Hurricane

The wave came crashing down like a tsunami, crushing the stern and bending the bow. Norrington had only time to genuflect and regret that he'd strayed so far from the man he had been when he had said that he thought of those he served rather than having the heads of pirates as trophies. Love does that. Or rather a broken heart can drive you past who you should be to something terrible that you don't recognize-- that you don't even want to recognize.

He didn't lament the loss of his own life, but those of his screaming crew that went down with him in a heady gale of destruction. The ship creaked and ripped apart and Norrington felt the jarring weightlessness of being dragged under the sea.

Goodbye Elizabeth.

--

It was ironic that the man who had stayed the course to drive them to extinction was the only survivor of the hurricane. Norrington was the man who wished to die, and yet here he was, alive and in a dark cabin with a tiny bed. The room smelled like stale rum and cigars and the faint aroma of apples. The dark wood was carved into railings that might've been quaint were they not somewhat sinister.

He found himself under voluminous dark blankets of fur and rich tapestries that seemed extravagant for a normal ship captain, but quite at home in the quarters of a pirate. There was only one pirate who might've been within range to pluck him from the water before he died of exposure. The one he was pursuing: Captain Jack Sparrow.

As if on cue, he ducked his head in the door, his hair jangling in that irritating way it would. "Oh good, you're awake."

Norrington went for his gun only to find that not only was he disarmed, but he was also naked. He didn't care to blush in front of a pirate, but under the circumstances, it was inevitable. Pulling the sheets higher over his chest, Norrington glared at Jack. "What is the meaning of this? Why am I here?"

"A philosophical question to start; why are any of us here? What is the meaning of any of this? I think those are questions that you should answer for yourself," said Jack. His gold teeth glittered as he beamed his amusement at Norrington's predicament.

Norrington was not amused in the slightest. "Where is my crew?"

At this, Jack took a deep breath and leaned against the doorway. "I am afraid that you were the only one we found intact."

"And my clothes?" Norrington decided to move on. He would mourn his crew, but not in front of a pirate.

Jack grinned and pointed to where they were hanging. He came out of the shadows to do so and Norrington squinted his eyes to take a full measure of Jack's hat.

"Is that my hat?"

"My hat now, love. Pirate's ransom. Or a finder's fee, if you will." Norrington attempted to leap from the bed, but found his body lacking the strength to do so. It didn't matter; Jack had pulled back through the door. He was spry to start, so the fact that Norrington was recovering gave him too large an advantage.

Something dropped into Norrington's lap and when he looked up, he saw Jack again. "Drink up, me hearty," he said, grinning in that irritating way. "Cures what ails ya."

Then he was gone again.

Norrington picked up the bottle and swished the amber fluid around the cloudy glass. A better man wouldn't need a drink to take the edge off the guilt of thirty men dying at his mistake-- or a broken heart. Then again, a better man would never find himself in this predicament. Popping the cork from the bottle, Norrington took his first swig. So began his life as a pirate.

--

Rum turned even the most honorable men into scoundrels, or so he'd been informed. What he was never told was that it would make other scoundrels sound completely reasonable. He listened to Jack's spiel about how being a pirate was about freedom. Having nothing to tie him down, no responsibilities sounded appealing. More than appealing, actually; it sounded like the only way to survive without going mad.

"You came back to see if there were any survivors?" asked Norrington, a bit more tipsy that he really should have been, but that seemed par for the course. When in Rome, or on a pirate ship, it is best to do as the natives do.

"No, no. Came back to see if there were anything worth the taking," said Jack, slapping Norrington on the back.

Norrington looked at him gravely, or at least as gravely as he could, given his level of inebriation. "Still, you picked me up from the wreckage. You didn't have to."

Jack opened his mouth to say something, then furrowed his brows and looked away for a moment. Then he swung his hand with the rum bottle in it up and said, "To me!"

"To you!" Norrington almost laughed as their bottles clinked together. "And your kind soul."

"Yeah, my bless kind soul," said Jack before he glugged back half of his bottle of rum. Norrington followed suit unwisely, but then, he wasn't of the mood to be sober or wise.

--

"Why did you have me in your quarters?" asked Norrington. Slouched at the dining table over the remains of stale bread and dried beef, he was horrendously in his cups as he felt he needed to be to ask a question he thought so personal.

Jack slammed his bottle of rum to the table and flashed what Norrington thought was a terribly indecent smile. "Below deck was too humid. Must protect the prize, savvy?"

"Prize? I'm your prize?" Norrington was touched in an odd way. He stared at the way Jack's fingers wrapped around the bottle then looked up to eye the strange trim of his mustache and the beaded shag of his beard. "I don't think anyone's called me a prize before."

"You're worth a ransom," said Jack. His leer was as dangerous as it was enigmatic. "A really big one."

Norrington wasn't sure what to say. No one had looked at him like that, nor had they said such things. At sea, he'd been called to break up couplings of men desperate for the warmth and release that only another body could provide. He had never been of the inclination or position to attempt such a thing. His position came with honor and dignity, two things he found himself without of late. He took another slug of rum, feeling it burn all the way down his chest and into his extremities. Jack saw something in him worth a ransom, thought him a prize. Just now, he was more than willing to give anything to feel worthy of any adoration.

Scrutinized by Jack's wily eyes, he felt utterly transparent. His motives were laid bare before a pirate and he felt compelled to act. Norrington lunged forward, grabbing Jack's open shirt and waistcoat, and pulled him forward into a manic kiss. Jack tasted of rum and rot, of sheer corruption and taint. Also, his beard tickled. In his inebriated state, he almost laughed at the randomness of the thought.

It took a moment for Jack to respond, but when he did, the kiss turned fierce, biting and demanding. Each slide of tongue hid a sharpness of tooth and a lack of compromise. Jack would take all and give nothing back, sucking hard at his tongue as he scrabbled through Norrington's clothes with efficiency. Norrington found himself stripped of his bottoms, bared in the midst of the shifting sands of the ship and bent over the dining table.

"Wait!" said Norrington as he grabbed for his bottle of rum and took another long draught as he felt his cheeks pried apart. There was no mercy at this point, only the shoving of spit-slicked sea worn fingers inside of him, prying him apart in spite of how viscerally his body reacted to clench tight around them.

"Wait," he said breathily, hiding his face against his sleeve. He knew that there would not be quarter, nor did he wish any. He'd felt broken and exposed emotionally for months, feeling it physically was little more than a relief.

Jack felt like a hard spear, a wooden stake pushing into him and Norrington released his rum to grasp the sides of the table, holding fast as if his very sanity depended on it. He grunted with each savage thrust, the sounds mimicking the memory he had of crewmates that he'd bumbled in on, or gone in to stop. The last shreds of his righteousness feel away like dead skin from a snake, giving him a psychic release from the bindings of responsibility that had kept him tied to the memory of who he once was.

The heat of their connection bored through him till he became numb to it and felt only the bruising crush of his thighs against the hard wood table. He rested his cheek against the cold wood and hid his face under his arm until he felt the manic thrusts behind him halt and then slow again as Jack milked himself of the last of his release.

It didn't hurt again until Jack left him and Norrington was left clenching in the absence of Jack's prick filling him. He felt Jack pulling at his cock and was oddly touched just before he passed out.

--

Norrington awoke on a pier. The coolness of the early morning rattled his muzzy head and all he could do was watch helplessly as the Black Pearl sailed away. He fancied that he could see Jack watching him curiously from the mist. Jack picked up his hat and waved it. Norrington recognized the hat and its plumage as his own.

When the vision had passed, Norrington peered around with hangover clarity to see the familiar shape of palm trees and bustle of Port Royal.

"Sir? Sir!" Gillette, who had not shipped out with them that fateful day, rushed forward to help him up. "We dared not believe you had survived, but then the pirates came and Elizabeth demanded we pay your ransom..."

"My ransom..." said Norrington, feeling the full weight of his mistake and the ache deep inside of him that overwhelmed any sense of discomfort he felt at the previous night's violation. "The prize."

"Yes. We dared not dream we would see you again. Quickly now, we must clean you up, Commodore and have you meet with the Governor and his daughter. They will be most pleased to see you."

Norrington pushed Gillette away and stood under his own power, glancing at the fading ship on the horizon. He was not a Commodore. He was nothing now. Not even a pirate. But rules needed to be followed and bags packed. He would meet with the Governor to resign and then to Tortuga. He would find Sparrow again and repay the favor of ruining his life.