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Author: Guede Mazaka
Rating: PG-13.
Pairing: Will/Elizabeth, Jack/James, Will/Jacques/Elizabeth.
Feedback: Please let me know what worked for you, and what didn't.
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me except this version of Jacques.
Notes: Jacques looks like this. He occasionally drops a French phrase; translations upon request. Sequel to Fairytale. Thanks to juniper200 for some of Jack's antics.
Summary: Will is frustrated, and Elizabeth has a misbehaving tongue. James has a few confessional moments. And Jack is a bird.
***
James' housekeeper let a few cats run around the outside and first floor of his house. She'd sworn over and over that they were trained not to go upstairs, but as he was certain he'd heard a meow or two in his private quarters, he took the bird with him when he went to his offices. Will had acted very oddly about the little thing, and James thought it better not to let the sparrow out of his sight until he received a proper explanation.
For the first few days, all was well. Even a slight improvement: while he garnered a few curious stares the first time he came in with a bird cage, the others soon grew used to, and then fond of, his cheerful companion. Groves swore that he'd seen Gillette smile once or twice at the songs that drifted from the cage, and James himself had to admit that the bird did lighten the mood in his depressingly dark office.
There were absolutely no signs of what was to come.
Well, in retrospect the sparrow had become unusually agitated if James left the room for too long, but that had quickly settled down; he'd assumed the bird was still nervous from being transported…wherever…and had taken a while to adjust to his schedule. And it had had that tendency to break into ear-splitting cheeps whenever a bottle of rum appeared nearby, but that little trait had been rather useful, as it invariably informed James as to when his officers might be slacking off.
No, no warning had been present.
"Sir, that-that devil's gotten into my spare wig!" So red-faced he could have passed for a victim of apoplexy, Gillette stomped in, waving something white and unraveling.
On his heels came a much happier-looking Groves. "I've got it!" He winced. "And it's pecking my fingers to shreds. Sir, where's the-"
"Thank you, Groves. I'm very sorry to have distracted you, but I do appreciate the help." James got up from the floor where he'd been searching the spaces between walls and desks and led his two lieutenants to his office, where he handed over the cage to Groves. Then he turned around and attempted to calm Gillette. "I apologize. The door slipped when I was changing the water. You'll receive enough in your next pay to make up for the wig."
Surprisingly, that only seemed to make the other man even more uncomfortable. Face a curious mixture of frustration and embarrassment, Gillette stuttered out something to the effect that James wasn't to be blamed for the antics of a stupid animal-
--indignant chirping. Groves tsked at the sparrow, and for a moment James thought he saw the bird stick out its tongue-
--and began to insist that the wig was no great loss, that he'd never meant to blame the good Commodore, who had entirely too much on his plate to be worrying over such minutiae. James briefly wondered who was this paragon of virtue before realizing that Gillette was referring to him. "Nonsense. The bird is in my care, and consequently, his actions are my responsibility. Now, I've taken up enough of your time, gentlemen."
They took the hint and quickly left, which gave James just enough time to lock the door and pour himself some water before the headache started to hit. He slumped into his chair and glowered at the sparrow, pressing his glass to the side of his head. The water wasn't particularly cool, but it would have to do. "Damned thing."
Completely clueless, it hopped up to the bars and tilted its head, bending a black, inquisitive gaze upon him. Almost as if it were smiling…and now he was reading into figments of his imagination. The beak was hard and fixed, and certainly couldn't bend like human lips could.
He shook his head, putting down the water and rubbing at his face to rid himself of the odd feeling that'd come over him, as if he were not quite in the world. Like drifting. Or dreaming.
He'd had quite a few such incidents since that strange journey on the Pearl, where Jack had somehow managed to kidnap him from his ship and then return him a few weeks later to Port Royal. While in the process obtaining royal sanction as a privateer for the British. Most impressive, James had to admit. Though trying to figure out how Jack had done it had nearly driven him mad.
"It's like the man doesn't even obey the laws of nature anymore," he muttered, running his hand over his forehead and pushing a few strands back under his wig. His hair was getting a bit long again.
"Tweet." The sparrow seemed to imitate James by bending at an almost impossible angle and scratching its head with its foot.
"I should name you after him, considering the damage you've done today." James poked an accusing finger at the bird, which promptly reared up and puffed, squawking. He sourly smiled. "Except that would be a little redundant."
It froze.
"After all, you are, in fact, a jack sparrow." A huge stack of paperwork beckoned, but James was reluctant to exacerbate his headache by spending too many hours trying to make out squiggly, squished, nearly incomprehensible handwriting. And simply thinking about the splotches and stains that infected every single document that passed through the Caribbean made the pain pulse harder through his temple. He wished he was anywhere else-
--and he nearly was. James slammed his wrist against the edge of his desk, then grabbed it and bit back a hiss as the pain snapped through him, jerking him out of the trance that had almost caught him. "God damn it. What happened out there?"
"Cheep?"
"It makes me wonder if you are Jack's. That would explain something." He sighed, then gently set the cage aside and picked up his pen. "It would be nice to know what's happening to my mind. I'm questioning myself far too much."
As if shrugging, the bird negligently fluttered its wings at him. Its feathers were a little ragged, but still glossy, so James supposed he was feeding it the right food. He actually knew very little about pets, as he'd never had the opportunity, and then never the time, to have one. Elizabeth would have known, but she and Will were obviously out of reach at the moment, where James would have liked to have been if duty didn't call so loudly.
Something struck him about that thought, and he twisted about in his chair to check the coat-rack.
It'd been an exceptionally hot day, and the inside of the fort had few vents through which fresh air could pass. While maintaining a proper atmosphere of respect and order was necessary to the running of the fort, so was common sense. After the first man had fainted, stifled by the stagnant air and his tight collar, James had decided to slightly relax the rules governing dress, just for the day. Consequently, his coat was hanging up on a peg.
His coat was a bit greener than it'd been before, and the traces of light that hit were had become brighter, as if the fabric had changed. The way it hung was also slightly different.
James shut his eyes and pressed the heels of his palms against them, counted to ten, and then looked again. To his relief, the coat once again appeared as it always had, stiff and formal and restraining-restrained.
"Chirp cheep," the bird smugly said.
"Shut up. You have no idea how difficult it is." The other coat-the velvet one-was in James' closet. He wondered if, with all its rips, it'd be any cooler.
However, James Norrington could wear it. Commodore Norrington couldn't, and as Gillette had inadvertently reminded, James currently did not belong solely to himself. He had an entire outpost depending on him.
Before, that hadn't irritated him at all.
***
Elizabeth dusted off her breeches and crawled from her jumble of books to Will, who was squinting at a woodcut that supposedly showed the Sword of Damocles. "I could make a better one. Look-you could do without that frippery and then slightly curve this-"
"Jack." She reprovingly poked him in the arm. "We're looking for ways to help him, remember?"
"Sorry." He looked so repentant and guilty that Elizabeth had to kiss him. Then, of course, he had to kiss her back to keep things even, and then her hands accidentally slipped to his waistband.
A throat cleared. "Enfants? We're to be reading, not playing."
Blushing, Elizabeth got off Will's lap and flicked a look at the highly amused Jacques. "Oh, don't start. I know what you and Will have been doing earlier."
His eyebrows went up, though his hands kept turning the pages of his yellow-crinkled tome. "And I do believe that you yourself gave me advice on how to handle your husband. Am I not supposed to seize the opportune moment?"
Beside her, Will turned even redder and awkwardly picked up the volume he'd been flipping through. He coughed, not looking at either Elizabeth or Jacques. "About that…"
Elizabeth, however, was not about to let Jacques imply her to be dishonorable or timid, even if it was in jest. Especially if it was in jest. And, whispered a tiny voice, she might also be just a touch frustrated with their lack of progress in finding a solution to Jack's situation. Here Jacques was, a veritable library on magic, and he couldn't figure out how to reverse something that had taken Jack only a few minutes to do? "And have I denied telling you that?" she riposted, planting hands on hips. "It's you who didn't listen."
"Anticipation is a feeling to be savored." Jacques' eyes were developing that devilish glint that he'd very quickly picked up from Jack. He leaned back and ostentatiously stretched. "I happen to think that not springing the trap right away leads to a much more satisfying experience."
"What am I, a hunting prize?" broke in an irate voice. Cheeks now scarlet with an entirely different emotion, Will stalked out of the room. "I'm going to talk with Anamaria and Gibbs. Get some actual work done."
Elizabeth lunged after him as fast as she could, but too many books were in the way and she stumbled, her hand just missing the door knob. "God--damn it. Why is he so upset? He's not the only one worried about Jack, but if I thought about that all the time, I'd never be able to concentrate."
Despite her brave words, she could feel the regret slumping her shoulders. She and Jacques always talked like that-they enjoyed verbal sparring as much as Will enjoyed fencing with James whenever the other man could sneak away from Port Royal-but it didn't reflect their true feelings about Will in the least. Or else Elizabeth never would've let Jacques near her husband because with Will, a simple fling was never just that. Will was deceptive in how rashly he seemed to act, but Elizabeth had come to realize that that never happened unless he had first decided that the cause was worth it. And he was surprisingly choosy when it came to causes.
It was one of her favorite traits about him, but right now, it was just aggravating. And Jack wasn't around to take the edge off of Will with a well-chosen remark, so she simply had to wait until Will cooled down a little. Elizabeth was very aware that patience wasn't her strong suit. "Damn. I'm beginning to think I shouldn't have done that."
"If you want, we can consider all of this to have never happened." A solemn Jacques handed her a book, then glanced at the door. His gaze had an odd hunger to it, but the guilt was unmistakable.
Damn. She was simply compounding upon her mistakes. Elizabeth suppressed her groan and hurriedly took Jacques by the shoulders, trying to reassure him. "I wasn't referring to saying yes to you and Will-I was talking about our conversation a few minutes ago. That-that wasn't a fair way for me to treat him. But I'm not suggesting you stop. Not in the least."
"You're being very permissive," Jacques observed. He lifted his hand and curved it around Elizabeth's cheek. "Why?"
"What, am I usually a martinet?" She flashed a grin at him, and he responded with one of his own. It soon faded, however, and she sobered as well. "I know, I know. It's just…he wasn't supposed to be mine. He was supposed to hang around the parson's daughter and the butcher's girls, and I was never even supposed to see him. And when I think about how close it came-I don't want to ever chance losing any part of him."
Nodding, Jacques absorbed that without any change in expression. He moved only to take the books out of his and her laps.
"It's different with you," she continued, trying to make a feeling into words. "You and Jack, but our chirping captain doesn't seem to be interested. Now, at least. I used to think-anyway, it'd be like investing. I lend a little, and get a lot back in return."
"That's a rather dry metaphor." Jacques' thumb curved down to rub over Elizabeth's smile.
She chuckled, and arranged herself on his legs. "Then don't tell Will. Now, your turn. You stare at him so much-what about Jack?"
"What about Jack?" Looking a bit like a lazy cat, Jacques leaned his head back, lips curving slightly upward. "He somehow managed to turn himself into his name. And he's with James."
A simple enough statement, but Jacques' tone imbued his words with layers upon layers of meaning, like the striated cliffs they had passed a few days ago. Interestingly, jealousy wasn't among the many varied emotions in his voice. "We're supposed to be discussing Will."
"I like him." Jacques' chin came down so his gaze leveled with hers. "He's a good man. I never thought I'd meet people that actually fit that description."
"And?" prompted Elizabeth.
"And-" his brows drew together in concentration. He drew two fingers through the air, as if he was pulling a skein from a wad of wool. "-he shines. Jack glitters, but Will…it's like the swords he makes."
Exactly. Thank God she hadn't misjudged Jacques when she'd made her decision. Relaxing into her relief, Elizabeth was caught completely off-guard by press of lips, slow and tender. The kiss developed naturally, without any of the clever tricks she would've expected from Jacques.
"Of course, he also comes with you." Fingers tilted up Elizabeth's face for another kiss, and then Jacques became brisk once more. "But we should really get back to reading. I think I might have seen something that could work, with a few adaptations…"
***
Every five seconds, the sparrow would peck at the latch that held its cage-door shut. When the bars failed to move, it would then stick out a few claws and try to wiggle it open, promptly getting its foot stuck. Then it'd flutter wildly and shrill until it'd unwedged its foot. The bird would hop back a step, cock its head as if to study the situation, and then repeat the entire routine.
It was almost humorous enough to rouse James out of his black spell. Too many little niggling details, which by all rights should be easy enough to see to but for the ever-present shadow of politics. This officer was less than competent, but had powerful connections back in London so he couldn't be treated too harshly-or not too obviously so, at least-and that ship needed repairs, but James had discovered that their usual purveyor of raw materials was shorting them with substandard supplies, and so he had to go negotiate a new contract, and damn it, if he simply ignored the regulations he could get everything done in half the time. Of course, he'd also be risking a court-martial. "But honestly, what kind of law persecutes a man for wanting to see the best job that can be done, done? Where is the freedom to do what's right?"
Then James leaped to his feet, startled out of his seat by a sharp clang. His hand flew to his sword as he spun around, looking for the alarm, and instead found the sparrow lying on the bottom of the cage, weakly twitching. "Good God. What on earth happened to you?"
As he worriedly watched, the bird slowly righted itself and staggered up to the far side of the cage. It tottered for a moment, but then took wing and-"Oh, God, don't-"
--deliberately slammed itself into the bars.
"Christ!" James glanced around, searching for…well, someone to tell him what to do and how to fix it. Which was stupid. He reached for the cage-door, then hesitated, thinking of irate lieutenants and a half-day's drudgery ruined.
The sparrow swerved onto its feet and gathered itself.
"Wait! Don't! Don't-God, I'm pleading with a bird." James snorted and glanced away, though he carefully kept his peripheral vision on the sparrow.
It paused.
He looked directly at it, wondering whether he was losing his mind. Or, instead, whether the world was losing him. And then the sparrow fluttered its wings, and James decided. He stared at the bird and let himself come loose.
blue red green purple flowing rippling
barrier
block
howl
James came back to himself plastered against the far wall, one hand shoved down his water pitcher so the lukewarm stuff swirled soothingly around his fingers, stroking down the turmoil in his blood. He blinked until his vision stopped fragmenting, then made his unsteady way back to the cage, feeling as if he were years older. "You're not normal," he told the bird.
Who nodded.
"Why…why now? You were perfectly fine before." The pitcher was still on James' hand. He took a moment to wrestle it off and wipe his hand clean before returning to his study of the sparrow.
If he was to be honest with himself, that moment also let him recover some dignity. He never could believe that such a tiny animal could hold so much…but then again, that little monkey had carried Barbossa's malevolent spirit easily enough. Perhaps the bird was something like that: a familiar of some dead sorcerer. Who possibly was now only able to live on in his erstwhile pet. Servant. Christ. He was admitting that…that magic did apparently exist.
James rested his head on the wall. "I was hoping that I had imagined those parts. Or that there was some kind of rational explanation."
From this angle, he was at eye-level with the bottom of the cage, and the sparrow therefore could squarely meet his gaze. It looked vaguely contemptuous.
"Well, yes, there were the undead pirates, so obviously the curse was true. And if one is a good Christian, then one must accept the existence of miracles. But…" James rolled the bitter taste of self-castigation around his mouth "…it's a bit easier to go about everyday life assuming that things are normal. Or else you start to wonder, and you think perhaps there's a short-cut. Except there's never a short-cut. There's simply a different way of doing things, but it's bound to have its own quirks and disadvantages…and I thought I was supposed to be examining you."
Blinking rapidly, the sparrow stretched up its head. It was doing a very poor job of looking innocent.
"You seemed happy enough in there before," James murmured, carefully watching the bird for any sudden movements. He surreptitiously set the pitcher down and got out his handkerchief, spreading it over his palm. "It has plenty of room, fresh food and water-comfortable life, I'd think."
"Rawk!" The sparrow flicked its tail at James and stalked over to the far side of the cage. He immediately tensed up, but instead of launching itself at the near bars, the bird simply pushed its head out as far as it'd go. James turned, following its line of sight and found that it was staring at the window, which from this position showed nothing but the peaceful, seductive horizon.
He felt like an idiot. Knowing Jack, and still managing to miss the point. "Oh. But…look, you have to behave. I have things to do, and if you slip out and annoy the others, they might lose their temper. I'd hate for anything to happen to you."
Angelic expression. Considering that its face wasn't very mobile, James was rather impressed by the range of emotions it still managed to convey.
He tentatively unlatched the door and inserted his hand, palm-up with his handkerchief draped over it. The sparrow hopped up to his fingertips, paused, and then bounced onto his hand. It shuffled its wings for a few seconds, then let out a short whistle and fluffed itself into a light doze.
Rather adorable, actually. James resisted the urge to pet its head and sat back in his chair, moving gingerly so as to not disturb the bird. For the moment, they seemed to have accord, but he didn't know how good the bird's memory was. To judge from the story Will had told James later, Barbossa's monkey had seemed to function almost as a miniature person, but then again, monkeys were fairly intelligent creatures to begin with.
Pondering on that, James scanned the room for inspiration. Then he quietly slid open a drawer and settled the bird in it, loosely bundling it in the handkerchief. When he was sure it wouldn't wake, he glided soundlessly to the door and window to make certain both were securely fastened, without a gap through which the bird could slide.
Then he went back to his work with a half-stifled groan. Only a few more hours to go, and then he could go home and rest his aching head in a dark, silent room.
***
"…an' then we'll be detourin' south through th'gates of hell, an' takin' a tour of Araby." Anamaria tapped her fingers on the table, sharp like bones clattering.
Rolling his eyes, Will didn't bother to look up from the maps. "Too long. And Jack would kill us if we grounded the Pearl on a sand dune."
"So you are listenin'." She expertly sorted and rolled the unwieldy parchment, then pivoted to slot them back into their proper places. "T'Jack, anyhow. Something wrong in Eden, Turner?"
After she was done, Will absently got up and checked the maps, not because he didn't trust her but because that was what he did. The dependable, practical one, who could handle any mess thrown his way and get it spruced up so as to be presentable in town square the next morning. God, sometimes he could choke on it.
Honestly, he liked what he did. He was even flattered, because Jack was beyond particular about who could even board his ship, let alone take charge of her in his place, and Jack regularly left the Pearl's running to Will while he was on-shore. Or stuck as a goddamned bird. It was just the assumption that annoyed Will, as if that was all he could do. Poor staid William Turner, always having to be manipulated into having some fun. He could understand Jacques checking first with Elizabeth, but from the way they'd talked, it'd been a regular conspiracy.
"No snakes from where I stand," he replied. "Just people, and choices, and the usual run of things. How's the crew? Any sign of bucking now that Jack's off-ship?"
"Nah. They know he'll be back, an' they ain' as stupid as th'last crew he had." She grinned and elbowed him. "Not t'mention that there isn' a one of them that knows y'd defend this lady t'the death for old Sparrow."
Good to know, even if the sudden mental image of a graybearded Jack was enough to make Will sputter and choke. He had to grab at the cabinets to keep his balance. "Jesus, Anamaria. I know it's wrong of me, but I hope Jack never gets around to getting you your boat. I don't know how I'd replace you."
"Hey, now." She smacked his shoulder, hard enough for the sting to last several seconds. "Y're married to a fine one, so no fishin'."
Hands raised in peace, Will put on his best offended face and backed out of the cabin. "I was doing no such thing. I'd never do that to Elizabeth."
"That's good to hear," said a puzzled voice from behind him. "Because the Pearl definitely couldn't afford to lose her first mate right now."
Elizabeth. Trying to make a joke and sustain the lively atmosphere, but the moment Will recognized her voice, the strain tightened his shoulders and dropped the bottom out of his stomach. He glanced at Anamaria, who took the hint and slipped quietly out of the cabin so Will could pull in Elizabeth and shut the door. Then he took a seat and tried not to fidget, while Elizabeth sat down across from him. She'd redone her hair, and now it was in a thick braid that fell softly over one shoulder. It made her look a little girlish.
"Will, I…" she began, and Will hastily stifled his nonsensical urge to laugh. "I was only joking back there. But really…well, I'm fond of Jacques. And I feel a little sorry for him, since it's fairly obvious that Jack's infatuated with James."
"He doesn't seem to mind," Will dryly observed. On the contrary, the man was positively gleeful whenever he had a chance to scheme a way to get Jack and Norrington together. A bit of a romantic, Will supposed. And the opportunities to watch-or help-Jack ravage James probably went a long way toward compensating Jacques for his troubles.
Will was devoted to Elizabeth, but that didn't mean he didn't have eyes in his head. And anyway, with the way Jack carried on in bed, one could either learn to like it a little, or one could go completely mad and do something stupid. Jack already had far too many incidents to hang over Will's head, so Will had no intention of adding to their count.
Elizabeth shot a startled, scrutinizing look at Will. "So you've started paying attention to that?"
"Well, it's not like I can miss it. And Jacques talks to me a lot." He fiddled with his cuffs, then caught himself. "Good company. His stories are slightly less embroidered than Jack's, and have a few more useful bits of information."
After that, an awkward silence bumped elbows with them. Will peeked at Elizabeth and found that she was sneaking looks at him. "This is kind of ridiculous."
"A little." She shifted in her seat. "I like Jacques. I know you do. And I'm fairly certain that he has at least a little bit of…an affection for us. Especially you."
"Me?" Will stared at her, checking for signs of teasing. When he didn't see any, he leaned back in his chair and watched the shadows slip across the ceiling, mind in a whirl. "Really."
"You do have a nice behind," Elizabeth mused. "I was just…well, trying to make everything fit. Life's nicer when everyone gets along, without any secrets."
Sighing, he levered himself back up and held out his arms. "All right, I'm not annoyed anymore. Come here, wife."
"Oh, you-" She came over, all right, and immediately pummeled his chest, subsiding only when he trapped her hands and kissed her senseless. Elizabeth moaned and straddled him, her mouth drifting over his neck and sucking his earlobe while his hands unraveled her plait, combing out her hair until it made a golden veil over her back. She muttered a little, nipping his jaw. "Will, do you know how long it takes for me to do that?"
"You look better this way." He plunged his head into her neckline and dotted kisses all over the tops of her breasts. They tasted a little like oranges, which he dimly remembered having with lunch. "How 'bout a deal-I don't call you 'wife,' and you let me handle…whatever Jacques decides he wants to give."
She dipped down and nibbled at his tongue, her palms sliding suggestively down his chest. Her mischievous grin pressed into his cheek, while he smiled and stroked his fingers around her thighs. Honestly, when she was wearing breeches, Elizabeth was enough to turn any man pirate. "Better not forget to bring me in," she murmured.
"Wouldn't dream of it. Think we've got enough time for a quick one?" Responsibility and inches of crabbed tiny print croaked at Will. "Jack can't be enjoying himself too much. After all, we had to put him in a cage…"
"My eyes hurt from trying to make out the writing, and my brain from trying to remember my Latin and Greek." Elizabeth made a face as she rose, helping Will to undo their trousers. "I don't think it'll hurt. Anyway, Jack knows how to have fun, even if he has feathers now. I think he's fine."
***
"I do hope you haven't broken your skull or anything. I don't know how I'd explain that to Will." James signed the last paper with a flourish, then got up and took the cage down from the ceiling. Then he paused, exchanging a look with the sparrow. "Look…I can hardly carry you out in my hand. It's just a short trip, and if you continue to behave, I'll let you out when we arrive at my house."
The bird dubiously eyed the cage, but when James held out his hand, it jumped on. He let out a tiny sigh of relief and gently put it back into the cage, then closed the door and dropped the dust-cover his housekeeper had made over it. A quick turn to take up coat and hat, and then he was out the door.
There'd been more paperwork than he had expected, and so by the time he left, almost all of the officers except the ones on watch had already gone home. Only Groves was left, tidying up his desk as James passed. "Good night, sir. And…have you named it?"
"Ah, no. I haven't had the time." From beneath the drop-cloth, a merry tweeting could be heard. James untensed just a little at that, praying that the sparrow's mood would last. It'd been truly frightening in a way that slashed at something deep inside him to watch the bird willingly injure itself in its bid for freedom. It was as if it'd gone mad.
"Well, the worst will soon be over," Groves replied, briskly hopeful as he settled his hat on his head. "We're almost through this round of dispatches." He caught James' eye flicking to his wig and snorted. "He'll be fine, sir. It's only he left that wig in a locked drawer, and we were all puzzling as to how the bird could slip in."
James glanced at the cage in his hand, mouth twisting in irony. "It seems that I've been gifted with a remarkable little beast. Earlier…the oddest thing. It simply began to-to hurl itself against the bars, as if completely insane."
"Then what did you do?" Curious, Groves extended his hand and began to lift the cloth from the bars.
An abrupt surge in possessiveness came out of nowhere, and before James quite knew what he was doing, he had already backed up a step. When he saw the confused hurt on Groves' face, he had to work hard to suppress his wince. "It took me ages to settle him down, and he's only just…I don't want to chance making him start again."
Groves' face cleared. "Ah. Sensible. I…I'm afraid I know little of birds, but my grandmother was very fond of them. She used to tell me that with certain species, if the cage was too small to allow them room to properly stretch their wings, they would start acting exactly as you describe. She thought they felt the cramped space so much that they forgot about the bars."
"It's a huge cage," James remarked, not very much enlightened. And it was: in it, the sparrow looked like a colorful drop of water.
"She also mentioned that some birds needed cages all out of proportion with their sizes, because they were just used to flying that far." The other man shrugged, and gestured as if he wanted to pass James, who obligingly stepped back. "I'm sorry that I can't be of more help, sir."
"No, that was very helpful. See you tomorrow."
As James watched Groves go, he became aware of an odd lack of sound. Silence was like an echo, drumming through bones and setting them to ring with peculiar uneasiness. He'd certainly been in the fort when it had been this empty before, but he'd never felt like this, like he was choking on quiet. It made him quicken his pace a little, and then a little more.
A few feet from the last door, he finally regained hold of himself and forced his rate down to a reasonable walk, hoping that the dark would cover up his flushed cheeks and slight gasping. God, he'd been running. From his own garrison.
Perhaps he was coming down with something. He had been spending an unusual amount of time indoors, and little on his ships, and it was fast approaching the height of summer. Port Royal was seeing its first cases of fever, although on his orders those had been quickly quarantined so no epidemic had begun. He'd not been close to any of the sick people.
Still, his behavior was damnably odd. It worried him, and that concern probably only exacerbated the problem.
In the cage, the sparrow began singing a faintly familiar tune. James hummed along for several minutes before he finally pinned down where he'd heard it before. "Elizabeth! And Jack! That song!"
Which instantly ceased. Nervous that he might have frightened the bird, James ducked into a vacant side-street and quickly checked on the sparrow. It seemed all right, if a little intense in gaze.
"Of course," James snorted. "Will probably had you on the Pearl, and there, it takes only a few days to be utterly sick of that song. I don't know why Elizabeth enjoys it that much."
The sparrow very definitely stuck out its tongue at him. And derisively wiggled it, for good measure.
"That isn't to say that you can't sing it to your heart's content, if that's what you like," he hurriedly corrected himself. As he spoke, a breeze came rolling over the street, filling his nose with the scent of sea and sand and free-blowing wind, unconstrained by walls and eaves and windows. It sent another pang of nostalgia through him, and James sourly noted that even a supposedly warm, happy feeling could be completely reversed by his depression. "It's odd…I even miss that."
That might be the explanation. He'd come to depend on his spells on the Pearl as a much-needed relief from Port Royal, which he'd privately realized was quite dull without at least the Turners around, and so he was rather frustrated at his inability to make this month's meeting. Jack had looked highly disappointed as well, when James had mentioned that they'd have to go two months in between.
"And I love that ridiculous pirate," James muttered, stepping back into the street. "Thought I'd managed to find a way to reconcile that and my work here, but it's getting harder and harder to stay away. He must be corrupting me."
The bird began to chirp again, only this time it was in a surprisingly accurate rendition of James' favorite sonata. Happy to have something in which he could safely lose himself, he let the music mark his final steps.
***
Elizabeth took a deep breath, then squeezed down as far as she could go and shoved her arm into the tiny space until her fingers just brushed her earring. And something else that flooded her with information.
"Elizabeth!" Hands jerked her free, pulled her to a strong, warm body and stroked down her shivers. Will cupped her face and pressed their foreheads together. "Are you all right? You went so white…"
"I'm fine. I'm fine." She nuzzled him, her fingers dropping to the dagger he'd just put into his boot. And comfort there, feeling the memory of her husband's hands working, shaping, creating. "But…I think I found what Jack used, at least."
Will frowned at her, then glanced at the little niche. He crawled over and lay down on his belly, then wrapped a neckerchief around his hand and reached in. When his hand came back out, it was closed around a strangely-shaped charm of some dull metal, which vaguely resembled a…
"Pair of birds. With some herbs tied to it, red thread…" Will's face looked as if someone had just told him the Pearl had drifted out of harbor because the crew had been too drunk to let down the anchor. "God, Jack. I'm going to-to hide his rum."
"You know what it is?" Elizabeth was careful not to touch the thing, but she did take Will's hand and roll it so she could see all the angles.
He shook his head and shoved the charm into his pocket, then produced her earring and gently threaded it through her earlobe. "No, but I can guess. You see this kind of thing with girls-they're always thinking that some pointless little chant over some dead flowers will make them prettier, or make the competition ugly."
"I never did that. Or saw anything like that," she replied, drawing herself up in mock-hauteur.
"Well, of course not. Everyone was too busy cursing you to bother showing you." Will grinned into her neck and dipped his hand to plump her buttock.
Squealing, she shoved him away and wrestled her hair into something passable that would keep it off her neck. They were in the Caribbean, but all the same, the weather was getting stiflingly humid. Once Jack was back, Elizabeth intended to suggest a short cruise into slightly more temperate regions. "What do you mean, cursing me?"
He shrugged and helped her to her feet, switching playfully at her jacket. "Apparently, I was very popular. Never really got that, you know; I spent half my time with a sooty face and burns all over."
"Stop that. You know perfectly well that you're one of the handsomest men in Port Royal." She batted away his hands and snuggled into his front, laying her head in the curve of his neck.
"Only one of?" he teased, nibbling on her nose.
"Well, if you take the wig off, you have to admit that James is rather appealing. Shame that he cut his hair when he got back." A little more than that, Elizabeth privately thought, but somehow she didn't think she was going to get any information on that out of Norrington.
Also, Jack could be intriguingly defensive when it came to James. He'd done anything and everything to get James' attention before Barbossa' ghost had shown up, but afterward, he'd become remarkably subdued. Well, for him. And only when James was around, as if Jack was a little scared of losing what he'd gained.
Somewhat understandable, given that those two had nearly not gotten out of the nightmare Barbossa had created, but James had never shown any indication of blaming Jack for that-to Elizabeth and Will. Jacques might know a little more.
Actually, Elizabeth thought, it was like Jack had been waiting for something. A sign from James, perhaps? A decision? Except Jack hadn't delivered any kind of ultimatum of which she knew. Which meant that everything was left up to James.
"Oh, the idiots. It makes my fingers itch to do something."
"I take it you're speaking of Jack and the good commodore?" Will asked as they made their way back to the cabin where Jacques was still busy scanning texts. "I wouldn't advise it. They do plenty by themselves."
Elizabeth snorted. "I know. And none of it exactly right. Well, fine. I'll just make sure Jack's able to respond with words whenever James finally snaps."
A shadow of concern passed over Will's face, and he stopped them in the middle of the deck. "I thought you thought that they would be all right," he whispered in an urgent tone. "Are you saying we need to head for-"
"No, not like that." She bit her lip, trying to undo her ill-chosen words. Truthfully, it didn't seem like Elizabeth could say anything right today. "I just meant that James…well, the last time I saw him, he was looking a little strained. And since he put off his trip here for the month…"
"I see." Will looked about the dock, expression a bit irritated. "Honestly, you'd have thought that Jack would've taught him to relax by now. He could use it, too. For such an upstanding, honorable gentleman, Norrington's got a shocking temper when he loses it."
Elizabeth cuddled closer and nudged them the rest of the way to Jacques. "Exactly. Which is why we need to get the wings off of Jack before that happens."
"Actually, he's probably enjoying that part to no end," Will said, ducking his head as he entered the cabin. He and Jacques had an uncomfortable moment, but then Will squatted down and held out his hand, offering the charm. "We found this. Elizabeth thinks it might be what Jack used to change himself."
"Hmm. I haven't seen a real one of these in years." Jacques came forward and bent over the charm, one finger poking it around Will's palm. His mouth compressed in a thin line. "Merde. This is going to take some doing."
***
James had never noticed until now, but the sparrow went absolutely silent and still when he was changing his clothes. It came up to the side of the cage and fixed him with a disconcertingly intense gaze.
Remembering his theory about it being a familiar, possibly harboring some kind of spirit, he decided to finish in the next room. Disappointed chirps rang after him, but he insisted. Anyway, it didn't take too long, and the bird was soon out of its cage. It promptly sat itself on his shoulder, rubbing its head against his cheek. When he hesitantly petted it, the sparrow burst into exuberant song.
He had to smile at that. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't dirty my shirt."
And they went down to dinner, which was marvelous thanks to his cook, and lonely thanks to his overwhelming amount of work. Though the bird made up for some of that by flitting from dish to dish for little tastes. It periodically flew to a nearby plant to do its business, then returned to spend a few seconds chirping into James' ear.
"Try not to go too far. There are cats around," he warned, giving in and feeding it a little bit of strawberry. But he drew the line at sharing the brandy afterward. "Jack's influence, I assume."
"Tweet?"
"Don't bother. I know that man. Absolutely incorrigible when it comes to alcohol or making mischief-ow!" While James incredulously watched, the bird flew up the stairs ahead of him and perched on the banister. "You pecked me."
Ruffling up, the sparrow added insult to injury by turning around and refusing to look at James. He sighed and shook his head, then snatched up the surprised bird. It fluttered a bit in hollow of his cupped palms, then settled, so he opened up just enough of a space to let its head peep out. "I used to catch butterflies like that. There were some very beautiful ones back in England-though none to match the ones here."
Its head turned to show one bright, attentive eye.
"I suppose Jack's charmed you out of half your feathers, and that's why you take his part," James continued as he made his way to the bedroom. Far too late to do anything else; his eyelids were already falling shut. "Though I can't say that I blame you. When he chooses to, he's nearly impossible not to like."
The eye winked coquettishly.
"Exactly like that." The headache had receded during dinner, but now it was back in full force. James groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, and laid back on the bed. Then he sat up long enough to spread a piece of cloth over the pillow next to him for the sparrow.
Only three more weeks, he thought. And then he could take a nice, long break with Jack. God, he missed the man-and when James was sleeping next to Jack and Jacques, with the Pearl rolling beneath them, his sleep nearly always was peaceful, with none of the strange, ominous dreams that afflicted him in Port Royal.
He hated to admit it, but the Pearl was coming to seem more like home to him than the fort, or even the Dauntless. There, he didn't have to act as if nothing inside himself had changed. "I should ask Jack what happened when we broke out of the dream. And why I keep seeing such…having such odd episodes. I'm beginning to think I might have carried a little of that…magic…back with me."
James folded his arms under his head and closed his eyes, listening to the soft sounds the sparrow was making. "If so, that would be a great problem. I don't have the slightest idea about how to deal with any of it, and I wouldn't want to put anyone here at risk."
The blackness was stealing over the dark red that colored the back of his eyelids, and he was slowly slipping away. He drowsily rolled under the covers, praying that tonight at least, nothing untoward would happen. "Good night."
The sparrow cheeped in reply, but waited on its pillow until James' face slackened in true sleep. Then it bobbled over and landed on his chin. He moved, and it froze. But then he stilled. The bird dipped down and pressed its beak to his lips, then retreated to its pillow and settled, a thoughtful air around it.
Jack had a lot of thinking to do.
***
"Connard! Comment était-il-" Jacques absently took the glass handed to him, never taking his eyes off the page before him. "Merci, Will. How could he be so stupid? Mon Dieu, sometimes I wonder about his sanity. He must have made a pact with someone to still have so much luck, after using up as much as he has."
"Well, can we fix it?" Will asked, seating himself beside the other man.
"Yes, but…" Jacques' chin was gently taken and turned. He looked questioningly at Will.
Who pried his fingers off the book and gave him a firm push towards the bed, where Elizabeth had collapsed a few hours before. "In the morning. You look like hell."
"But…"
"Bed. I'll make sure the books are still here when you wake up." Will paused, then seemed to decide something and leaned over to languidly deliver another wonderful kiss.
Elizabeth was an extremely lucky woman, Jacques thought as he melted. "D'accord. Good night, then."
***