"And then- and then... Sack Jarrow came and he fell off the wall thing, fell into the water. Rather pretty sort of man, him. Nice eyes." The slurred words floated over the rum held in his shaking hand, the soft eyes blurring in and out of focus. His audience was a rather nice pot plant, though he was attracting much attention from the amused wenches and pirates in the tavern.

One of these pirates was indeed Captain Jack Sparrow, who, hidden behind another plant, was wearing a slightly slanting grin on his golden face as he listened to Norrington's drunken ramblings. The Commodore was clearly drunk beyond all measure, his hollowed cheeks flushed.

He reached up and tossed the dirty, matted white wig from his tangled brown hair. It flew through the air and smacked a large, bald man in the side of the face. This man rose and began to shout at Norrington, who rose unsteadily and kicked back his chair so that it wobbled promisingly, as though it was about to fall loudly and purposefully over. It stayed upright.

"'Tisn't my fault you didn't move out of the way of the wying fig!" Norrington slurred, balling his fists.

Jack rose suddenly, rushing over to James, slipping an arm around his waist to hold him up. "It's fine, Jamie," he murmured soothingly to him, then he said to the large man, "Mate, leave 'im, 'e's drunk!"

Then he was steering the drunken form of Norrington out of the tavern, into the dark, wet street. James blinked at him. "My rum... where is it?"

"Back in there, mate, but I don't think you should be headin' back in."

James swallowed. "You're... him!"

Jack had no idea what James was on about. "Aye."

Emotions fleeted through those grey eyes for about twenty seconds before a storm settled in them. Jack noticed this, but too late. "Bastard!" James shouted, and then his fist collided hard with Jack's jaw, lifting him clean off the floor. Jack landed hard on his back.

He didn't move. Silently, he praised James for having a strong arm. He massaged his chin. "There was really no need for that, mate."

To his great surprise, James began to cry. He dropped to his knees beside Jack. "You're a bilthy fastard," he sobbed.

Jack sat up suspiciously. "What did I do?"

James really was a pathetic sight to see. Tears splashed down his rum-soaked shirt, broad shoulders shook with sorrow. For a long time, he didn't reply, merely wiped at his face with large hands. Jack stared at him in concern. He really was a danger to himself. Jack decided he would take him to the Pearl to sleep it off.

"Mate-" he began, placing a comforting hand on the Commodore's shoulder, but James jerked away, shrieking,

"Don't touch me!"

Jack scowled. He was getting irritated. "It wasn't that when you were saying I was hot."

James stopped crying. He looked at Jack with analytical grey eyes. "I suppose you are a little," he said finally. "But you're like a woman in some ways."

"Thanks," Jack said sarcastically. "You're terribly manly yerself, sitting there cryin'. Now, are yer going ter come back to the Pearl with me?"

James blinked. "Are we going to have sex?"

Jack stood up, offering him a calloused hand, which he took. Jack tugged him to his feet. "If yer like, mate."

James allowed Jack to support him as they staggered down the lane towards the sea. Jack watched his skin turn from yellow to green, listened to him sing softly.

"We're only havin' sex if yer stop singin', mate."

James grinned. "We have an accord."

"And yer'd better not be sick in me mouth, savvy?"

End.

Jack lay on his back, eyes closed. Quite often he slept on the deck like this, but tonight sleep did not come easily. He was remembering the way Ana had looked at him at dinner. Not with the usual narrow-eyed, tight-cheeked expression where her lips would twist in an ugly way. She had smiled, and it had made him feel strange, for when she smiled, her lips were plump, dark, soft. And he wanted to kiss them.

He imagined her kneeling down beside him, face above his, eyes half-closed. She smiled down at him, before lowering her mouth to his, kissing him deeply, softly, her mouth warm and pleasant. Then she moved back and laughed a little, eyes twinkling.

Then Jack opened his eyes and saw nothing but the dark sky. He sighed.

Dark cheeks flushed and pink with cold and excitement, white snow clinging to ebony hair. Red lips parted in awe, wide eyes bright with delight. Anamaria shivered and smiled as she took in the scene before them, the snow-topped hill, the thick grey clouds overhead showering them with heavy whiteness. There was pure delight in her charming features, the breath caught in her slender throat. She stuck out her tongue to catch a snowflake and laughed.

"What do yer think, luv?" he asked her, his eyes fixed upon her. There was something wonderful about her pleasure.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, and Jack smiled. He had to agree.