Last week I made this post about how Gibbs and Norrington might have interacted on the Black Pearl during Dead Man's Chest, and now I wrote the promised fic to go with it:
Bad Luck
James frowned and looked over at Gibbs, wondering if he was trying to be helpful or if he just liked to hear himself talkāor both. The man had always been a talker, a compelling storyteller, and rarely missed a chance to share a tall tale. āBut it was only a chapter,ā Gibbs continued. āTurns out Iāve got a knack for matchmaking. If someoneās looking for a crew, or a carpenter or a fine navigator, or what have you, he comes to me first and Iāll put him in touch with the right man for the job. Found my way again. Gave myself a new purpose, you know?ā James still just frowned. Gibbs sighed and leaned back against the railing, then pulled out a flask and took a small drink from it. James caught himself eyeing the flask, and his body ached for a taste of rum with renewed fervor. He looked quickly away, but not before Gibbs noticed his lingering gaze. āYou sure you donāt want some?ā Gibbs asked. āSeems youāve gotten used to having your fill of the stuff, and like I said, weāve got plenty.ā James shook his head. āIt wasnāt always like last night,ā he said. He had quickly learned that his days were much more tolerable when he didnāt wake up with a ruthless headache after spending half the night puking in a gutterāor off the pier. āIām not that far gone. I intend to break this horrid habit.ā Gibbs shrugged and put the flask away, then looked up at the sails with a slight frown. āWindās picking up.ā
Read the whole thing on AO3 (2.6k words, rated T)






















