by Kenovay
That was how he knew that the slight, smudged figure in the forbidden alley wasn't a boy. Because it was crying, loudly and noisily. He peered at it for a while, at the tight pigtail of black hair, at the skinny arms and thin, crooked wrists, and then poked it with a curious, neatly-shod foot.
A birdbright face was raised to his, the edges blurred by crying. "What?" the child - older than him, Jamie could see - snapped, voice salt-raw.
"Who are you?"
"Jack Sparrow." The voice was unfriendly. Jamie blinked.
"Jamie Norrington," he said automatically, politely, and then - "You're a boy?"
Jack rubbed a grimy sleeve across his nose. "So?" he demanded.
"Boys don't -" Jamie heard the distant voice of his nurse. His time was finished. He glanced at Jack, hesitated on words of farewell, and then shrugged and left, hurrying away from the alley and the grime and the salt-smell that hung around the crying child and the area.
