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A Cure For What Ails You

by Corrielle
August 27, 2005

Upon reflection, Commodore Norrington was forced to admit that it probably would have been wise to change out of his dress uniform before venturing into the underbelly of Port Royal. However, the need to get away from the prying eyes of decent society and have a few strong drinks had come upon him suddenly and caught him quite unaware. His appearance in the doorway of the weather-beaten Dolphin Tavern effectively put a stop to all conversation within, and the ensuing silence was painfully noticeable. Undeterred, James called for a drink and situated himself at an empty table. The Dolphin’s proprietor regarded him uneasily, but eventually brought James what he asked for. The Commodore’s coin was as good as any man’s, and the glare on the tavern keeper’s face told his usual patrons that no harm had best come to Norrington in his establishment. The last thing he needed was for the pride of the King’s navy to be accosted under his very nose.

James downed his first tankard of ale, had a second brought to him, then a third. The drink did nothing to take the edge off the memory of Elizabeth Turner, as radiant a new bride as he had ever seen, waving to him from the deck of a ship as she and Mr. Turner sailed for England. The visit had been Governor Swann’s idea. He had financed and arranged the whole affair, calling it a wedding gift. James suspected that the governor was hoping a taste of London society would settle Elizabeth somewhat, but he doubted that anything of the sort would happen. The woman that he held in such high regard was not the type to be made calm and placid by marriage or the example of her peers.

He had, of course, been seen at the dock with the governor. Afterwards, whispers and half-concealed looks of pity seemed to follow him wherever he went. Indeed, they were what had driven him away from the more reputable parts of Port Royal that evening. It was bad enough that he was so minutely conscious of the persistent ache in his chest where Elizabeth was concerned. That his inner state should be so obvious to others was simply intolerable. And so, he came to the Dolphin to drink alone in staid, measured silence. Though he was certainly not anonymous, those who knew his face were not those who mattered.

When James was staring at the bottom of his third drink, a figure emerged from the shadows in the corner where the hearth’s light did not reach. A few of the tavern’s patrons muttered under their breath as the figure passed by, making a generally straight line for where Norrington was sitting. The Commodore lifted his eyes to see none other than Jack Sparrow pulling up a chair at his table. He leveled a glare at the pirate that would have told any sensible man to stay away, but Jack paid him no mind. Instead, he set a half-full bottle down on the table.

“What’s this?” James asked.

“A cure for what ails you,” Jack answered.

“Funny, it looks like a bottle of rum.”

“Well, it’s that too,” Jack said as he tossed his jacket over the back of his chair and sat down. He set two glasses on the table and twisted the cork from the bottle with his teeth. James wrinkled his nose at Sparrow’s uncouth manner, but when Jack pushed a glass of rum toward him, he raised it to his lips. It smelled wonderful, sweet and dark and alluring. It didn’t taste half bad, either. Whatever his other faults, Sparrow knew how to pick a good rum.

While James’ glass was still half full, Jack filled it up again to the brim. James did not drink, but stared thoughtfully into the amber liquid.

“So tell me… What brings you to Port Royal, Captain Sparrow?” he asked.

Jack smiled, gratified that the Commodore had remembered to tack the ‘Captain’ on the front of his name. “Same thing that brings you to the Dolphin for drinks, I expect. The departure of one William Turner and his new bride. What with them leaving, I thought it’d be good to see them, so I dropped in on them at the Governor’s mansion this morning before they sailed.”

“As did I,” James said.

Jack clapped a hand on the Commodore’s shoulder. “We must have just missed each other, then,” he said in complete seriousness.

James nodded, quite certain that Governor Swann had no idea that he had played host to a pirate earlier in the day.

“Wasn’t easy watching them sail away…not even able to show my face on the docks,” Jack said.

James took a long swallow of rum. “Almost harder than the wedding,” he murmured.

Jack snorted. “At least you got to attend the Turner nuptials! I, on the other hand, had to make myself scarce for fear someone,” he cast a pointed look at James, “might be in a hanging mood.” Briefly, a worried look passed across his face. “You wouldn’t happen to be in a hanging mood now, would you?” he asked, peering cautiously at the Commodore.

Norrington dismissed Jack’s worries with a wave of his hand. “No, not tonight.”

“Well, that’s good then. I’d have hated to waste good rum on the man who hanged me.”

“And you don’t consider it wasted on the man who almost hanged you?” James asked, raising an eyebrow in mock surprise.

“Water under the bridge, Mate.”

“Captain Sparrow,” Norrington said indignantly, “we are not on good enough terms, nor am I drunk enough for me to tolerate you calling me ‘Mate.’”

Jack leaned forward. “And just how drunk would that be, out of curiosity?”

“Let’s put it this way.” James raised his glass to his lips. “I’d have to be dead.”

Jack was about to be offended until he realized that James’ eyes were two bright sparks of amusement that regarded him over the edge of the Commodore’s cup. The pirate gestured dramatically at their empty glasses.

“We both seem to be dry,” he said. He tipped the bottle over James’ glass in an attempt to remedy the situation, but before there were more than two fingerbreadths of rum in the bottom, the flow stopped. Jack shook the bottle in exasperation, and sighed when it became clear that no more alcohol would be forthcoming.

“Empty already?” James asked.

“Been working on this one for a while,” Jack explained. “Fear not, there’s more where that came from.” He rose and sauntered over to the bar.

Briefly, Norrington contemplated making his exit while Sparrow’s back was turned. Drinking with a notorious pirate had not been part of his plan for the evening, but then again, Jack was buying, and as insufferable as the man was, the Commodore had to admit that Sparrow was a more than able sparring partner in the arena of wit.

“Got you your own this time,” Jack said, setting a full bottle in front of Norrington. He settled back into his chair and produced another bottle of rum from under his jacket.

As a matter of habit, James lifted the bottle for a brief moment before drinking. “His Majesty’s health,” he said quickly.

“I suppose I’ll drink to that,” Jack said reluctantly, and touched his own bottle to James’.

“Not a thing I’d have expected you to drink to, Sparrow,” James said. “Isn’t your sort supposed to be drinking ‘damnation to the governor,’ or some such thing?”

Jack shook his head, looking rather appalled. “Governor Swann’s a nice enough fellow. Father of a friend, you know. Why’d I want to do something like that?” He raised his rum in the air. “To the sea,” he said, proposing a toast they could both agree on whole-heartedly.

“The sea,” James chimed in. They struck their drinks together lightly and took long pulls at the bottle. James was beginning to feel delightfully numb, which was perhaps the reason that he lifted his rum and said, “To the Turners. Godspeed on their journey.”

Jack blinked in surprise, then hastily muttered, “To Will and Elizabeth,” before taking another swallow. “Now there’s a pair I hadn’t expected you to be drinking to,” he said.

“I bear no ill will toward Mr. Turner,” James said. His words were spoken slightly less precisely than usual. “He makes her happy. That’s what’s important.”

Jack nodded sagely, and mulled over a few sympathetic phrases he might use. However, the serious turn of their conversation was interrupted by a drunken bellow and the beginnings of a brawl.

“I don’t know about you, but it’s getting a mite too warm in here for me. I need a breath of fresh air,” Jack said. He pulled James to his feet and toward the door. The two of them exited the Dolphin not a moment too soon. Shouts, curses, and the sound of breaking glass followed them out into the street.

“This way,” Jack said.

The Dolphin was close enough to the harbor that the smell of the sea hung heavy in the air. Without a word, both Jack and Norrington headed down the dark alley in the direction of the water, stopping every few feet to get their bearings and have a drink. The last building before the quay was a warehouse with peeling paint and more broken windows than whole ones. Jack nodded decisively and lowered himself to the ground with his back against the wall.

“Have a seat,” Jack said.

James looked down skeptically at the dirty cobblestones, then shrugged and accepted the invitation.

“Why are you doing this, Sparrow?” he asked as he slid down the wall into a sitting position. “Trying to get me drunk enough to go through my pockets? Maybe slit my throat?”

Jack almost looked sad at the suggestion. “It’s Captain Sparrow, and no, no underhanded plans on my part. Just thought you looked to be in need of commiseration.” James didn’t reply, so Jack continued, “I’ll miss them too. Didn’t like watching them sail away any more than you did.” An affronted expression worked its way onto Jack’s features. “The Pearl and I would’ve taken them anywhere in the world for nothing if only they’d have asked me,” he said quietly.

“If it’s any consolation, I think they would have preferred your company to what they’ll find on board the Prudence,” James told him.

Jack brightened somewhat. “You think so?”

“I know so,” James said, and favored Jack with a genuine smile before tilting his head back to get at the rum still swirling about the bottom of his bottle.

“And you don’t think less of them for preferring the company of a pirate?” Jack asked.

James shook his head. “No, I don’t.” He sounded surprised at his own answer. “I suppose I should… how could I bring myself to think less of Elizabeth? And besides, given a choice I’m not so sure I wouldn’t prefer a pirate’s company to the Prudence’s captain. Man by the name of Brooks… dull enough to bore a rock to tears.”

“One of the perils of having wit is being condemned to suffer dullards,” Jack said philosophically, his face etched with mournful resignation.

Chuckling, James inclined his head and his wig, which had become more and more precariously attached as the evening wore on, slipped into his lap. The removal of the stiff, white hairpiece took a good ten years off of him, in Jack’s estimation.

“Ah… Your wig’s off,” Jack informed him.

“Good riddance, I say,” James said. “You ever had to wear one of these things?”

“Fortunately, can’t say that I have.”

“They’re hot, and make the scalp itch terribly.” James ran his fingers rapidly through his dark brown hair. “And the powder makes me sneeze.”

“Then why wear the damned thing?” Jack asked.

“Power... To maintain an appearance of dignity, authority… Inspire respect. Here, I’ll show you. Sit up for a moment, would you?”

Jack draped an arm around the other man’s shoulders and pulled himself upright. For once, James did not care that Jack’s dirty fingers were touching the bright white lapels of his coat. He took the wig from his lap and dropped it on Jack’s head.

“There. You should start feeling more dignified any moment now,” he said.

Jack held his bottle up to his face, trying to get a glimpse of his reflection in the weak light. When he finally did see himself, he was seized by such a fit of laughter that James had to put an arm around Jack to steady him. Though James tried to hide his amusement by taking another drink, he was unsuccessful, and the smirk that spread across his face was soon followed by full-blown laughter.

Both men were soon out of breath. James clutched his ribs with one hand, trying to soothe his aching side. After half a minute of quiet, Jack chuckled quietly again, causing James to do the same. Though he was still grinning, James winced. Fresh laughter, he found, hurt his head as well as his side.

“I’ll most likely regret this in the morning,” the Commodore murmured.
“Come on then, I’ll see you home safe,” Jack said, steadying himself against the wall as he stood up. James refused the hand the pirate offered and got himself upright of his own volition.

“You’re as drunk as I am, Sparrow. What makes you think you’re in any condition to see me home safe?” He straightened his cravat and dusted off the back of his coat. He started off in the general direction of home, leaving Jack to stumble after him.

“I may be drunk,” Jack said, “but you are drunk and heartbroken. A dangerous condition while wandering around a part of Port Royal where most anyone would gladly kill you.”

James nodded, conceding the point.

The dark alleys of the city were quiet and sullen as the two men wound their way through them, leaning on one another for support. Upon reaching a broad, familiar street that would lead him straight to his front door, James took two steps onto the cobblestones before Jack pulled him back into the alley.

“Are you trying to make it difficult for me to walk?” Norrington asked.

“Not as such,” Jack said. “Just thought you might not want to be seen strolling down the middle of the street at an unholy hour of the night arm in arm with a pirate.”

“Ah. Good point,” James admitted.

“Come on, we’ll take the back way.” Jack steered them back into the alley.

Though James had a good idea of where he was, Jack navigated the twisting streets of his neighborhood like he’d lived there all his life. Without any guidance at all, Jack led him directly to the small garden in back of his home. James fixed his eyes suspiciously on the pirate.

“How do you know where I live?” he asked.

“I make it a point to know the whereabouts of people who’ve tried to hang me whenever I put into port,” Jack said. “One of the reasons I’ve survived this long, you know.”

“A wise precaution,” James agreed.

They stopped at the vine-covered arch that led to the garden. Jack glanced up at the darkened windows of James’ fine house, and for the first time that night, looked hesitant.

“Will you be needing help to the door?” he asked.

“I can walk fifteen feet to my own back door without falling over,” James said contemptuously, and proved his point by nearly tripping over one of the paving stones and grabbing onto the brick archway to keep his balance.

“I can see that,” Jack said.

James shook his head and forced his eyes to focus. He let go of the gate and began carefully putting one foot in front of the other in what seemed a parody of his usual dignified gait. Jack, still standing at the entrance to the garden, snickered audibly. James shot him an annoyed look, but it dissolved quickly into a rueful smile. He knew he looked ridiculous, and there was no malice in Jack’s laughter.

A melancholy feeling stole over Norrington as he regarded Jack leaning against the gate. He knew his next meeting with Sparrow might not be so amiable, and he regretted the necessity that made it so. He tried to turn his back and continue down the path, but he could not. There was still one thing more to be said.

Carefully, resolutely, James retraced his steps until he was standing at the gate with Jack once more.

“I wish you a good night and a safe journey,” James said, and offered Jack his hand.

Jack took it, and the two men grasped each other’s arms as if they were old friends. “I wish you the same,” Jack said.

James let his arm drop to his side, and his eyes sought a point over Jack’s shoulder. “And… thank you,” he said at last.

Jack gave him a toothy grin. “Next time, it’ll be you paying for the drink,” he said, and gave James a little push toward the door. He was still standing in the same place as James made his way down the path, and did not move until a servant, half-asleep, opened the door and let the Commodore inside. James glanced worriedly at the gate, hoping the maid hadn’t caught a glimpse of the man standing there. Upon peering more closely into the darkness, James realized that he had no reason to worry. Jack Sparrow had already slipped away.

o-o-o

Jack tossed his purse from hand to hand as he ambled back in the direction of his lodgings. It was lighter than he would have liked, having financed an evening of drunkenness for a pirate and an officer of the King’s Navy. Still, Jack smiled to himself and whistled a bawdy tune as he walked along. A lighter purse was a small price to pay for what he’d seen in the Commodore’s eyes when they parted: respect.

finis

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