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So. I finished a story. I've started about a million of them, but this is the first one I've ever finished. Very short. Am a little nervous, hmm. And, its a deathfic. Sometimes I wonder about myself, sigh. Well, here it is:




Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, and I'm not making any money. At all.

Note: The first story I've ever created. And it's a little depressing... Feedback of all kinds very welcome.

Warning: Deathfic! Slash strongly implied.


Mercy


Commodore James Norrington stood straight beneath the greasy black pall of smoke, hands folded calmly behind his back as he surveyed the ruins of a shabby port town. The Dauntless had pulled into the harbor barely an hour behind the nameless village's attackers, but they had stopped to offer what aid they could before giving chase.

"If it was pirates, sir, they had no qualms about killing their own kind," reported his lieutenant. "The crew of the Black Pearl itself was caught in the raid, or so I'm told, Commodore."

Norrington had in fact recognized that ominous vessel in the harbor upon his own arrival. He'd felt his heart sink within him when he'd sighted the wreck. Its dreary dark sails had been as ragged and full of holes as the first time he had seen it, but he assumed it had been cannon fire and not cursed gold that had been the ship's final downfall.

He began to walk along the shambles that had once been docks, searching for any survivors who might have recognized their attackers. Searching, really, for one face that he truly hoped not to find. Still, it surprised him when he caught the movement from the corner of his eye.

The corpse crushed beneath the timbers of the dock was not quite a corpse yet, it seemed. James began to pray even as he realized his prayer would not be answered... a grimy hand reached out to him. Even as he knelt, heedless of the effects of mud and gore on his pristine white breeches, he tried not to recognize the beseeching dark eyes turned upon him. Tried not to look at the agony on his bloody face. Jack...

Pale lips moved, but there was no breath for sound.

Mercy, he didn't say.




Jack Sparrow tried to reach out to his salvation, but could not force his ruined body to move more than a few inches. Still, his Jamie saw him. The man always saw him, right through him in fact, which Jack had often complained about but never really minded. James had always known what he wanted before he could ever ask for it. A beautiful trait in a lover. Never failed, really.

With the navy man's hand over his eyes, he could not see what Jamie was doing. But he could feel the blessing of his lips upon his brow, and the cold of the pistol's barrel pressed into his ear well enough. Strange, then, that he never heard the shot...



So... whatcha think?

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July 2011

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