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The wedding ceremony had been no problem. He was good with ceremonies, and this is what a wedding was, after all - much like a parade, you just had to dress up, listen to a speech (well, sermon, but the difference was irrelevant), smile a lot and throw the occasional compliment.
His smile was genuine; how could he not smile when he saw the raw joy on Elizabeth's face? Her smile was radiant and he couldn't help but reflect it, much like every wedding attendant who was not too jaded, too reserved or the bride's father (who was neither jaded nor reserved, but fighting with many conflicting emotions and even more last minute preparatives). When he remembered that her joy didn't have anything to do with him, and that her only smile for him was the less than sincere one when she had accepted his proposal, Norrington's gaze grew just that little bit colder, but all in all, the wedding ceremony went fine.
And no pirate had even attempted to inflict his presence upon the audience. There was talk of pirates, at one point, when the Governor, somewhat plastered, mentioned the possibility of a particular pirate showing up at the wedding. Norrington wondered if Sparrow would bother to risk his neck for this particular social event when he could certainly acquire more drinks that he needed with less danger.
He remembered the pirate's smirk when he'd made his escape, the jesting farewell words for each of them, and smiled despite himself. Recalling that scene also brought to memory the smell; James suppressed it quickly, but his face had kept an odd echo of Sparrow's nonchalant grin for the rest of the evening.
After that, he had somehow expected everything to return to normal.
Whatever normal had meant in his mind at that time (he realized he hadn't given it much thought), "things" were far from it.
Governor Swann, for example, was even more talkative than before, and had taken on a definite air of grandpa, though it was, of course, too soon to be speaking of a grandson. He often interrupted Norrington from his work with clumsy attempts at conversation, which usually turned into laments about the emptiness of a big house, when they were not concerns about "the happiness of the children". Norrington hated to think like this about a superior and dear friend, but the Governor was... tiring at his best.
Meeting the "children" themselves was sometimes an awkward experience, seeing Turner's defensive gaze (against what?) and Elizabeth's vaguely apologetic smile. The uneasiness between them would maybe fade in time, but for now it was... disconcerting.
On top of that, there was the unavoidable fact of being one of the most desired matches for the young maidens of the high society, which meant a number of determined mothers were just chasing for an opportunity. James had a suspicion that Governor Swann was more or less willingly cooperating with them. There seemed nothing more opportune than Elizabeth's birthday celebration, that dear Weatherby had insisted to be held at his mansion, "for the sake of an old useless father". Not even Turner's pride could say no to that.
It was going to be a big party and everyone was invited. Everyone who mattered as far as the high society was concerned, of course.
This was the only reason why Commodore Norrington was not currently as annoyed as he could have been, given the circumstances. Confined to bed by a severe fever and an equally severe doctor meant he hadn't been forced, beg your pardon, capable of attending the afore-mentioned party, and was allowed to mope in a blessed silence instead.
A single candle lit the room and the wind was no more than brief whispers, but a fever addled mind can turn even the slightest sound into a rustle of noises, and the mere flicker of the flame into a human silhouette advancing towards the suffering man's bed with ghostlike movements.
Why his mind would choose that particular silhouette, Norrington wasn't entirely sure, but he suspected it had something to do with last week's report about Sparrow's happy horde of scallywags causing mayhem in a small town in Haiti. The officer sighed and closed his eyes. Couldn't he be allowed a pleasant hallucination, at least? Maybe it was too much to ask, being spared of the party and having a nice quiet evening in his own head.
When the hallucination dragged a chair, with complete disregard to its assumed immaterial state, Norrington blinked, squeezed his eyes shut and willed the dream away by pretending he would be late for a parade. This shook usually even the most vivid dreams. Oh, even that dream where he'd finally faced the pirate in a fair duel, had defeated him and instead of running him through as the dream demanded, had taken an unreasonable glee in shorting his hair.
"Good evening, Commodore."
James's eyes snapped open. Maybe he was awake after all.
He was supposed to shout, threaten, or otherwise treat this incident with the utmost seriousness it demanded. But what if this was just a very elaborated deception weaved by his mind under the influence of thickened blood? It wouldn't do to be found yelling about false pirate apparitions. Instead, he found himself scowling and saying, voice rough from the lack of use and the dryness in his throat:
"I wondered what kept you away for so long."
"Port Royal is not the centre of world, Commodore."
The bloody pirate had the nerve to look amused, and entirely too healthy for Norrington's liking.
"Neither is it the most interesting town to find oneself carousing, no offence meant to the fine citizens of this city, of course."
Oh, but was he in a good mood. Probably, thought Norrington glumly, in direct relation to his own bad disposition.
"They were half expecting you at the wedding, you know."
Sparrow seemed genuinely intrigued. "Were they? It's not like I was invited."
Norrington looked pointedly at the window. The pirate failed to get the hint, or pretended to ignore it.
"I don't see you as the type to need a written invitation, Sparrow."
"I don't. I trust me own nose to know if I'm wanted or not; a man can never go wrong if he follows his nose," he replied, patting said nose as if to emphasize its crucial importance in decision making. Knowing Sparrow, he probably didn't exaggerate much.
"And it was your... nose, that suggested I was in dire need of your company, pirate?"
Jack grinned mischievously.
"Why yes, Commodore, as a matter of fact I do believe that's exactly what you need."
"Thank you kindly for your concern."
Apparition or real pirate, if it was mocking you, the least you could do was to return the favour.
"I think you have been misinformed."
Were it not for the twinkling in his eyes, one could have almost believed the hurt expression on Sparrow's face.
"Is this any way to receive a well-meaning visitor? To think of the trouble I took to make my way to your house, not to mention departing from such a lovely social event, when everybody would've benefited from my presence."
"I have no doubt they were heart-broken."
Though his voice tried to drip with irony, James felt vaguely amused and his head was light, as if the fever put a veil between reality and this night; as if, even though he was convinced of the concrete presence of the pirate in his room, he was still treating it as a figment of his imagination.
"Didn't you have enough amusement by ruining the birthday party, you had to ruin my day as well?"
"Would I ever do that to dear Elizabeth? When the hosts have been so gracious as to..."
"...welcome you with open arms?" interrupted James.
"As to," Jack continued, "not notify the authorities, which is even better, if you think about it, and to lock me in a room with a bottle of fine liquor, which in my books qualifies as a most touching proof of hospitality."
A moment passed, when James just looked him in the eye.
"All right, so they didn't know the bottle was with me. As for the ruining of your day, seems to me there's not much to ruin, mate. Did those leeches let any blood in you or are your veins filled with tea and soup?"
A thought struck James and he gaped his mouth in indignation and a touch of fear.
"You have heard of my illness and have come to rejoice upon it, thinking that you will find me weak and defenceless!"
Jack raised an inquisitive eyebrow and inched closer. He smelled of liquor, wine and powder. Perfumed powder. James decided he didn't want to think about that particular scent and the pleasant signals it was sending.
The smell of liquor didn't help either. Could you get drunk by inhaling an inebriated man's breath? Sparrow was surely close enough to help him find out.
"Yes, no and yes."
James refused to be led on and look confused. The pirate sighed.
"Yes, I have heard of your unfortunate condition from Mrs. Turner, no, I have not come to rejoice upon it, yes, I was thinking, hoping actually, that I will find ye at least as weak as to be incapable of killing me before I had time to persuade you of my peaceful and honourable intentions."
James laughed. "As if - Sparrow, just when I began to believe you are real after all."
It was Jack's turn to not admit confusion.
"Only in the delirium of a fevered mind could you have honourable intentions. On the other hand," mused James, "coming up with a ridiculous pretension is exactly the kind of thing that you would do, so it could be an argument for the reality of this conversation. Interesting, that."
Jack looked askance.
"I thought I was the mad one, mate, but ye're not making much sense here."
"Fever," shrugged Norrington.
"So I've heard."
"You didn't believe it?"
"Not entirely."
Without any warning, Jack extended a hand to the other man's brow and felt it for what seemed seconds too long. James sensed the rings on the pirate's fingers warm up almost instantly at the contact.
"Now I do. An' it makes me glad I brought this after all," he added as he extracted a bottle filled with something greenish and presented it to Norrington as if it was the Holy Grail he held in front of him.
"Made of Indian herbs. Drink a bit every day an' in a week you'll be as good as new."
Norrington eyed the dubious concoction with wary eyes.
"I'll have you know, Sparrow, if anything happens to me, the most probable candidate for my position is Commodore Hastington. It may sound like Norrington, but he's nothing of the like. You don't want him in the Caribbean."
Jack rolled his eyes and scoffed.
"If I wanted you dead, I might as well ‘ave left you to the doctors."
With a hesitant hand, James uncapped the bottle.
"I know medicine has to look and taste bad for it to be any good, but this looks like rotten sea-weed."
"An' tastes like it, too," admitted Jack, "but is good for ye. And..." he proudly produced a bottle of a very different kind, "I just happen to have right what it takes to wash your mouth after that."
"That would be the Governor's favourite brandy, wouldn't it?" remarked James dryly. "What a coincidence, Captain."
"I'm fairly certain the Governor would have shared it with you, Commodore. But since you couldn't be present, I figured I'd make both of you a service and deliver it in person. No, no need to thank me," Jack dismissed the yet non-existent attempt at such action from the other man, "just take a swig of that and then you can share the brandy with me as a sign of appreciation. Savvy?"
James was still reluctant, which meant that he still looked as if he expected the pirate-made medicine to kill him in mere seconds and maybe make his body disappear as well; Jack resigned himself to give an example. Norrington watched him as he took a gulp of the liquid, scowled, then forced an entirely fake look of ecstasy on his face.
"Trust me now not to poison ye?"
"Not entirely, but let's presume I deem the drink worth the risk."
Jack's moustache curved into a curious smile at that, but he didn't say anything as James raised the green phial to his lips with a vaguely shaking hand and drank.
Commodore Norrington had, of course, never tasted sea-weed, much less the rotten sort, but he was certain it couldn't be worse than this thing. He prided himself for not spitting the stuff right out.
Sparrow looked at him as if he was waiting for something, and James found he was waiting, too. A few moments of silence passed, then James opened his mouth to express his disappointment, when he realized something was changing, after all, but he couldn't put a finger on it yet.
It felt as if somebody had lit another light in the room, or if the air had got just a tad clearer, and in the same time shapes and colours were altered and seemed unstable.
He turned to Jack in horror: "You drugged me!"
"What? Oh, that. I was going to tell you, but it slipped my mind, it makes ye feel strange and not much different than fever until you get used to it. Can't help it, it's the same plant that does the healing part."
"You were planning to tell me when?" Norrington felt he ought to be much, much more angry about this than he actually was, but he excused himself on the ground of being drugged, in addition to the blasted fever that had started all of this. "After you drugged me or were you going to wait to get me drunk first and then perpetrate God knows what kind of misdeed?"
It was, again, hard to tell how genuinely hurt Jack was, just by his expression.
"I wanted to warn you right before you made me drink from it too. I had forgotten how bad that really tastes, as I haven't had the misfortune to be ill in a while.
He stood abruptly from the chair.
"I was quite looking forward to getting both of us drunk, but I'll be leaving now, ye've naught to fear."
Leaving? When he just... well, he wouldn't admit to this, not with a whole barrel of the blasted Indian thing, but he had just began to enjoy Jack's company.
Oh, yes, he will most definitely blame the fever for this. He might as well start with the blaming right now.
"Sparrow!" It was, of course, the same fever that made his voice raspy and low. "I... I think it's neither responsible nor kind to leave a man in my state alone."
Jack stopped middle-stride and turned on his heels; his grin was half lost to the darkness as he considered James's words.
"Is that so, Commodore? Say, I might have a couple of days to spare until the fever recedes, since it makes you so fond of ol' Jack."
It might turn out, Norrington pondered thoughtfully, to be kind of fever that never recedes for good.