Peace Offering

James sat staring into the tiny fire that lit the grate in his study. It was a week since Sparrow's escape from the gallows. A week since the Governor put forward the nebulous logic that enabled him to let the pirate take leave unmolested. A week since he had refrained from bringing Sparrow's rescuer to justice.

William Turner, common blacksmith, appeared to be destined for Elizabeth. Bad form indeed to arrest the Governor's future son-in-law. He'd known, of course, that Elizabeth was infatuated with the boy, but he'd hoped...well, there was no use allowing his thoughts to wander in that direction.

And Sparrow. He'd told Gillette they'd give the man one day's head start, but the day had now grown to a week and still he had no real desire to take up the gauntlet the pirate had thrown down: This is the day you will always remember as the day that you... Norrington smiled with only a little bitterness, thinking of the rogue tipping ungracefully off the battlement to plunge into the sea's embrace, his ship and crew waiting to snatch him away.

James had to admit it: he was glad the pirate had escaped the fate that had seemed inevitable a week ago. Oh, there was no doubt of the charges against him, though only Sparrow knew to what extent they were true. In spite of his mission to rid the Caribbean of lawless brigands, James was fully aware that one could not paint all pirates with the same brush. Unfortunately, the law did not see the matter in this light, and he was sworn to uphold the law. He had never found this to be a cause for regret, until last week when it was Jack Sparrow standing on the gallows. The man had appeared calmer than anyone had a right to be in such a situation, seemingly resigned and even a little amused. James had looked on, feeling quite ill though he'd managed to thoroughly mask his emotion. As always.

No wonder he'd lost Elizabeth.

A distant rapping roused him from his morose reverie. He heard Walters answering the summons. A brief, indecipherable conversation, then the sound of the door closing and footsteps approaching the study.

"Sir," Walters said, coming in. "A delivery for you."

"The sender?" Norrington eyed the cylindrical shape curiously.

"It came from the Inn. Their boy brought it, but there is a card attached." Walters put what was obviously a wrapped bottle into James's hands, bowed, and took himself off.

James opened the card first. His brows rose. In a strong, spidery hand was written, Many thanks. Captain J. Sparrow.

The audacity of the man! But James's mouth tugged against a grin as he unwrapped the bottle. When it was finally uncovered, however, he gave a grimace: rum. A good one, but brandy was his drink; he quite detested rum.

Still, he mused as he cradled the bottle, it's the thought that counts. Yes. Very much so.

James allowed himself to smile.