scruffy_love: PotC: Sparrington: Hunted Part I
Title: Hunted Part I
Author: xchristabelx
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jack Sparrow/James Norrington
Words: 7127 (the whole story)
Summary: One of the men under James’ command survived the hurricane. He vows revenge against the commodore whose obsession cost the unit their lives.
Author's note: Ok, so it's been an insanely long time since I last wrote anything this long and it took me long enough. XD I'll warn here and now. The characters might be a bit OOC, so if you can't deal with that, then please don't flame.
There is some French in this chapter, but it's translated. And to anyone who can speak the language fluently, I hope I didn't mess it up too much. Now fully betaed.
Enjoy, everyone. :)
James Norrington had known his fatal error the moment the hurricane came crashing down upon the Dauntless and her crew. Many lives had been lost, many men crippled and injured. He had failed them, he knew it even as he held on to a drifting wooden plank in the stormy waters just off Tripoli while the current threatened to pull him into the inky blackness that resulted from the sky’s reflection on the water just as it had many of his men, men who had trusted him to make the right decision. Yet his conviction had long since turned into an obsession that could no longer be justified by his profession, his title as Commodore or even his reputation as the most feared Pirate Scourge of the Caribbean.
He knew that now, knew all his faults. The admiralty had not failed in informing him about every single one of them over and over again in each of the many questionings he had to endure, although the loss of two of the British Royal Navy’s ships had already almost been enough to cost him his commission.
Maybe it was that and the last vestiges of his pride that had driven him to resign unsolicited, or maybe Lady Luck hadn’t yet abandoned him completely.
James had made a lot of mistakes and he was willing to bear the consequences of his actions, as much as it irked him that he had the exact words in mind that young mister Turner had used. But he knew what he had to do and, although the agonised screams of his dying fellow marines and friends would haunt him to the end of his life, James had not yet given up hope for whatever future lay before him. It was all he could do. There was nothing left for him in the ties he had with his past, the live that he had called his.
Acceptance, the now resigned Commodore noted while packing few of his belongings, came more easily to him than he had thought, but then again his guilt-ridden conscience that hadn’t let him sleep more than a few minutes for the last three nights had taken over the rest, ensuring that he would go through with his plan to leave Port Royal for good and not to fight for maintaining at least some remnants of the life he had led in honour and respect. Knowing that he had done all he could for the moment was almost enough for James to leave with less weight on his heart, but not quite sufficient to suppress his sadness and guilt. No, it would be a very long time before he found anything that could quell his guilt.
There were, however people for whom all of James’ ideas of sincere remorse and repentance were by no means enough, namely the survivors of the Dauntless disaster and the families and friends of those whose lives had been lost.
It would soon become apparent to the former commodore that he was in danger and pain would not only be suffered from inside himself.
It was James’ last night in the house he had called his home for the last eight years. He had packed the belongings he would take and was now sitting in his living room, sipping a glass of brandy while the few candles on the mantle piece cast an eerie glow over the walls.
A resounding crash from outside the window suddenly startled James out of his deep thoughts, making him leap up and hurry to the window to look outside. He saw nothing, though that could have been the cause of the noise and so he decided to go outside and check for any possible source of disturbance, his suspicions of anything that could hold potential for trouble still as alert as ever.
It was dark outside as he opened the front door and stepped out, striding purposefully around a corner from where the crash had come. Upon approaching the windowsill he saw that a plant pot had been shattered on the floor. It was not a windy night, though, and so James knew that something else had to be the cause, his eyes sweeping the darkness wearily, searching for an intruder.
A movement seen only out of the corner of his eye and Norrington could only barely dodge the man who was lunging at him with a dagger poised to strike at his back. James immediately cursed himself for not bringing his sword and twisted away from another blow meant to be fatal as he recognised the assailant, Sam Talbot. He was one of the sailors that had survived the Dauntless, but his brother, Joseph had been lost when part of the mast came crashing down on his head.
Talbot gave his target no time to contemplate those dark memories as he sliced again and again at Norrington, a manic glint in his eyes making him look downright insane.
James spun and twisted out of the way of the deadly blade as best as he could in his unarmed state, trying to move towards the front door with every step, although knowing that his chances to get there were very limited.
He was soon forced to take part in the fight physically to throw off his attacker. Well-placed kicks and blows were supposed to do the trick, but nearly ineffective against an armed man bent on killing his opponent.
A slash to his abdomen and James stumbled back against the wall, gasping in pain, an arm coming up to his waist to cover the wound. He was cornered now. The next blow would surely be aimed at his throat or his heart. Talbot laughed as he saw the weakened former commodore and surged forward, his dagger aiming for the heart. James kicked with all his might upwards in an attempt to save his life and missed the spot he had aimed for, his boot connecting with Talbot’s face instead which, admittedly did the trick for the time being, dazing the larger man momentarily.
There was not much James could do in his current situation of peril and he had to think fast, so he decided on making an escape for now. He wasn’t sure where his feet were leading him, but he was putting space between him and the crazed sailor and that was all that mattered until he could get hold of a decent weapon to defend himself.
He was now ever so thankful for the woods that lay just beyond his home. Having cursed them only days before for obscuring the view of the ocean they were now a convenient escape route. It would surely not take long for Talbot to recover and James had no intention at all to discover how his attempt to fight back had angered the man further. James ran down sloping barely accessible paths and stumbled over protruding roots more than once, but he was making progress, that is, until a shot from the distance stopped him in his tracks. Another resounding shot and a bullet that barely missed his arm told him that he was under attack. Another bullet whizzing past his back in the darkness told him that there was more than one person shooting.
Norrington cursed and began to run again. Cross-country and between trees this time, praying that he could outrun the assassins. He had made his mind up fast that running towards the port was his only chance at the moment. He could surely acquire a weapon there and maybe get some help.
He did manage to reach the port without being hit by any of the missiles, though he had some very close calls, but when he came out into the open and stared about harbour where the ships were moored there was hardly a soul there. The place was almost entirely deserted and James was quite sure that he had Talbot to thank for that. The man had obviously had more help than expected. Did the people of this town really hate him that much, James wondered, but was brought back to the present immediately as another shot was fired in his general direction from out of the woods.
Beginning to panic he ran towards the only people that seemed to be present, a French fishing vessel was preparing to leave port, the men calling to each other in French. James’ French was hardly fluent, but he did have some knowledge of the language and at that moment it just had to be enough. The way he saw his current situation, unarmed and being followed by assassins that were drawing nearer every moment, he had no other choice but to leave Port Royal and make plans in the safety of another port.
“Viendriez-vous à Port Au Prince?” (“Are you going to Port Au Prince?”) James asked one of the sailors, looking behind him every few seconds, expecting to see at least three men bearing guns to pour out between the trees.
"Oui, monsieur. Nous venons au Port Au Prince.” (Yes, sir. We’re going to Port Au Prince.”) The captain, judging by his hat, confirmed.
Norrington heard distant voices and knew that they were coming for him and the vessel was about to leave. He could only hope that these sailors would take him aboard.
“Pourriez-vous m’emmener? Je peux travailler.” (“Can you take me with you?” I can work.”) James asked, adding an incentive that he hoped would be enough.
The captain grinned, showing horrible teeth. “Oui, bien sûr.” (“Yes, of course”) he said. “Nous avons toujours besoin d’aide. Bienvenu à bord, monsieur.” (“We are always in need of help. Welcome aboard, sir.”)
Norrington scrambled aboard the boat not a minute too soon as soon after the boat had left port the assassins came pouring out of the woods. It had been four, all bearing rifles, and they were now searching for him, no doubt thinking that he had managed to hide somewhere.
As he breathed a sigh of relief, James flinched a bit, a stab of pain reminding him of the gash on his abdomen.
The voyage to Port Au Prince took the crew of the fishing vessel four days with occasional stops in between to pull in the nets that they had left in certain places of relatively shallow water. Now they had to bring in the catch. James worked as best as he could, with certain difficulties of understanding the orders yelled across the boat in French dialect. He managed alright, though. His injury was beginning to heal after he had re-opened it twice by not being careful enough. He had always managed to tend to it in rare moments of privacy and as the gash wasn’t very deep he wasn’t really worried. It would heal without professional assistance.
Port Au Prince was one of the larger towns in the Caribbean under French reign. It was busy with trade, had a large market and a governor. James hoped that he might be able to obtain some help there and send a message to governor Swann in Port Royal, asking him to put a stop to Talbot’s mad hunt.
But the first thing that the former commodore was going to worry about was food and a room to catch up on the sleep he had missed out on during the journey as the men had decided it would do better to work day and night while reaching port faster. The weather was about to change for the worse
So James used the small amount of money he had in his pockets to pay for a small room at a run-down inn.
The room was cramped, the walls cracked, the bed was hard and creaked, but it would be enough for one night, he thought as he settled down and fell asleep immediately and for longer than he had planned.
He woke up near sundown the next day, his stomach growling with hunger, but he pushed that feeling aside fairly quickly. He had no money left and a mind to go and speak with someone of authority in this town, hoping that he could meet the governor and explain his situation.
The fort of Port Au Prince was located atop a high cliff overlooking the port. There were only two ways leading up. The main pathway, easily accessible for carriages and horses, and a narrow footpath that led along the edge of the cliff with a thick crop of trees on the other side. James decided that he would take the footpath which wound uphill with the sheer drop of the cliffs right next to it, the ocean below curling around dangerous rocks, as he would be faster not having to weave his way between the horse-drawn vehicles.
Having walked for about fifteen minutes the former commodore was beginning to think that he might have made a mistake as the way he had chosen became very narrower and stonier, evidence to the fact that it wasn’t used a lot and he could understand why. He decided, though, that he wouldn’t turn back. It was growing dark as the sun set on the horizon and he would soon have trouble seeing the narrow path in the dim light.
A cracking noise behind him made James freeze in his tracks and turn scanning his surroundings suspiciously. He found nothing, though. The trees were growing thick, so he walked a way between them, but he couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. The only sounds he could hear were the song of exotic birds in the trees and the churning of the ocean below. James sighed. The events in Port Royal had obviously left him more shaken than he had up to now been ready to admit.
Back on the path, James hurried along a little more than before. It would have most likely been fatal to be surprised by the sudden darkness of nightfall.
The shot was sudden It came out of nowhere and absolutely unexpected, the bullet lodging its self between James’ shoulder blades, ripping a strangled and surprised gasp from his throat as he stumbled, pain spreading throughout his back, travelling along his spine. The second shot hit lower in his back and he doubled over in pain. The ocean and razor sharp rocks rushing towards him at break-neck speed were the last things he saw, as he tumbled over the edge of the cliff. Then there was nothing, no pain, just darkness that enveloped James.
The blackness faded slowly, giving way to lighter colours and then a blinding white flash before returning to a soft orange glow. James was conscious, in a way. Conscious enough to wonder if maybe he was dead. “Am I dead?” he tried to ask, but no words seemed to leave his mouth. He tried to move, but his body didn’t seem to want to obey. His fingers twitched, though, and so James decided to open his eyes. Which was a bad idea, a very bad idea. A blinding pain shot through his skull as he did so, making him want to scream, but all he could utter was a hoarse croak, barely recognisable as a human sound.
His mind addled with pain, James tried to sit up, but was prevented, by a gentle and firm pressure on his shoulders.
“Don’ try to move.” A voice told him urgently and made sure he laid still. James recognised the voice, he was sure, but he couldn’t place it. Too much pain, too much confusion were racing through his barely functioning mind.
He tried to speak again, his vocal chords betraying him, though. Then he felt the rim of a glass press against his lips and the slide of water against them and in his mouth when he opened it while he was gently helped up into a half-sitting position.
A hacking cough wracked James’ body when he tried to drink too fast and the glass was removed, a soothing voice talking to him until the coughs had subsided. That voice, calm, soothing and rich. James knew the man, he was sure.
Finally he managed to open his eyes and gave them time to adjust. And he found out he did know the man who had been talking to him for the man was none other than Captain Jack Sparrow.
Had James not been in so much pain he would have taken much offence to having Sparrow take care of him and even touch him, but as he was in no condition to complain he opted for another move.
“What… what happened?” the former commodore rasped, his voice better now, but still not used to speaking again.
Jack drew in a breath and blew it out again before he answered. “Well, Commodore, we pulled ye out o’ the water. Two bullet holes in yer back, some broken ribs an’ an impressive concussion.” The pirate captain explained, his hands fiddling with the edge of the sheet.
“How long was I out for?” was James’ next question. The exact order and circumstances of the events that had happened the day he was so badly injured had yet to come back to him.
“Over a week.” Sparrow answered. “Nearly didn’ recognise ye when we hauled ye aboard. About to think ye wouldn’ make it either.” He added, his voice low and more grave than usual. “The Doc took the bullets out.” He explained. “An’ they weren’t in too deep, lucky fer you, mate. Could ‘ave easily hurt yer spine. An’ yer head an’ ribs… ye must ‘ave had a bad fall.”
James managed a small nod which immediately sent a shot of pain through his back and made him screw up his face in pain. “I fell… I fell off a cliff.” He managed to recall. “There were rocks.” It was the last thing he could remember, the fear of being skewered on one of those dreadful rocks. He wasn’t dead, though and he thanked god for that, even though the pain he was in was immense.
“An’ the bullets, Commodore?” Captain Sparrow queried, handing James the glass of water once more which was placed on a makeshift bedside table which looked to be nothing more than an empty crate.
The bullets. It all came rushing back to James all of a sudden as he gave Jack the now empty glass back. The fight with Talbot, his escape to Port Au Prince, it was all replaying in James’ mind now and he felt an anger surge through his battered body at being assassinated so dastardly.
James took as deep a breath as he could to calm himself. “It’s not commodore anymore.” He began to explain. “I resigned.”
Sparrow raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Why’d ye do that?” he asked, his hand moving around in their usual manner, making James feel light-headed as he watched them. “I lost the Dauntless and my crew.” And so James related to Jack the entire story of how he had taken the fatal chance to sail through the hurricane.
Jack listened with interest, his face changing expressions with every sentence and nuance of the story.
“That still doesn’t explain how ye came to be in this sorry condition.” The captain mentioned helpfully.
“I’m coming to that, Sparrow.” The former commodore growled, and winced as it hurt his throat.
Jack rolled his eyes. “It’s CAPTAIN Sparrow.” He reminded James patiently. “An’ there’s no need to get all worked up. I’m listenin’.”
James quieted down again and continued. “One of the sailors, Talbot, his brother died that day on the Dauntless. He vowed vengeance and the day I was due to leave Port Royal he decided to take it.”
Jack’s face lit with understanding. “Ah, the cut on yer stomach.” James nodded.
“But that’s not all.” He continued. “I was unarmed when he came for me and he had apparently hired some men as assassins.” James voice became more quiet again and Jack poured some more water and helped James to sit up again and take a sip, James accepting the assistance reluctantly.
Having drunk some more, James began to tell the rest of the story. “I escaped to Port Au Prince and thought I was safe there. They ambushed me on the way to the governor’s office.” James explained bitterly, cursing his lack of attention.
Sparrow nodded in understanding. “I know the place. An` the rocks. Ye’re bloody lucky that ye aren’t dead, mate.”
James nodded and groaned as his head throbbed painfully and his vision turned black at the edges, the horrible taste of bile rising up in his throat.
Jack saw the colour drain from James’ face and knew what was going to happen; he had seen many a man with a bad concussion. Lunging for the bucket that stood a way from the bed he just managed to place it on the floor before James leant over the side of the bed and retched into it.
When it was over Jack helped James lie down again slowly. “Alrigh’.” He said. “You need more rest an’ I have a ship to captain.” Jack stood back up and went to the door, but James called him back.
“Why are you doing this, Sparrow?” he asked, because in his opinion, he and Jack weren’t exactly on helping-each-other-terms.
Jack stopped in his tracks and turned to James in a swaying motion. “Ah, yes.” He said, gesturing with his hands. “Well, you spared me life an’ I saved yours. We’re square.” Having sufficiently explained his reasons, in his opinion, Jack left James to his thoughts and to very welcome sleep.
It was late at night when Jack came, stumbled back into his cabin, an almost empty bottle of rum swinging lazily in his hand. He had brought a candle with him which he placed on the table its light casting a warm golden glow about the room.
Jack’s eyes came to rest on the still form of the former commodore who was sleeping peacefully. One glance at the bucket beside the bed told Jack that there had been no more retching. He nodded in satisfaction. It was as the ship’s doctor had said. Norrington would be fine and recover fully given the time.
Jack let his eyes wander to the man’s face. He looked a lot younger without that ridiculous wig. Also, Jack had to admit, James was very handsome, his dark hair falling around him in shoulder length waves.
Jack chuckled lowly at his thoughts, blaming them on the rum. He needed to get rid of the stuff, so he tipped the bottle to his lips once more and drank deeply, emptying it in one draught.
Swaying on the spot, Jack made his way precariously to the hammock he had hung up next to the bed and after some difficulties lay down on it, passing out almost immediately.
Hunted Part II
Author: xchristabelx
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jack Sparrow/James Norrington
Words: 7127 (the whole story)
Summary: One of the men under James’ command survived the hurricane. He vows revenge against the commodore whose obsession cost the unit their lives.
Author's note: Ok, so it's been an insanely long time since I last wrote anything this long and it took me long enough. XD I'll warn here and now. The characters might be a bit OOC, so if you can't deal with that, then please don't flame.
There is some French in this chapter, but it's translated. And to anyone who can speak the language fluently, I hope I didn't mess it up too much. Now fully betaed.
Enjoy, everyone. :)
James Norrington had known his fatal error the moment the hurricane came crashing down upon the Dauntless and her crew. Many lives had been lost, many men crippled and injured. He had failed them, he knew it even as he held on to a drifting wooden plank in the stormy waters just off Tripoli while the current threatened to pull him into the inky blackness that resulted from the sky’s reflection on the water just as it had many of his men, men who had trusted him to make the right decision. Yet his conviction had long since turned into an obsession that could no longer be justified by his profession, his title as Commodore or even his reputation as the most feared Pirate Scourge of the Caribbean.
He knew that now, knew all his faults. The admiralty had not failed in informing him about every single one of them over and over again in each of the many questionings he had to endure, although the loss of two of the British Royal Navy’s ships had already almost been enough to cost him his commission.
Maybe it was that and the last vestiges of his pride that had driven him to resign unsolicited, or maybe Lady Luck hadn’t yet abandoned him completely.
James had made a lot of mistakes and he was willing to bear the consequences of his actions, as much as it irked him that he had the exact words in mind that young mister Turner had used. But he knew what he had to do and, although the agonised screams of his dying fellow marines and friends would haunt him to the end of his life, James had not yet given up hope for whatever future lay before him. It was all he could do. There was nothing left for him in the ties he had with his past, the live that he had called his.
Acceptance, the now resigned Commodore noted while packing few of his belongings, came more easily to him than he had thought, but then again his guilt-ridden conscience that hadn’t let him sleep more than a few minutes for the last three nights had taken over the rest, ensuring that he would go through with his plan to leave Port Royal for good and not to fight for maintaining at least some remnants of the life he had led in honour and respect. Knowing that he had done all he could for the moment was almost enough for James to leave with less weight on his heart, but not quite sufficient to suppress his sadness and guilt. No, it would be a very long time before he found anything that could quell his guilt.
There were, however people for whom all of James’ ideas of sincere remorse and repentance were by no means enough, namely the survivors of the Dauntless disaster and the families and friends of those whose lives had been lost.
It would soon become apparent to the former commodore that he was in danger and pain would not only be suffered from inside himself.
It was James’ last night in the house he had called his home for the last eight years. He had packed the belongings he would take and was now sitting in his living room, sipping a glass of brandy while the few candles on the mantle piece cast an eerie glow over the walls.
A resounding crash from outside the window suddenly startled James out of his deep thoughts, making him leap up and hurry to the window to look outside. He saw nothing, though that could have been the cause of the noise and so he decided to go outside and check for any possible source of disturbance, his suspicions of anything that could hold potential for trouble still as alert as ever.
It was dark outside as he opened the front door and stepped out, striding purposefully around a corner from where the crash had come. Upon approaching the windowsill he saw that a plant pot had been shattered on the floor. It was not a windy night, though, and so James knew that something else had to be the cause, his eyes sweeping the darkness wearily, searching for an intruder.
A movement seen only out of the corner of his eye and Norrington could only barely dodge the man who was lunging at him with a dagger poised to strike at his back. James immediately cursed himself for not bringing his sword and twisted away from another blow meant to be fatal as he recognised the assailant, Sam Talbot. He was one of the sailors that had survived the Dauntless, but his brother, Joseph had been lost when part of the mast came crashing down on his head.
Talbot gave his target no time to contemplate those dark memories as he sliced again and again at Norrington, a manic glint in his eyes making him look downright insane.
James spun and twisted out of the way of the deadly blade as best as he could in his unarmed state, trying to move towards the front door with every step, although knowing that his chances to get there were very limited.
He was soon forced to take part in the fight physically to throw off his attacker. Well-placed kicks and blows were supposed to do the trick, but nearly ineffective against an armed man bent on killing his opponent.
A slash to his abdomen and James stumbled back against the wall, gasping in pain, an arm coming up to his waist to cover the wound. He was cornered now. The next blow would surely be aimed at his throat or his heart. Talbot laughed as he saw the weakened former commodore and surged forward, his dagger aiming for the heart. James kicked with all his might upwards in an attempt to save his life and missed the spot he had aimed for, his boot connecting with Talbot’s face instead which, admittedly did the trick for the time being, dazing the larger man momentarily.
There was not much James could do in his current situation of peril and he had to think fast, so he decided on making an escape for now. He wasn’t sure where his feet were leading him, but he was putting space between him and the crazed sailor and that was all that mattered until he could get hold of a decent weapon to defend himself.
He was now ever so thankful for the woods that lay just beyond his home. Having cursed them only days before for obscuring the view of the ocean they were now a convenient escape route. It would surely not take long for Talbot to recover and James had no intention at all to discover how his attempt to fight back had angered the man further. James ran down sloping barely accessible paths and stumbled over protruding roots more than once, but he was making progress, that is, until a shot from the distance stopped him in his tracks. Another resounding shot and a bullet that barely missed his arm told him that he was under attack. Another bullet whizzing past his back in the darkness told him that there was more than one person shooting.
Norrington cursed and began to run again. Cross-country and between trees this time, praying that he could outrun the assassins. He had made his mind up fast that running towards the port was his only chance at the moment. He could surely acquire a weapon there and maybe get some help.
He did manage to reach the port without being hit by any of the missiles, though he had some very close calls, but when he came out into the open and stared about harbour where the ships were moored there was hardly a soul there. The place was almost entirely deserted and James was quite sure that he had Talbot to thank for that. The man had obviously had more help than expected. Did the people of this town really hate him that much, James wondered, but was brought back to the present immediately as another shot was fired in his general direction from out of the woods.
Beginning to panic he ran towards the only people that seemed to be present, a French fishing vessel was preparing to leave port, the men calling to each other in French. James’ French was hardly fluent, but he did have some knowledge of the language and at that moment it just had to be enough. The way he saw his current situation, unarmed and being followed by assassins that were drawing nearer every moment, he had no other choice but to leave Port Royal and make plans in the safety of another port.
“Viendriez-vous à Port Au Prince?” (“Are you going to Port Au Prince?”) James asked one of the sailors, looking behind him every few seconds, expecting to see at least three men bearing guns to pour out between the trees.
"Oui, monsieur. Nous venons au Port Au Prince.” (Yes, sir. We’re going to Port Au Prince.”) The captain, judging by his hat, confirmed.
Norrington heard distant voices and knew that they were coming for him and the vessel was about to leave. He could only hope that these sailors would take him aboard.
“Pourriez-vous m’emmener? Je peux travailler.” (“Can you take me with you?” I can work.”) James asked, adding an incentive that he hoped would be enough.
The captain grinned, showing horrible teeth. “Oui, bien sûr.” (“Yes, of course”) he said. “Nous avons toujours besoin d’aide. Bienvenu à bord, monsieur.” (“We are always in need of help. Welcome aboard, sir.”)
Norrington scrambled aboard the boat not a minute too soon as soon after the boat had left port the assassins came pouring out of the woods. It had been four, all bearing rifles, and they were now searching for him, no doubt thinking that he had managed to hide somewhere.
As he breathed a sigh of relief, James flinched a bit, a stab of pain reminding him of the gash on his abdomen.
The voyage to Port Au Prince took the crew of the fishing vessel four days with occasional stops in between to pull in the nets that they had left in certain places of relatively shallow water. Now they had to bring in the catch. James worked as best as he could, with certain difficulties of understanding the orders yelled across the boat in French dialect. He managed alright, though. His injury was beginning to heal after he had re-opened it twice by not being careful enough. He had always managed to tend to it in rare moments of privacy and as the gash wasn’t very deep he wasn’t really worried. It would heal without professional assistance.
Port Au Prince was one of the larger towns in the Caribbean under French reign. It was busy with trade, had a large market and a governor. James hoped that he might be able to obtain some help there and send a message to governor Swann in Port Royal, asking him to put a stop to Talbot’s mad hunt.
But the first thing that the former commodore was going to worry about was food and a room to catch up on the sleep he had missed out on during the journey as the men had decided it would do better to work day and night while reaching port faster. The weather was about to change for the worse
So James used the small amount of money he had in his pockets to pay for a small room at a run-down inn.
The room was cramped, the walls cracked, the bed was hard and creaked, but it would be enough for one night, he thought as he settled down and fell asleep immediately and for longer than he had planned.
He woke up near sundown the next day, his stomach growling with hunger, but he pushed that feeling aside fairly quickly. He had no money left and a mind to go and speak with someone of authority in this town, hoping that he could meet the governor and explain his situation.
The fort of Port Au Prince was located atop a high cliff overlooking the port. There were only two ways leading up. The main pathway, easily accessible for carriages and horses, and a narrow footpath that led along the edge of the cliff with a thick crop of trees on the other side. James decided that he would take the footpath which wound uphill with the sheer drop of the cliffs right next to it, the ocean below curling around dangerous rocks, as he would be faster not having to weave his way between the horse-drawn vehicles.
Having walked for about fifteen minutes the former commodore was beginning to think that he might have made a mistake as the way he had chosen became very narrower and stonier, evidence to the fact that it wasn’t used a lot and he could understand why. He decided, though, that he wouldn’t turn back. It was growing dark as the sun set on the horizon and he would soon have trouble seeing the narrow path in the dim light.
A cracking noise behind him made James freeze in his tracks and turn scanning his surroundings suspiciously. He found nothing, though. The trees were growing thick, so he walked a way between them, but he couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. The only sounds he could hear were the song of exotic birds in the trees and the churning of the ocean below. James sighed. The events in Port Royal had obviously left him more shaken than he had up to now been ready to admit.
Back on the path, James hurried along a little more than before. It would have most likely been fatal to be surprised by the sudden darkness of nightfall.
The shot was sudden It came out of nowhere and absolutely unexpected, the bullet lodging its self between James’ shoulder blades, ripping a strangled and surprised gasp from his throat as he stumbled, pain spreading throughout his back, travelling along his spine. The second shot hit lower in his back and he doubled over in pain. The ocean and razor sharp rocks rushing towards him at break-neck speed were the last things he saw, as he tumbled over the edge of the cliff. Then there was nothing, no pain, just darkness that enveloped James.
The blackness faded slowly, giving way to lighter colours and then a blinding white flash before returning to a soft orange glow. James was conscious, in a way. Conscious enough to wonder if maybe he was dead. “Am I dead?” he tried to ask, but no words seemed to leave his mouth. He tried to move, but his body didn’t seem to want to obey. His fingers twitched, though, and so James decided to open his eyes. Which was a bad idea, a very bad idea. A blinding pain shot through his skull as he did so, making him want to scream, but all he could utter was a hoarse croak, barely recognisable as a human sound.
His mind addled with pain, James tried to sit up, but was prevented, by a gentle and firm pressure on his shoulders.
“Don’ try to move.” A voice told him urgently and made sure he laid still. James recognised the voice, he was sure, but he couldn’t place it. Too much pain, too much confusion were racing through his barely functioning mind.
He tried to speak again, his vocal chords betraying him, though. Then he felt the rim of a glass press against his lips and the slide of water against them and in his mouth when he opened it while he was gently helped up into a half-sitting position.
A hacking cough wracked James’ body when he tried to drink too fast and the glass was removed, a soothing voice talking to him until the coughs had subsided. That voice, calm, soothing and rich. James knew the man, he was sure.
Finally he managed to open his eyes and gave them time to adjust. And he found out he did know the man who had been talking to him for the man was none other than Captain Jack Sparrow.
Had James not been in so much pain he would have taken much offence to having Sparrow take care of him and even touch him, but as he was in no condition to complain he opted for another move.
“What… what happened?” the former commodore rasped, his voice better now, but still not used to speaking again.
Jack drew in a breath and blew it out again before he answered. “Well, Commodore, we pulled ye out o’ the water. Two bullet holes in yer back, some broken ribs an’ an impressive concussion.” The pirate captain explained, his hands fiddling with the edge of the sheet.
“How long was I out for?” was James’ next question. The exact order and circumstances of the events that had happened the day he was so badly injured had yet to come back to him.
“Over a week.” Sparrow answered. “Nearly didn’ recognise ye when we hauled ye aboard. About to think ye wouldn’ make it either.” He added, his voice low and more grave than usual. “The Doc took the bullets out.” He explained. “An’ they weren’t in too deep, lucky fer you, mate. Could ‘ave easily hurt yer spine. An’ yer head an’ ribs… ye must ‘ave had a bad fall.”
James managed a small nod which immediately sent a shot of pain through his back and made him screw up his face in pain. “I fell… I fell off a cliff.” He managed to recall. “There were rocks.” It was the last thing he could remember, the fear of being skewered on one of those dreadful rocks. He wasn’t dead, though and he thanked god for that, even though the pain he was in was immense.
“An’ the bullets, Commodore?” Captain Sparrow queried, handing James the glass of water once more which was placed on a makeshift bedside table which looked to be nothing more than an empty crate.
The bullets. It all came rushing back to James all of a sudden as he gave Jack the now empty glass back. The fight with Talbot, his escape to Port Au Prince, it was all replaying in James’ mind now and he felt an anger surge through his battered body at being assassinated so dastardly.
James took as deep a breath as he could to calm himself. “It’s not commodore anymore.” He began to explain. “I resigned.”
Sparrow raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Why’d ye do that?” he asked, his hand moving around in their usual manner, making James feel light-headed as he watched them. “I lost the Dauntless and my crew.” And so James related to Jack the entire story of how he had taken the fatal chance to sail through the hurricane.
Jack listened with interest, his face changing expressions with every sentence and nuance of the story.
“That still doesn’t explain how ye came to be in this sorry condition.” The captain mentioned helpfully.
“I’m coming to that, Sparrow.” The former commodore growled, and winced as it hurt his throat.
Jack rolled his eyes. “It’s CAPTAIN Sparrow.” He reminded James patiently. “An’ there’s no need to get all worked up. I’m listenin’.”
James quieted down again and continued. “One of the sailors, Talbot, his brother died that day on the Dauntless. He vowed vengeance and the day I was due to leave Port Royal he decided to take it.”
Jack’s face lit with understanding. “Ah, the cut on yer stomach.” James nodded.
“But that’s not all.” He continued. “I was unarmed when he came for me and he had apparently hired some men as assassins.” James voice became more quiet again and Jack poured some more water and helped James to sit up again and take a sip, James accepting the assistance reluctantly.
Having drunk some more, James began to tell the rest of the story. “I escaped to Port Au Prince and thought I was safe there. They ambushed me on the way to the governor’s office.” James explained bitterly, cursing his lack of attention.
Sparrow nodded in understanding. “I know the place. An` the rocks. Ye’re bloody lucky that ye aren’t dead, mate.”
James nodded and groaned as his head throbbed painfully and his vision turned black at the edges, the horrible taste of bile rising up in his throat.
Jack saw the colour drain from James’ face and knew what was going to happen; he had seen many a man with a bad concussion. Lunging for the bucket that stood a way from the bed he just managed to place it on the floor before James leant over the side of the bed and retched into it.
When it was over Jack helped James lie down again slowly. “Alrigh’.” He said. “You need more rest an’ I have a ship to captain.” Jack stood back up and went to the door, but James called him back.
“Why are you doing this, Sparrow?” he asked, because in his opinion, he and Jack weren’t exactly on helping-each-other-terms.
Jack stopped in his tracks and turned to James in a swaying motion. “Ah, yes.” He said, gesturing with his hands. “Well, you spared me life an’ I saved yours. We’re square.” Having sufficiently explained his reasons, in his opinion, Jack left James to his thoughts and to very welcome sleep.
It was late at night when Jack came, stumbled back into his cabin, an almost empty bottle of rum swinging lazily in his hand. He had brought a candle with him which he placed on the table its light casting a warm golden glow about the room.
Jack’s eyes came to rest on the still form of the former commodore who was sleeping peacefully. One glance at the bucket beside the bed told Jack that there had been no more retching. He nodded in satisfaction. It was as the ship’s doctor had said. Norrington would be fine and recover fully given the time.
Jack let his eyes wander to the man’s face. He looked a lot younger without that ridiculous wig. Also, Jack had to admit, James was very handsome, his dark hair falling around him in shoulder length waves.
Jack chuckled lowly at his thoughts, blaming them on the rum. He needed to get rid of the stuff, so he tipped the bottle to his lips once more and drank deeply, emptying it in one draught.
Swaying on the spot, Jack made his way precariously to the hammock he had hung up next to the bed and after some difficulties lay down on it, passing out almost immediately.
Hunted Part II