(no subject)

[grailknight]

The mission was pretty straight-forward: survey the operations while playing a Frenchman. He would be meeting Agent Galahad in Havana. The weather seemed still and perfect flying weather until they were off coast from Bermuda. Then the weather changed drastically. The Spanish pilot and co-pilot began talking to each other as Charles quietly listened. The co-pilot suggested turning back but the pilot wanted to press on and change the course.

Things seemed to clear somewhat but then twenty minutes later the instruments began giving extreme readings as an alarm began to blare and they started losing altitude. Charles began unbuckling and was about ready to pitch himself out of the plane when the back of his head connected with the fire extinguisher and he blacked out.

----

Charles awoke to the sound of water and a swaying sensation. He was laying on his back on what remained of the plane's seat and part of the plane itself, bopping in the water. He wasn't conscious enough to be uncomfortable.

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[his_majestys_navy]

The problem with bits of metal is that, eventually, they will begin to sink. Now the waters in and around the Caribbean may seem more pleasant than the British Channel, freezing to death or simply dying of exhaustion is ever the possibility.

Charles may not be much of a believer in any deity, but it appears at least one deity believes in him, because long before the remains of the fuselage slide beneath the dark surface of the water, there's a muffled cry of "Man Overboard!"

Norrington had been on the Quarterdeck when the shout came, talking with the lieutenants in his charge. There had been no storms for the last two days, but the sea here was treacherous even to an experienced sailor.

"Bring him aboard!"

The ropes were already being lowered as the Commodore reached the rail, men carefully descending onto the strange wreckage. The extra weight was already pushing it further underwater, and as the man was eased onto the Interceptor's deck, the chair and the strange shell it had been attached to slipped into the depths.

Technically, he had lieutenants and midshipmen to do this sort of thing, but even so, Norrington found himself the one slipping an arm around the man's back, supporting him as the crew gave them room.

"Mr Groves, brandy, and a blanket if you would."

The man was not soaked through, although there seemed to be dried blood in his hair and his clothes were unfamiliar. He was, however, alive, and Norrington intended to keep him that way. Thankfully, the gun bolted to the deck made a makeshift seat.

"Check for other survivors," Norrington said, dismissing two men to the forecaste, but his attention still on the stranger, trying to judge where he might be from by the strange clothes. He certainly didn't appear French, or Dutch or Spanish.

"What happened to you and your ship?"

[grailknight]

Besides water there was now the added sound of someone yelling. Water. People. Sunlight. His head was in pain. He reached behind his head to feel a bump had blossomed. He noticed his coat sleeve was damp.

The 'Bring him aboard!' got Charles's attention and he squinted his eyes in the direction of the people--that were apparently on a tall ship.

His entire body felt bruised and his vision was blurry. What had happened to him? Who were these people? And most importantly: where the bloody hell was he??

"James!" What awareness he had at the moment snapped him into more lucid thought. But not James. James was dead, and this man, while looking like he could be his husband's twin, was dressed like an 18th century Royal Navy officer. Lucid dreaming, Charles thought. This had to be a dream. He found himself leaning against the oddly familiar looking man.

"Ship?" Had he been on a ship? He had been at home and took a plane to France, where he had gotten a charter! Yes! He was on his way to Cuba! And now seemed to be lucid dreaming while in flight. "It seems to have gone down. I was sleeping when it happened." Still sleeping? "Your vessel just woke me up."

[his_majestys_navy]

Norrington, to his credit, doesn't jump when the man shouts his name. The surprise does flicker over his features, as well as momentary concern that he should recognise the stranger, that somehow they are known to each other. But Norrington can not place him, not as a recent acquaintance nor as a shipmate in years past.

Whatever surprise he felt, feels, is put to one side. They have no physician aboard, not for such a journey as this, through friendly waters. They will be back in Port Royal in three days, and the best doctor they have can examine the man then. Until that time, they will do what they can.

The very idea that the rescue has woken the man up, however, Norrington finds vaguely amusing. "I apologise for the interruption, but it was with your best interests in mind. The remains of your ship have sunk, I am sorry to say."

The way the man leans against him might well be forgiven, considering his ordeal, but it is inappropriate even so. The blanket has been brought, and is put gently around the man's shoulders, and Norrington presses the cup of brandy into the man's hand.

"Take a drink. If you are able to walk, then we will make you comfortable in my cabin until a berth can be made up for you."

[grailknight]

"I accept your apology. And appreciate your help, sir."

Charles took the brandy and took a long drink. "Thank you and yes I am able to walk." The corners of his mouth twitched. "I'm Charles Banks."

[his_majestys_navy]

Norrington waited for the man to have his fill of the brandy before he straightened up. Despite seeming in good health, an eye would have to be kept on him.

"Welcome aboard His Majesty's Interceptor, Mr Banks. I am Commodore James Norrington, although you seem to know that already."

Norrington could have explained away being recognised by uniform alone, but a stranger was not likely to recall his first name. No, the only people that called him such where family, and the few friends he had here. But not a stranger.

For a second, despite the heaviness of his uniform and the heat of the sun, Norrington's blood chilled. He was, on rare occasions in Port, indiscreet; made so by desire and too long at sea. But how would he be remembered?

"Come then, and we shall endeavour to make you more comfortable. Mr Groves? Set Mr Banks up in my cabin."

[grailknight]

Charles took the brandy slow, savouring it. It brought an unfamiliar taste but there had never been a brandy that he didn't like and this one proved no exception.

Neither the ship's name nor her commodore had a name he recognised. "Thank you. On the contrary, I don't. You resemble a dear friend of mine who shares your first name. A deceased friend, I am sorry to say. But not on my latest voyage."

The smile ticked at his lips again and he finished his brandy. This was turning out to be a very interesting dream.

[his_majestys_navy]

Norrington ducked his head, so that the momentary relief could not be seen. Perhaps it might also be interpreted as a gesture of respect for the dead or a nod of comprehension. "I understand sir. I had been trying to recall where I had made your acquaintance."

He gestures for the man to follow the lieutenant, waiting for them to be several steps away before looking to the nearest midshipman.

"There's no other debris Sir. Or survivors that we can see."

Norrington had not expected any different. Ships sank quickly in these waters.

"Thank you Mr Jackson. Put us back on track for Jamaica if you will."

And then he went to his cabin, sitting down behind his desk, opposite his guest. "There is no other sign of wreckage, Mr Banks and I can not linger here, our presence is required at Port Royal. If the wind stays favourable that will be a voyage of three says. From there we can find you a place on whatever ship is heading to your original destination."

[grailknight]

Charles followed where the Commodore directed him. "The resemblace is quite uncanny." This might as well have been James's perfect twin. The strange manufacture of one's brain.

"I imagine that there wouldn't be."

When they arrived to the Commodore's quarters, he took in every detail of the cabin and the man behind the desk. That pleasant smile was on his face yet again. How many days and nights he had spent across the desk from his James.

"I appreciate your assistance, Commodore."

[his_majestys_navy]

Norrington sighed, gently removing his hat and setting it down on the desk. He had no brothers, no male cousins, no one that he could have supposed Mr Banks had met and confused him with. The word was a large place, perhaps in some other corner of it, there was someone who looked like him.

"It is my duty sir, and I must report the wreck. What was the vessel called, do you recollect? You seem to have acquired a head wound, and I would not put you to the trouble if it pains you."

There were questions, but as the report would not reach London for several months, the answers could wait until Mr Banks was capable of answering them.

[grailknight]

"Unfortunately I do not even recall where I was traveling to. I'm from London and not a merchant. I honestly have no recollection what possessed me to come out here." He could not even state his association with Kingsman because the tailor shop was not going to exist until the middle of the 19th century, and he was at least seventy years before that time.

[his_majestys_navy]

Norrington nodded; memory loss was not unexpected. He was no medical man himself but he had seen it before; men who has suffered a trauma or had been knocked on the back of the head normally felt some confusion.

"Perhaps it will come back to you, once you are a little more recovered." He suggested. "Until that time you have the liberty of the ship, Mr Banks. Although I might suggest staying away from the rail."

That's was a joke, although not a well executed one. The man before him did not seem about to pitch himself into the sea again. He seemed far too sensible for that.

[grailknight]

"I do hope so. If it does not, I will have a mystery on my hands." Or he wouldn't because this dream would end well before that became a possibility. In the mean time, he was just going to enjoy the ride and what his mind had cooked up for him. Because being in the presence of the Commodore was quite nice.

"Oh I can swim just fine if I was to go overboard again." He glanced at the sky. "But you did say the weather should be holding til we get to Jamaica?"

[his_majestys_navy]

"It should." He said, with a momentarily glance at the charts on his desk. But the sea here was treacherous and it was not unusual for conditions to change suddenly. He made no comments to that effect, if the man was no sailor then it was not necessary to worry him.

"There are however various enemies of the Crown who believe they have the right to sail these waters. But I believe the threat to be minor, and we can out run any other ship in the Caribbean."

Norrington was not one to run from a fight, but the Interceptor was not heavily armed, nor did they have enough crew to go warmongering. He would not risk his crew needlessly.

"What was your calling, in London?"

[grailknight]

He glanced at the Commodore's hands; there seemed to be no wedding ring--which did not necessarily mean anything, really. Charles was lacking his usual identifying rings--his signet ring (which was in his breast pocket) and wedding ring. He had been on a mission, after all. During transport from the wreckage and onto the ship it did not seem that any of his weapons had been disturbed. He still had his blades strapped to his wrists, a gun at his back, and a couple of throwing knives strapped to his ankles.

"Pirates I'm assuming you mean?"

Oh what could he say about his calling? It would be dependent on his most useful skills that would allow him to remain in this man's presence, he decided. "I am a surgeon, sir."

[his_majestys_navy]

He knows when he's being watched, although studied is more of an apt word for it. Eyes take in his hands, free of adornments, used to a sword and a pistol and a pen, but the callouses mostly healed- he has lieutenants to sail the Dauntless and the Interceptor for him. The uniform is fastidiously clean, but who would expect anything less from a commodore? The face is usually expressionless, or at least more guarded than some, his green eyes watch and his tongue is quick, but not too fast. A rash man speaks before he has thought, and Norrington is rarely a rash man.

"Pirates for the most part, but there is a French and Spanish presence here that occasionally makes trouble. We are the power in these waters, as you are probably aware Mr Banks, so you need not fear."

Although Mr Banks was clearly unafraid. Not because he was still recovering from a head injury, but because he was there was no threat. Either he trusted the Navy utterly, or he had another reason not to fear Britain's enemies.

"You must excuse me. There are things to attend to before nightfall. Feel free to use this cabin as if it were your own, or wander the ship."

[grailknight]

His intention to study the Commodore was to learn more about him--it was not to measure a possible threat. It had been in his best interest to stay with the truth as much as possible. Hopefully he lost the identification on him that said he was French. Or he could find a time to get rid of it.

"I must admit that my knowledge of the ocean is severely lacking."

He smiled softly. "Yes, of course. Thank you, Commodore. I think I would like to rest before I try exploring." His vision was becoming blurry again.

[his_majestys_navy]

Some hours later

Where the fog had come from, no one could know. It rolled in before the bell rang for the men to take their evening meal, laying on the smooth surface fo the sea like a heavy blanket. The wind still blew, but it did nothing to clear the thick mist, and it obscured the stars.

Norrington had known nights like this before. There was nothing to do but wait for the mist to clear, for the stars to be revealed or for the sunrise to begin to burn off the fog. Then they could continue on their way. Until then, the sails were furled, and the lamps lit.

There was nothing else to do at that point, and he was about to go back to his cabin and his unexpected, and unusual, guest, when a noise stilled his steps. The noises of a ship were loud in the hazy darkness, the creaks of timbers as the ship drifted on her anchors, the constant lulling of the waves against the hull. But that was not the only noise.

Somewhere, it was impossible to tell where in the fog, there was the noise of sails straining against their ropes, and the gentle cutting of a ship through the water. Norrington turned fast on his heel, just as the ship slid out of the fog and thudded into the Interceptor's port side.

The impact was almost enough to throw him off balance, and as a shout came up from the pirate's vessel, Norrington gave his own yell, a call to arms, an order that was almost lost in the sudden din.

His pistols were back in his cabin, but his sword was at his side, and he drew it now cutting down the first unlucky pirate that tried to board.

[grailknight]

The lull of the ship moving through the water brought sleep to him quite easily. Falling asleep in an unfamiliar man's bed had never proven to be a problem for Charles, whether that man was in bed with him or not.

The sudden impact between the Interceptor and something else roused him awake and out of bed and to his feet. He also heard the call from the Commodore as well. Invaders. Pirates. It seemed an easy voyage back to Jamaica was not in the cards--and he had the sneaking suspicion that this was not a dream. That was another matter to consider when they weren't in a skirmish.

Charles removed his throwing knives and scanned the room for other weapons. He picked up the pair of pistols and left the room. A sabre would prove useful as well, but he was well-equipped with his own weapons as well.

A thick fog had rolled in since he had been asleep. He removed his glasses and signet ring from his breast pocket and put them both on. He tapped the glasses. They would not give him true night vision, but they would allow him to see outlines of people. Thankfully they ran on a solar battery and he had not used them in a few days.

"Commodore!" he shouted, shooting a man behind him. He deftly moved toward the British officer and handed him the pistols. Charles darted over to the man he had just shot and picked up the man's sword and gun. He saw where the other pirates were coming aboard and shot his newly-acquired gun at their faces. Didn't someone at some time say the only good pirate was a dead one? And Charles was an expert at delivering the kill shot.

[his_majestys_navy]

Norrington barely had time to registered the surgeon's appearance before the guns were thrust at them. One was warm, it's single shot spent in his defence, but the other was deftly shoved into his belt. Charles Banks was like a devil, slashing and cutting at the unkempt men that rushed like a wave up onto the Interceptor, the sparks from the pistols he armed himself with flashing in the fog. He was some unholy terror, and Norrington would have watched him longer, but there was a shout behind him and he turned, bringing his sword down on the arm of a man about to bludgeon him.

He turned again, sword ringing as it hit the sabre of another man, the metal flashing as they stuck out and defended before Norrington saw an opening and let the sharp point of the sword bite into the man's thigh, blood fountaining out as the man collapsed onto the deck.

Each second stretched out as an eternity, the few men that had been up on the deck of the Interceptor fighting for all they were worth, joined by the surgeon who had more skill with a blade than Norrington had ever attributed to a doctor before. But they were outnumbered; the pirate sloop was a larger beast, although ill-tended, and her crew would almost certainly be three times that on the navy's frigate.

He was already breathing hard as he countered another blow, using his taller frame to push the pirate away before drawing the pistol and firing, before tossing it down. There was no time to reload, and he needed his hands free.

Banks was moving again, dancing through the crowd of pirates, blood on his clothes and on the swords he carried, moving with grace as well as desperate urgency. Norrington had seen many men fight before. Most moved with fear, fighting for their lives and for their friends. Some had finesse, the pose of men tutored in the correct use of a sword. And then there were men who had the song of battle in their veins, veterans of many wars, men who seemed to see the path of the blade even before it moved, and could move faster than their opponents could think, always several steps ahead.

Charles Banks seemed to be one of those men.

That was when the bullet ripped through his shoulder. Norrington gave a cry, but did not drop his sword. His free hand moved, to the blood soaking through shirt and waistcoat, beginning to stain the blue of his coat a darker shade. His vision swam, but he forced himself to focus, even managing to lift his sword arm once more to cut down the pirate who lunged at him.

And then from below decks, the rest of the Interceptor's crew burst forth, armed to the teeth and shouting defiance they surged forwards.

[grailknight]

He was striking and shooting down anyone in his wake. For the moment, he left his knives in his pockets. There were a couple of times when he had to use fallen pirates as a personal shield. It did seem the sea of pirates just continued to come without an end in sight.

He took a glance back at the men behind him, seeing that the Commodore had been wounded. Charles made his way back to the man and now he was the one to give the officer a supportive arm.

"I need to get you back to your quarters. I also am going to need some gun powder, some cloth, and your brandy." That wound, judging by the blood, was going to need to be cauterized right away.

[his_majestys_navy]

Norrington forced himself to let out a slow, even breath even as the pain in his shoulder surged through him, making his vision swim again and his legs almost fold under him.

"Not yet," He managed through gritted teeth, not about to quit the battlefield, even though the tide seemed to have turned in their favour.

It was the loss of blood that made his face feel flushed and his heart beat harder, of that he was certain. It had nothing to do with the handsome man who seemed to focused and attentive, a man who Norrington could not explain.

He sucked in another breath and tried to keep himself from swaying, but he knew that without Banks' grip on him, he would have buckled.

[grailknight]

"Commodore, I need to stop the blood loss immediately." He couldn't force the officer to go; that would prove to be counter-intuitive. He needed the man to see the urgency of the situation. "If you tarry, you are not going to last througn the night."

[his_majestys_navy]

There was another breath, this time far more unsteady, and Norrington could not help the fact he leant into the other man, desperate not to fall.

"Very well."

The equipment Banks has requested is easily found in the Commodore's cabin, although it is not the equipment of a surgeon. They might not have one aboard, but with the pirates now fighting to get back to their own boat, no doubt one of the Lieutenants will locate what scapels they have.

[grailknight]

He helped the Commodore back to his quarters and got him situated. Then he began to assemble what he needed. He took out a lighter from his pocket and checked the flame. He got the brandy, gun powder, one of his own throwing knives from his pocket, and three pieces of cloth.

"I apologise in advance for any and all further pain that I cause you," he said, putting one of the cloths into the Commodore's mouth. He began to look for the bullet. It didn't splinter or fragment, but was still there. He used the knife to remove it.

After popping the bullet out, he pressed the skin back together, put a thin layer of gun powder on the skin, and lit it. He smothered the flame with one of the cloths. He checked the wound and smiled. He splashed the wound with brandy and then secured the wound with the third cloth.

"It is best that you rest that shoulder now for the next few days. I can fashion a sling."

[his_majestys_navy]

In truth, Norrington would have preferred a belt to bite into, but he was grateful for the wad of calico, otherwise, as the instruments dug into the wound, he would have bitten right through his tongue.

It was not the first such operation he had endured, although the last had been a sabre cut across his spine that had only required stitching, as a midshipman he had taken a piece of grapeshot in the leg. That had been a lot less painful, and he had been a lot younger, despite the ineptitude of the surgeon at the time.

He let his fingers curl into fists now, eyes open and bright as he watched Charles bend to his work, watched the deft hands that a few moments ago had delivered death now save a life. It was fascinating to watch him work, even though distantly Norrington realised the blood on the man's clothes was as much his as any of the fallen pirates, Charles did not seem to spare it a thought.

He was, as his brow knitted and his lips pressed together in concentration, a very handsome man. It was a strange realisation, one possible only allowed because every other part of his body fought against the pained scream that still threatened to break from him.

He did scream, muffled by the cloth, when the gunpowder flashed, burning flesh and sanitising the wound. But even while his breathing was deep and quick, he managed to keep his eyes locked on Charles, and when the man stepped back and spoke, Norrington pulled the cotton from his mouth and tossed it into a corner.

"I would be exceedingly grateful if you would pass me that brandy."

It was almost all he could manage for the moment, at least until he had swallowed down some of the alcohol.

"Thank you."