stares just over Norrington's shoulder, refusing to look at him while he answers. "S'not the knowing I care to know about, since them knowing what they know is a known unchangeable fact. Can't do much about it now."

That's not really the entire point though, and so Jack sighs as he tries to work out a way to phrase the next part.

"Crew'll know sooner than not. Not exactly fans of yours, they aren't. Never specifically said neither that what I do is not anyone's business. But. Might see it as a threat though. Way I figure it at least."

He moves his eyes back to find Norrington's and when their eyes lock, Jack stares him down. "Hard looks aren't the easier thing to be dealing with, even if one is Captain and First Mate any ol' way."

'Ah.' He says. Just- 'ah.' It's not an adequate response to what Sparrow has just said, not by any means, but he can't think of anything else to say. 'Ah,' apparently, will have to suffice for now.

Is Sparrow afraid of another mutiny, is that it? On account of James? He doesn't want to ask, remembering what happened the last time he brought up the mutiny. Or is it worry for James himself, that the crew's innate dislike of him as a Navy man, as the 'Scourge of Piracy' would overcome what little respect they had for James's own rank as First Mate or any authority Sparrow had. They're valid fears, James has to admit, and inwardly he squirms. Consequences, just as he had said.

'So... what are you planning on doing about that?'

He is, after all, a 'guest' aboard the Black Pearl. If Sparrow thinks his presence there is a danger to the workings of the ship, he can easily drop him off at any Navy port, and they can both forget this bizarre thing ever happened. Of course they can.

Or perhaps not.

Do? Jack is meant to be doing something about this? He looks about, trying to come up with a better response than "What?" or simply laughing at the idea. This conversation was his doing. Informing Norrington. It's not like he came prepared with a plan for any of this apart from liking sex and finding it a great game to capture the Commodore of the Fleet and enjoying how nicely the two seemed to be finally going together. Norrington apparently thinks he's put more thought into this than it calls for.

Or maybe it actually calls for it. But that doesn't mean Jack has thought this through completely. Yet.

"Rmnnmnnmnmnmnm..." he pauses. Then looks at Norrington again with his most charming smile. Points up. "Coconuts?"

He doubts that will really sail as an answer.

Coconuts. James purses his lips, sucks pensively at his teeth. Obviously, Sparrow has no plan at all, just... fears as to what might happen if things continue in their current path, but no ideas as to how to deal with them. He nods in a businesslike fashion.

'Very well,' he says, smiling a mirthless sort of smile, 'Coconuts. I see no reason to neglect our work simply because we're having a conversation.'

And with that, he sits down at the base of the tree and shucks his boots and stockings. Raising an eyebrow at Sparrow, he stands and removes his coat, and then begins to scale the tree. It's not hard, being of the variety whose bark is comprised of large, overlapping scales which provide easy grips for hands and feet. He is silent save for the occasional grunt until he reaches the top, at which point he settles himself in the crux of one of the stiff, green branches and the main body of the tree. Freeing a coconut, he lets it drop to the ground with a hollow thunk

'So!' He calls down, not looking at Sparrow but concentrating on his task, 'You have no idea what to do should any of these... eventualities come to pass? Just planning to-' another coconut, 'roll with the punches, as it were?'

Apparently Norrington failed to connect collecting coconuts as Jack's solution to their dilema. Jack considers correcting him, even raising a finger to begin his point, but then abruptly stops as Norrington plops down at the base of the tree. And begins undressinging.

The first thought that strikes Jack is that the ground seems awful pokey and lumpy for that sort of thing, but when the mood strikes he's not one to turn it down. The second thought that strikes him is probably actually more accurate to what's going on, and that's that Norrington is going to climb the tree. Which he is obviously doing. Quite amusingly too. That also means no work for Jack. He's not one to turn down this type of mood either.

Leaning against the trunk as Norrington scales higher, Jack makes himself as comfortable as possible against the scratchy bark. Closes his eyes. Intends to rest a bit while Norrington collects coconuts.

Suddenly something large and heavy lands near Jack's feet. He pretends he wasn't startled. Just like he didn't jump at the loud So! from high above. jack doesn't fancy looking up just to see a brighter version of the sun and perhaps get a coconut straight to his pretty face, so he keeps his eyes close and his posture as relaxed as possible. A second coconut lands closer to him, nearly hitting his shoulder on the way down.

Jack waits an extra beat of pause from the dull thunk until he answers. "Hm. Yep!"

'I see!'

Another coconut, and another, and another.

'So, if I get lynched by your crew in a fit of madness, you're going to do nothing? Give them a stern reprimand, perhaps?'

His voice is light and vaguely scornful, but he really cannot see any other way around the thing. After all, it's not just a threat to James, but also one to Sparrow himself, and as irritating as the man often is, James has no desire to see him mutinied upon again. Why precisely that is, he's not sure. Of course, it is really only Sparrow's authority that stops his crew from lynching James right here and now, but it's not solely self-preservation that motivates the thought. It's... he thinks of the fear and the fury he had seen from Sparrow when he'd foolishly brought up the mutiny that first night. It's that he doesn't want. For whatever mad reason. He hurls another coconut to the ground.

'How many of these do we need?'

Perhaps that was the wrong thing to say. The coconuts keep dropping, but in quicker succession and coming closer and closer to hitting Jack. He has to jump out of the way of the third one only to be nearly smacked in the back by the fourth one.

"Your aims a bit off," he calls up as the fifth coconut comes crashing down. Jack sidesteps it narrowly. "Or a bit too on," he then mutters under his breath.

Norrington doesn't seem to be in the best of moods. A giant understatement if he's trying to passively brain Jack with falling coconuts but Jack figures he can't really blame him. His stomach rebelliously knots up at the image of the crew straping Norrington up by the neck to the rigging and hoisting him like a flag. He wouldn't just stand aside. His muscles tighten and his teeth clench at very the idea. A feeling very much like remorse hollows out of pit in Jack's chest and he has to consciously reassert himself as standing next to a palm tree, surrounded by coconuts before he can begin to shake the sensation. He doesn't register the next thing Norrington says at all.

"S'against the Code," he murmurs, not even sure Norrington can hear him. "Can't string a man up aboard ship." Though he can't help but add, "Ironic as it may be."

The hollow in his chest expands and Jack feels a flare of anger. "Unfitting for any man. Unfitting for..." The word you dries on his tongue when he realises how forceful he's begun to sound.

He doesn't know why he feels so strongly about pushing away that image, but he doesn't like it. And he doesn't like feeling this way. Jack stares at the coconuts at his feet and thinks suddenly that he doesn't really want to go back. Not just yet.

All he gets from Sparrow is a shout about how his aim is off, and then... nothing. Or- James cranes his head downward- muttering, apparently to himself. James, however, can catch none of it, and from his vantage point, all he can see is the top of Sparrow's head, so he can catch none of his expression. He dislodges a few more coconuts, watching distractedly as they hurtle to the ground and Sparrow's voice swells from a distracted murmur to what is practically a shout.

And then he stops, quite suddenly, as though catching himself in the act of saying or doing something he'd really rather not. Unfitting for- he'd said, before cutting himself off. The hanging James had so casually mentioned, he supposes, but it's not that that interests him, it's whatever Sparrow had been about to say that he'd so violently cut off. Several thoughts occur to James, but most of them produce an unpleasant knotting sensation somewhere in the region of his stomach, so he does not give voice to them. Instead, he looks down at Sparrow once again, surveying the ground about him. It is littered with coconuts. More than enough.

It takes him several moments to climb back down the tree, and he falls the last seven feet or so, scraping his arms and legs against the rough, fibrous bark. He falls in a graceless tumble near Sparrow, who- he discovers- is looking strangely morose, and hastily untangles himself, looking at the pirate curiously.

'Unfitting for what?' He asks quietly.

It's not panic he feels. Nothing like panic. Because any situation he can say as being panic-inducing is running from angry soldiers. Or running from angry women. Or running from angry merchants that got confused over the idea that Jack should pay them for their goods. So this can't be panic. He's not running. There's not an angry someone chasing him. It just kind of feels like he should be, but he doesn't know what exactly he feels the urge to run from.

Or why he thinks maybe he needs to stay this time.

There's a loud scraping sound from just behind. Like a giant coconut falling from the tree. A really giant coconut. That makes oofing sounds. He turns around just in time to see a crumpled Norrington at the base of the tree. It's a slightly comical image. Jack didn't know a man could get his knee that close to his nose. He watches with what he wants to be a smirk on his face as Norrington rights himself, prepared to crack some weak joke at the mess he's made of his limbs.

Then shuts himself up at what comes out of the man's mouth.

Bugger. Jack looks wildly about at all the coconuts at his feet and decides he really does not want to answer that seriously. So he doesn't.

"Hm?" Wide smile. "Don't want to be infringing on your territory, mate. Stretching necks and all. Navy's idea of a good time. Me, I prefer pillaging."

There we are. Just avoid. As good a plan as any.

The too-bright smile, the suddenly flippant words- it is painfully obvious that Sparrow is lying, and if nothing else, this serves only to arouse James's curiosity as to what he is so desperate to cover up. He looks at him coolly.

'I hardly think so, Mister Sparrow. I have, after all, made known to you my feelings on the subject of hanging.' A little grimace flickers across his face at the memory of that particular conversation. 'Besides,' he adds after a moment, 'you're not nearly as good a liar as you think you are.'

Oh, so this is what he wants to run from. This conversation. This tone Norrington is taking with his "Mister Sparrow" -- which sounds like an old, high pitched crone when Jack mimics it in his head. He'd very much like to just walk away. Can't even remember the reason that he should stay.

And he is not a bad liar.

"Am too!" Jack pouts. And then promptly realises he just admitted to lying. Possibly he needs to work on that a bit more. "Er..."

He really just doesn't want to be here. Why is he still here? It would be so easy to turn around and walk that-a-way and leave the coconuts for Norrington to deal with all on his onesie. But for some reason Jack is just standing here.

Right. Ending this. Now.

"Since you're to be feeling so strongly 'bout the idea of hanging, best we just ignore the entire concept." Suddenly a thought strikes him and he puts in as flippantly as possible. "I don't hang you, you don't hang me. We're all square, hey!"

He turns around to start walking off to further explore the island and really doesn't care if Norrington chooses to follow him or not.

Given the general tone of evasion and avoidance that this conversation has been taking thus far, it really shouldn't be surprising to James when Sparrow simply gets up and walks away. It is, however, and he stares rather dumbly after Sparrow's retreating moment before getting up himself, shoving his feet into his boots, and following at what would have been a jog had his dignity not prevented it.

It doesn't take too long, however, before he catches up with Sparrow and lays a firm hand on his shoulder, stopping him where he stands

'Sparrow,' he says, and his voice is very nearly a sigh, 'You bring me out here to talk and now all you can do is avoid talking? I'm not entirely sure I understand your motives.'

Jack has gotten very adept at moving quickly when he wants to. The ground is a little uneven and, well, ground, so it's harded to keep his balance while trying not to run. But really, he's making quite good time despite all that.

Though it's apparently not good enough when he feels Norrington's hands curl around his shoulder, forcibly halting him in his not-quite-run. Brisk walk more like. Fast stagger. Jack drops his arms with a sigh of resignation. Damn the man for not leaving this be. Then again, he wouldn't be Norrington if he let Jack get away with anything. More squirming is needed.

"Who's avoiding?" Jack asks lightly. He doesn't know why his voice is reaching higher octives than usual. Must be something about land air. "We're having quite the lovliest little chat right now. And back at the tree. And probably will again in just a few yards."

He doesn't want to discuss what they were discussing at the tree again. Or discuss dicussing it even. Norrington is stubbornly refusing to understand that. Sighing again, Jack half turns to face him.

"Look, mate. There's not anything to talk about. You don't want to tell about your hanging. I don't want to hear about it. Therefore, absolutely no ground for any kind of talking whatsoever." Taking a deep breath, Jack looks Norrington in the eyes, almost pleading not to make him get in depth about this.

Honestly, he doesn't even know to what depths this goes.

James sighs heavily and leans back against the bole of an impressively tall tree with grey-green bark and massive, buttressed roots, crossing his arms across his chest. Sparrow is... well, he's being irritating for one thing, but more important, he's running- both literally and metaphorically, looking at James with something almost like pleading in his eyes, which disturbs James probably more than it ought.

'Very well,' he concedes. 'I don't want to talk about it, you don't want to listen. But pray, Sparrow, why then did you bring me out here? And don't say for coconuts.' He warns as Sparrow begins to speak.

He raises an eyebrow, looking the very picture of indolence as he lazes against the tree-trunk, but in reality he is intensely curious. There are, of course, many things wrong with having a Commodore of the Fleet as First Mate aboard a pirate ship, and as such, many things to talk about concerning said Commodore and the captain of that ship. Sparrow, however, just can't seem to make up his mind.

Jack bites off the second co of coconuts with an audible clack of his teeth. He's not quite sure what to say if not that, apart from the truth of course. But why would he ever want to admit to that? Not that he exactly knows what the truth is anymore.

It's a relief to know that Norrington won't bring up... that subject anymore, because it gives Jack a peculair nervous feeling. Strange, too, in the way that he's never found himself with too much about necks getting stretched as long as it's not his. Yet he finds himself caring about Norrington. Er. S'neck. Norrington's neck. Not that the man himself. He'll just forget that slight slip of the mind. Not like his mind is particularly sound anyway.

Yes. Right. Good. He really needs to find some sort of distraction.

Jack smiles innocently and leans a little closer to Norrington. "Can't blame a man for wanting to get away from all the superfluous company back there. Have to leave something up to the imagination of the crew when words gets passed 'round."

James has to smile at the warmth which glows into being under his skin at Sparrow's tone, at the way he sways in a little closer to James. A distraction, obviously, but that doesn't mean James isn't allowed to appreciate it. He props one foot up against the base of the tree, his knee bending up in front of him and adjusts his neck a little; just arranging himself, really. Not an invitation at all. The smirk he gives Sparrow is laden with affected doubt.

'Ah, of course. So they're allowed to know the gist of it but not the mechanics, is that it? Silly of me to think that you might actually be thinking with your head for once.'

He tips his head back, looking down his nose at Sparrow with barely hidden amusement.

'Like I said; you're a terrible liar.'

"Ah, but really I'm thinking of your head in this instance," Jack murmurs. "One particular part of it, in fact."

His eyes drop down to blatantly trace the line of Norrington's lips, then follows the rest of his body down to his boots and back up until he can see into Norrington's hooded eyes. Leaning a bit closer, he places one arm as a brace on the tree, hovering right in front of Norrington without touching him.

It's odd that he never realised how much taller Norrington is than him, though it isn't by all that much. Perfect height, in fact, to almost whisper right into his ear.

"Not everyone's allowed to see such things. Man's got to keep some of his secrets, after all."

Jack delicately begins to play with one of the buttons on Norrington's coat, twisting the material in between his fingers. "What'd you say to that, eh, James?" He just about purrs his name, hoping it will bring back images of the last time he said it.

And get them completely away from what they were just talking about.

'Well, thank God for that!' James is about to say, perhaps throw in a wry glance at Sparrow there at the end, comment on a no doubt valiant effort in seducing him out of a conversation, but then- he says his name. And almost immediately, like some sort of direct chemical reaction in his brain, all rational thought flees. Why is this, he half-wonders? His name is nothing special. Surely, half the boys in England are named James, but Jack Sparrow says it like it's a particularly delicious sweet that he's savouring, wrapping his tongue around to draw every hint of flavour out of it, and it's as if the pleasure he gets from saying the name translates exactly to how James feels hearing him say it. Completely illogical.

Just about now, he thinks, it would be acceptable to give up the topic of conversation. A man must know when to draw back, after all, and there's no shame in a calculated retreat. He can always bring it up later, because God knows he hasn't the will power to do so now.

'I say,' he answers, and if his voice is a wee bit strained, what of it? 'That I'm very glad indeed you don't want Mr. Gibbs watching this. There would certainly be some questions needing to be asked if you did.'

Jack laughs and then shudders when he completes the thought of Gibbs in the background, just staring at them. Possibly muttering about bad luck and how that reminds him of a story.

He twists his mouth while trying to think of a delicate way to put it, still staring at his fingers as they twist the button around. "As fine a man as Gibbs is, to be sure, he's not quite of our ilk or my interest to be watching."

Jack's eyes trail up the line of Norrington's neck and he gently brushes his lips against the pulse point there, before murmuring into the skin.

"Think it's called voyeur by the French."

He's not exactly sure anymore what the French actually call it or if it even was the French. Jack's mind is far too busy contemplating the ways he could work te name James into everyday conversation. Just to see how mad it would drive Norrington. Suddenly he wonders why the name has the affect that it has. If he's the only one ever to have used it.

"Who else calls you James?" Jack asks, finally popping the button out of its corresponding hole and dragging his fingers down to the next one.

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