Gray Shapes (ficlet)
Title: Gray Shapes
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean (during CotBP)
Type: drabble
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: hinted Jack/James
Summary: Norrington contemplates the definition of right and wrong.
Where was this damnable ma- pirate anyway? Not a man, not human; he had to believe that. A pirate, more like a monster, an inhuman creature without a conscience, without a heart … without feelings.
He weighted the broken compass in his hands, certainly workings of the devil. How could one find an island with this thing?
Certainly not human to be able to navigate with such a disfigured instrument.
What right had this pirate anyway to torment him, time and time again. To force him to question his own ideas of right and wrong, to constantly point at the gray area he had been trying to ignore for most of his life, because wasn't it that, this unstable definition of what one could do and what one shouldn't that made life all the more miserable? Where was the justice in that?
He didn't want to know that behind the crime, behind the criminal there also was a human, a man. A living and breathing being, which probably was as afraid of death as he was.
He didn't want to see a glimpse of humanity in any of his prisoners' eyes.
It was so much easier, pretending.
And of course he had seen his share of pirates which truly fitted the usual description. Bloodthirsty men who had murdered dozens of men, women and children. Criminals, who even facing certain death, didn't show the slightest bit of remorse.
But he knew, and damn the man for that, that this particular pirate was different. He was one of those few who, as ridiculous as it seemed, had a conscience.
He had spent one night on that island they had found them on, with only a beautiful girl - woman - for company and hadn't touched her. At least not to such a degree that one could call it rape.
He had seen raped women, alright. And they looked different, acted different. Like the sky might crash down on their heads at any given moment or some other evil might come to life right before their eyes. Raped women were tormented, deeply afraid, disturbed even.
His future wife had seemed as self assured as always. Not at all like somebody who had been taken against her will the night before, and by god, he could not imagine Elizabeth giving herself freely to that disgusting, vile creature.
That didn't make him a good man, however. He had still committed various crimes against king and country.
He had been aware of the consequences of his actions. He had chosen this. Everybody had a choice.
It didn't matter that this pirate had some deformed moral conception. It didn't matter that he hadn't touched Elizabeth, that he had saved her from drowning beforehand. One, or even two, good deeds, as he had put it, weren't enough.
Hell, one-hundred good deeds probably wouldn't be enough to outweigh his considerable criminal record.
He had been sentenced to death, and he would see to it that the sentence would finally be carried out.
Man or a simple pirate, he wouldn't, couldn't care.
He opened the door and stepped outside. It was dark, late in the evening and the ship was covered in light fog. He barely made out two shapes standing near the rail, apparently talking.
He moved closer, slowly, so as he wouldn't be heard.
As the shapes transformed into solid bodies, one clearly female, though clothed in what seemed to be a military attire, the other, male of course, was dressed in something that looked akin to rags, the wide sleeves of that once-white shirt flopping loosely around his slim wrists.
The man moved closer to the woman, invading her personal space. Leaned in and said something indistinguishable in a low-pitched voice.
How dare he? How could he? Molesting his fiance out in the open, mocking him.
He moved closer, hesitating, controlling his wrath, unsure how to proceed.
Before his mind could come up with a proper solution, the woman, his bride-to-be, turned her oh-so beautiful face towards him.
Her eyes widened; the pirate whirled around, moving backwards while holding his hands up in a comical gesture of surrender.
Mocking him. Still. Every inch of that filthy, untrustworthy, disgusting being screamed at him, that while technically being below him, for him, he would always be unreachable.
He threw that damnable compass back at the infuriating man, who caught it awkwardly.
How could he not hate him? His life's work was it to destroy all the moral values he, the Commodore, had fought to uphold.
He evaded them, spit upon them, telling the world with every action of his that he didn't need them, didn't need the protection, the security they offered. That one was better of without them.
And every time he saw that man, a small part of him, and oh by god he hated that part so much he refused to acknowledge its existence, wanted to believe him.
He wanted to be able to accept what deep down he already knew. That in killing that man, pirate though he was, he would also be killing a good man.
However, the strong voice of duty, which he had listened to all his life, drowned out everything else.
“With me Sparrow”, Norrington said quietly, looking the pirate hard in the eye.
After one last glance at Elizabeth, whose meaning he couldn't decipher, Sparrow turned 'round and swaggered of, as nonchalant as ever.
He forced himself to focus on more important matters than the existence of a mere pirate. Good man or no. Why should it matter to him? What did that man mean to him?
And no he certainly was not going to contemplate that question.
The life of not just one British citizen was at stake, but rather the lives of every single member of his crew. And if the pirate could help to save them, then so be it.
But that, just like everything else would not change a thing. He was a pirate and deserved to die. And that was all Norrington would allow himself to think on the matter from now on.
Sentimentality was never a very useful thing, when combined with duty, he mused as he turned to follow Sparrow.