Shallow

Norrington had never killed himself and wondered if this was quite the way to do so. He had found the stash of newer cannonballs in the Black Pearl's hold. These were not quite as dilapidated as those stored with the actual cannons, and Norrington found these more to his liking. He would rather go with a bit of fashion, rather than take a cannonball almost as ragged as he was down with him. He turned the nearly flawless ball of deadly metal over in his hands. It would bring about death in a very different fashion tonight.

He pulled himself up on deck without hassle. As usual, the pirate crew tended to ignore him, or , at worst, throw things at him. That night, only the few night watchmen stood on their posts high in the sails. He looked up at the dark shadows against the starlit sky, half a sardonic smirk on his features. He wondered if they would even turn their heads when he made the plunge. Without another philosophical tangent, Norrington made his way to the bow, completely missing the shadowy figure crouching amongst the coils of extra rope.

Jack stood with a drunken wobble, holding his hands out to his side in attempts to remain vertical. The bottle of rum in his right hand was nearly empty, and he wondered vaguely where it had gone off to. He saw what looked like that bloody fool Norrington heading for the bow, cautiously weighing something in one hand and then the other. He wondered if that idiot was into his rum again. With a determined furrow of his brow, Jack rolled his sleeves up and began following the former Commodore.

Norrington had finally reached the bow, and stared over the edge with an exasperated sigh. All the humiliation and the sorrow was about to end. All he needed was the strength to push himself over the side, over into the all-encompassing black water. He wondered what the water flooding his lungs might feel like. He wondered how long until he blacked out, or was crushed by the pressure. He wondered if Elizabeth would miss him.

"What are you doin' with my cannonball?"

Norrington turned with a roll of his eyes. Behind him stood a swaying Captain Jack Sparrow, sleeves rolled up for a fight. They met one another's eyes for a long moment, Jack raising his eyebrows and nodding his head periodically at the ball in Norrington's hands.

"I am using it to pull my body into the crushing depths of the sea, Captain," he said with a sneer. Jack furrowed his brows and reached out for the ball.

"Not with that, you aren't," Jack said with a growl. Norrington childishly pulled the cannonball out of Jack's reach, holding it above his head to take advantage of Jack's lack of height.

"Trying to stop me?" Norrington asked with little or no infliction in his voice. Jack stood on his toes and reached for the cannonball held over Norrington's head.

"No, by all means, kill yerself," he said as he took an aimed swipe at the ball, missing it by more than a few good inches. "Just give me the ball back! You 'ave no idea wot that cost me."

"I'm guessing that this was one of the balls taken from the Port Royal armory when the Black Pearl set in about a year ago. Am I right?" His voice was deadpan, still keeping his instrument of death out of Jack's reach. The pirate had given up and took a swig of his remaining rum.

"Wot, you got 'em all monogrammed, Commodore?"

Norrington winced at the mention of his former command. With a small grunt, Norrington pulled himself up on the railing, still facing Jack.

"Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to jump off the side of your ship."

Jack made an absent wave in Norrington's direction, shooing him off the ship. "Good riddance." He made the slightest pause before adding, "Mind takin' the wench with you?"

"What?" Norrington asked, immediately regretting it. Had he looked closer, he may have noticed the ideas coming to light in Jack's eyes.

"Bonny ol' What's-'er-Face," Jack said absently, picking at something under his fingernail. "When y' toss yerself off me ship, it's the only thing she'll be talkin' about. An', personally, I find y' dull, mate-- I'd rather not hear about you all across the bloody Atlantic an' back, savvy?"

"Elizabeth," Norrington growled, supplying Jack with the name of that wench "Bonny ol' What's-'er-Face." Jack grinned knowingly, wobbling again and raising his eyebrows.

"Right... Lizzie." He pointedly made a suggestive look with his eyebrows. "Now, I know even you can't resist wonderin' what she keeps under that dress, mate. Am I right?"

Norrington shot Jack a look of purest malice mixed dangerously with hot embarrassment.

"You shallow, filthy human being," he said with every bit of roughness that he meant. Jack wiggled his fingers in Norrington's direction.

"Admit it, son. I can see right through you. Imagine the weddin' night. Y'd have 'er all t' your onesies--"

"Stop it," Norrington demanded in a low, dangerous voice.

"If you won't imagine it, mate, I will--"

In the same moment, the cannonball fell from his grip and rolled across the deck, followed by Norrington's clenched fist crashing against Jack's jaw, hard. The captain reeled backwards from the blow, and, losing his already questionable footing, he fell to the deck. Norrington stood over him, hand on the hilt of his sword, breathing roughly through his anger.

"I could kill you for that," Norrington barked. Jack grinned like a giddy child, leaning on his elbow, pointing a wavering finger up at Norrington.

"Aye, but y' don't want t' kill yourself anymore, do you?"

Norrington's world drained away, leaving him empty with only the answer to Jack's question burning into his throat. He was amazed, blank, and flabbergasted to no end.

"No... I don't."

"Right!" Jack lifted himself to his feet effortlessly, brushed off his jacket and turned on heel toward his cabin. "Next time we're in port, you're buyin' the rum."

Norrington watched the mysterious captain disappear into his cabin. He didn't have time to say anything in return before the man was gone. No "Thank you," or "I hope you die, you son-of-a-bitch." After a long moment of contemplation, he moved back toward the hold of the ship, where he stood in thought over Elizabeth's hammock. He smiled, tucking one of her stray curls behind her ear, then threw himself into his own hammock and fell into the first peaceful sleep of his pirate career.

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AN: Norrington tries to kill himself, but Elizabeth didn't come-- Jack did! Trying the same fic, but I wanted to try from another perspective. This is my first time writing Jack, so I hope I got him right. Maybe its practice for The Greater Good. I should get working on that... Anyway, I hope you like, and I hope Norrington doesn't try to kill himself again. Who else is there to save him? Cotton?