'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney.

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This is a sequel to the ironically-titled 'Sparrington'; SmittyChittyBangBang's hilarious AU fic, wherein Jack Sparrow somehow acquires a working laptop. Upon discovering the wonderful world of online PotC fanfics, Jack takes impish delight in appalling his pal Norrington with accounts of the numerous Jack/Norrie pairing stories.

It occurred to me that that tactic could work both ways, once James also learned to trawl the net. Hence this tale of Justified Retribution.

(BTW: I did not invent any of the plots Norrington finds or describes- there's existing examples of every one of 'em.)

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James Norrington was seated at the desk in the 'Black Pearl's great cabin, busily working on Jack's purloined laptop. It was highly gratifying to him, to have so quickly mastered the use of the search engine, in addition to the relevant internet vocabulary. He was easily accumulating all the material he needed to get some well-deserved payback on Captain Jack Sparrow.

James smirked evilly, as he located and bookmarked another suitable page. "I may have a sufficient sampling by now."

Even as he confirmed the count, the cabin door swung open, and his unsuspecting target strutted cheerfully into the room. "Afternoon, James! Taking in some quality reading?"

Norrington smiled in return. "Good afternoon, Captain. To answer your inquiry; what I'm reading is certainly of better quality than those deplorable 'Sparrington' stories you insisted on bringing to my attention last week. As you may know, there are quite a few other genres in PotC fan fiction."

"Stories fer every taste, eh? And ye've found somethin' to yer liking?"

James pursed his lips. "Something of interest, at least. I am currently perusing examples of 'Get' stories. Specifically, the 'Get Jack' subset."

"About me, then! I always knew ye had good taste!" Jack's eyes glinted as he moved to look over the taller man's shoulder. "Would these, perchance, be tales where the authoress includes a version of herself, with the intention of 'Getting' ta me?"

"No, those are known as 'Insertion Fics'. And do not bother pointing out the double-entendre- I spotted it for myself," James warned frostily.

Jack confined himself to snickering. "Then, perhaps yer readin' a delightful account of an inhumanly-perfect lass, thrown together with me, an' resourcefully overcoming all manner of obstacles ta 'Get' me admiration?"

Norrington snorted. "I believe you're describing a 'Mary-Sue' story. And you are definitely the only person in this room who would voluntarily read more than one of those."

Jack's expression became sly. "Norrington! Surely 'Get' doesn't mean... taken by a comely an' desperately needy wench?"

"That is closer to the mark. But the definition of a 'Get' story is; one whose major purpose is to make the protagonist undergo acute suffering."

"Oh." Jack wrinkled his nose in disappointment. "Fer a moment, I thought ye might be reading somethin' we could enjoy together."

"Why don't we give that a try anyway? It will expand your horizons!" James deftly grasped the captain's beard and pulled him down into the adjacent chair. Annoyed, Jack stroked his chin, but stayed put. "As you have a declared preference for stories about yourself, you may, in fact, find these of interest. To start out: here is one of several accounts I've found, of a certain event in your pre-movie history."

James turned the laptop screen so his companion could read the highlighted text. As Jack scanned it, his expression became rather haunted. Instinctively, his left hand moved to stroke his right wrist- the gesture's significance was not lost on the Commodore.

"Not my happiest recollection, but it is canon. My branding's a rather important part of me back-story," Jack commented.

"Indeed." Norrington activated another bookmarked page, also highlighted. "Your other known scars are, presumably, of lesser significance. Yet, as you can see, many writers feel compelled to offer explanations for those as well."

Jack grimaced a bit, perusing the descriptions. James diligently punched up replacements as fast as he could read them.

The Commodore continued. "I've noticed another singularity; though it was never established- even in the DVD's deleted scene- that you carry lash marks on your back, the fans generally assume you do. And here..." Norrington brought up another page, "... is a typical explanation- a blow-by-blow account, in fact- of how you acquired them."

Jack's protective hand had migrated to the back of his shoulder, though he tried to shrug off any concern. "That doesn't necessarily mean anythin'. Flogging is a common maritime disciplinary method in our era. Many fanfic writers are noted fer researching their period detail."

"Yes, and they are to be commended for their striving for accuracy," Norrington agreed. "It seems, though, that some period details command more interest than others. The exact mechanisms of death by hanging, for example- that's another oft-described event. Virtually always involving you."

Jack shifted uncomfortably. "Are we done yet?"

"Oh no- there's much more this genre can tell us about the fanfic community. For instance: their considerable interest in explaining the mutual animosity between you and Cutler Beckett."

Jack looked indignant. "That aforementioned incident when he pressed a red-hot iron into me wrist isn't explanation enough?"

"Not for everyone- they suspect you've got additional reasons. To be fair, there's some supporting evidence for this in the movies. Specifically: when Beckett inquired of you, what it was he wanted most, you responded 'Me. Dead.' That eloquent pause between the words was rather suggestive. Certainly moreso than anything that ever passed between the two of us, wouldn't you say?"

Jack's lip curled with distaste. "I suppose, ta someone who's inclined to make such interpretations... "

"Many writers are so inclined. Resulting in fics such as this..." James punched up another page, "...which stipulate that, at some point in your history, Mr. Beckett had you in his custody, and... took full advantage of your availability."

Goaded by curiosity, Sparrow read. James watched with considerable amusement as Jack's jaw dropped, his dark eyes flashing disgust.

"Bloody hell! Do those writers really think there's any chance I'd refrain from murderin' Beckett, if he'd ever done anythin' remotely like that ta me?"

"Well, the writers aren't completely cruel. In most versions, you eventually start to enjoy it."

"Enjoy? That!?" Jack almost shouted his incredulity. "It's like those daft scribblers don't know me at all! They actually believe Jack Sparrow would ever accept bein' anybody's catamite??"

"Is it any more likely that Commodore James Norrington would?" the other asked smoothly.

Jack scowled, taking the point. "We're in the same boat, eh?"

Norrington grinned wickedly. "So it seems. Though I won't deny, they've put you into it more often. The 'daft scribblers' have subjected you to any number of... 'dubious consent' pairings. With unscrupulous naval personnel, bounty hunters, enemies known and unknown. For example..." James brought up another page. "Have a look at this particularly imaginative scene, where a resurrected Davy Jones wreaks very personal vengeance on you."

"Eeeeewwwww!!!"

"Tentacles allow for some interesting possibilities, don't they?" Try as he might, James couldn't suppress the grin. "And that's not the end of the writers' fiendish ideas for you! There's plenty more stories, wherein you are interrogated under torture, deliberately starved, kidnapped into slavery, maimed..."

Jack snapped his head up to glare at Norrington. "Tell me: in the course of yer huntin' up these charmin' tales fer my inspection, have ye not encountered anyone else bein' the recipient o' such kindly attentions?"

"Oh, definitely! Will Turner has been through some 'interesting times'. And myself, of course. But you, Jack, are clearly the 'Get' authors' favorite target."

Jack looked honestly baffled. "Why? What's the appeal of writin' about such horrible things happenin' ta me?"

"Because, my dear captain; as the song says..."

"What song?"

"Something else I stumbled across on the internet. The song says, 'You always hurt the one you love.' And Jack Sparrow is obviously the most beloved character in the Pirates fandom."

"That makes no sense ta me!" The captain's expression was deeply sour.

/ I should stop this soon/, James told himself. But he couldn't resist taking just one more shot.

"To give 'artistic license' it's due; there's one more thing they like to do to you, which wouldn't have nearly the same impact if it happened to anyone else."

"What other thing?" Sparrow demanded.

For an answer, James punched up a last bookmark. Fearful, but curious, Jack's eyes strayed to the laptop screen... and widened with horror at what he read.

"They... Cut... Off... My... HAIR???!!!" Jack's hands clamped onto his precious dreadlocks, his expression utterly appalled.

This teasing had definitely gone far enough. Norrington turned the offending laptop away, and laid a consoling arm over the other's shoulders.

"There, there, Jack. None of it is real- it's only fan fiction!" James gently tugged on a braid, giving reassurance it was still attached, as he added, "If it's any consolation; I don't think the fans actually want to see you with a shaved head. At least, I've never come across any artwork depicting it."

Jack was glaring again. "If you ever do happen upon such an image, Mr. Norrington, I'll thank ye ta not tell me about it!"

"I won't, Jack. I promise," James replied. And meant it. Some things were too sacred to joke about.

Seeing Jack had calmed down, Norrington retrieved his arm, and resumed typing on the laptop. "Now why don't I find us a nice 'Mellow Moment' fic to read... Ah. Here's one where you and I are fishing off a pier, having a philosophical discussion."

"I jus' might be in the mood fer that... is there any rum?"

"Yes. You're taking swigs from a flask."

"I meant, any rum in our real-life vicinity."

James obligingly retrieved a small bottle from a desk drawer. Jack, after having a few gulps, was soon contentedly absorbed in the story.

"Humph. I wonder why this author assumes I'd be familiar with the complete works of Shakespeare?"

"Why, so you are, Jack."

"Aye. But fer making philosophical points, I prefer Moliere."

"I can probably locate another fic where we're talking about him," James offered, taking his own swallow of rum. "Stories for every taste, my friend."

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FINIS