"So if we're going to make a proper team on Saturday, we're goin' to need to get some practice in," Jack stated as he strolled through the door of the shop with his putter resting against his shoulder, tossing the orange golf ball into the air. Norrington stopped short, surveying the course before him and frowned, turning to give the ex-pirate a look.

"This is nothing like the courses you showed me on TV." He said pointedly, motioning to the giant bear standing over the green, the windmill, the small cliffs with real water running through the streams, the bridges, and a gaggle of teenage girls giggling as they hit the ball around on one of the holes without much success.

"Of course not. This is to help with your putting. I've never seen it, but it's probably atrocious." Jack clapped him on the shoulder and headed towards the first hole, Barbossa following him after, his gaze going between the back of Jack's head and the golf club in hand. A pink ball went skittering past Norrington's foot and a moment later Will jogged after it, scooping it up before it went over the bridge into the water below and fell into step behind Barbossa. The ex-commodore watched the three men stop and gather around a small podium.

"Why do I let them talk me into these things?" He muttered quietly as he made his way over the bridge. Jack was busily scribbling down names on the card - or his version of names. Barbie, Whelp, Norry, and CAPTAIN Jack Sparrow.

"Of what, the plastic toy HMS Bathroom Cruiser?" Norrington asked, stabbing his finger at the name. "And while you're at it, I would be more than happy to spell my name for you if spelling has become a bit of a problem."

Jack smirked smugly and erased Norry, only to turn the pencil around and writing Jamie instead. Norrington glared at him for a moment before deciding it was best left alone. After all, Jamie sounded somewhat more formal than Norry, if not by a lot. Meanwhile, Barbossa stood at the tee, ball in one hand, putter in the other, and wondering when someone was going to explain what he was supposed to do. Down a few holes, a couple stopped. The man bent over to put the ball down and then stood back, lining up with the club. Barbossa only saw the back swing and decided he had the idea. While the others argued over names, he set his ball on the green surface and backed away as he'd seen the other man do, lining up the shot. The putter descended.

The ball was a blur of neon green as it arched over the fence and found its resting position in the back windshield of Jack's black Lamborghini, the alarm blaring loudly. Jack's head shot up and his eyes widened as he took in the spider web cracks along the windshield. Barbossa frowned, one hand on his hip, the other rubbing his chin.

"Perhaps that was a bit too hard," he finally said.


Fifteen minutes later, Barbossa's putting privileges had been revoked after one hapless elderly man was the recipient of a golf ball to the forehead, ending up in the lake that the Putt-Putt course surrounded. Norrington had suggested that maybe it would have been better to start the pirate off on the driving range, but Jack waved him off, saying it didn't take much skill to actually hit the ball.

"I hope this tournament is worth it," Norrington set his ball down and eyed the windmill. The trick seemed to be finding a timing to the windmill so that the ball wouldn't be knocked away. The former commodore watched the windmill move, counting under his breath. Behind him, Jack tapped his putter on the podium, disturbing Norrington's thoughts. "Could you please not do that?" He snapped finally, turning to look at Jack.

"Then hurry up. We're not getting any younger here." The pirate demanded.

"Patience is a virtue, Sparrow."

"It's not mine."

Will chimed in. "Have you seen him wait his turn for the bathroom in the morning?" He asked in irritation.

Norrington scowled and positioned himself near the ball, lining up the putter. "Good point, Mr. Turner."

Jack sniffed indignantly. "Not my fault you all take as long as a woman in the morning."

Will waved the putter threateningly in his face. "It's called a shower, Jack. Besides, no one ever complains when you're in the bathroom playing with your toy boat for an hour."

The shot went awry as Norrington sputtered with badly concealed laughter. Bouncing off the side, it made its way to go to the right of the windmill instead of through the middle. He moved after it as Jack's dark look burned into the middle of his back, the pirate stepping up to take his spot.

"Just have to wait for…the…opportune…moment." On the last word, Jack tapped the ball and it went through the hole in the center of the windmill, cycling down the pipe and falling out into the middle of the course. "And that would be it."


"You know what would have made this night better?" Jack asked as he stood between Barbossa and Norrington, all three men watching Will try to put his ball in the hole among the surrounding bumps of various sizes hid by the deceptive green carpeting.

"Pray tell, Sparrow, what would that be?" Norrington asked dryly, striking a tally mark for each swing Will took and missed, striking off another five.

"A shot of rum for every stroke." The wheels were turning in the pirate's mind, the impish expression on his face striking a hint of worry into Norrington's heart. "Though maybe not for dear William. He never would have gotten past the sixth hole sober."

"Bugger it!" The frustrated ex-blacksmith finally shouted, tossing down the putter and storming off. Norrington tapped the small pencil against the podium.

"Should I just put him down for thirty then?"


Around the eighth hole, Jack finally relinquished Barbossa's putter back into his control. The pirate accepted it with a certain relish that made Jack uneasy, so he crept behind the stand of baby pine trees and crouched down; the branches would at least slow any ball aimed his way.

Barbossa eyed the hold thoughtfully, a twisting, turning labyrinth. "The ball goes in the hole at the end, aye? The lowest number of hits wins?"

Norrington nodded, leaning against his own putter like a cane. "That would be the general idea."

Barbossa squinted at the hole thoughtfully for a moment before he pulled back the putter and swung. The ball banked off each wall hard enough to leave faint dents, zooming down the labyrinth. It hit the corner of the hole so hard the ball popped up into the air and then returned a perfect hole in one.

"That's not bloody possible!" Will protested, leaving a long pencil mark along the rows as he threw up his hands. Norrington's hand only made contact with his face, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Barbossa looked back at them innocently as Jack peered between two trees with wide eyes. "So does that mean I win?"


The twelfth hole was a ramp that went up to a tiny platform in which the hole was the center. Jack crouched at the mouth, rubbing his chin as he surveyed the ramp, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. After a moment, he rose to his feet and pulled off his t-shirt, tossing it aside onto Barbossa's head. The pirate snarled his disgust and reached up to pull it off his face. "And your purpose for that being?" He asked.

Jack shrugged as he lined up his putt. "Helps me think better." He replied.

Norrington blinked. "Clothing inhibits your thinking?"

Jack glanced back at him and winked. "I'm a genius with my pants off."

Norrington decided he was not going to touch the implications of that phrase with a ten foot pole and went back to studying the score card. Unfortunately, they were not the only ones who had noticed Jack's lack of clothing. The group of four teenage girls from before stopped to gawk and Norrington suspected that Jack was putting a little too much pose into his swing.

And his suspicions were soon confirmed. Jack swung at the ball with a little too much force and the ball banked sharply off one of the walls, skipping over it and colliding with Will's shin. Will cursed sharply and grabbed his shin with his free hand. A moment later, Norrington ducked as the putter sailed over his head and missed Jack by a few scant inches, right into the lake.

Jack pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. "You better be gettin' that. I'm not payin' for it." He complained.


Jack's bravado faded on the last hole. The end of the course turned out to be a leering ten foot tall clown head. The pirate stood behind Norrington, fingers tightly gripping the ex-commodore's shoulders. Meanwhile, Norrington gripped the putter in a baseball grip, ready to knock Jack over the head if he did not let go. Will laughed, thoroughly enjoying Jack's discomfort.

"It's the last hole, Jack. If you do not play, Norrington is going to win. You wouldn't want that, would you?"

Jack stabbed a finger at the clown. "I want nothing to do with that demonic creature!" He protested as Barbossa moved past and set his ball down, settling into position like a pro and tapping the ball. It rolled up the green ramp and hesitated for a moment before dropping into the clown's mouth. Suddenly the clown burst into high pitched giggling, the bottom jaw moving up and down as it did so.

Jack jumped for the sky. His arms encircled Norrington's neck and his legs went around the former commodore's waist tightly, holding on as if his life depended on it. Norrington staggered forward as Will laughed so hard he had to bend forward to keep his balance. He flipped open his phone and aimed the camera at Jack. A moment later, he had the perfect picture, Norrington bent forward and glaring at him hatefully while Jack clung for dear life, his eyes squeezed shut.

Even Barbossa had to sit down before he fell over. Not Will, nor Norrington, or even Jack had seen the older pirate laugh so hysterically before. There were actually tears rolling down his cheeks. Will was giggling even harder and this time did fall over. The only one not amused was Norrington, his face turning a dark shade of purple.

"Air…Sparrow." He choked out, hitting the pirate on the arm.

"No." Jack muttered petulantly. Norrington picked up his putter and resumed the baseball grip, swinging to the side to knock Jack off. Jack saw the putter coming a split second before it made contact and he yelped in pain, sliding to the ground with his arms tightly wrapping around Norrington's left leg.

"It's electronic…animated…an animated electronic…it's not real Jack!" Norrington said, stepping away and pushing Jack's putter into his hands.

"Animatronic." Jack said.

"The least of my worries. Hurry up and putt. I know Barbossa would like to be home in time for American Idol."

Jack clutched the putter tightly, glancing away from the clown for a moment to glare at Barbossa, who was wiping away the tears, and Will, who was still in the throes of giggles. Barbossa he could not do anything about, but Will should have learned by now that messing with Jack Sparrow carried consequences.

Spinning around, Jack threw up his hand and motioned to the teenage girls, who had fallen a hole behind them in their slow play. "Oy, girls! Ever heard of Danny McCree?"

Four heads shot up and all the expressions were hopeful. "Heard of him, mister? He's only one of the best solo artists of the year!" One of them said, clasping her hands under her chin and fairly bouncing. Behind him, Will sucked in a sharp breath, eyes going wide as he looked up at Jack. However, Jack was feeling well past the point of mercy.

"I'm surprised you didn't notice him playing past you," Jack smirked and nodded to Will on the ground. There was a moment of silence before four putters dropped in unison and then the shrieking! Norrington clapped his hands over his ears as Will scrambled to his feet and bolted, straight through a stand of trees that separated the course from the parking lot, the four girls on his heels. Jack smiled in satisfaction and turned to face the clown.

The smile faded quickly and his grip on the putter tightened fearfully. The clown stared at him, red mouth open wide to devour his soul. Jack squeezed his eyes shut and attempted to line up the putter with the ball. The first, second, and third swing all missed, but the fourth made contact. A moment later, Jack heard a dull thud as something hit the ground beside him and a pained squeak. He opened one eye to find Norrington lying on the ground, curled up in a ball with his hands clutching between his legs, the orange ball rolling away along the pavement.

"Dead…Sparrow." Norrington growled through grit teeth. Jack quickly picked up his ball and chucked it at the clown's mouth. It sailed in and a moment later that it started that terrifying laugh again, sending Jack sprinting back towards the shop and drowning out Will's panicked screams for help from the parking lot.


Norrington had discovered that not only were Slushies a heavenly treat on a hot day, but when there was a lack of ice, they made a decent substitute. He limped out behind Jack after returning the clubs, Barbossa walking beside him with a platter of nachos, licking hot cheese off his fingers.

"I'm sure your little soldier will be up to salutin' again in no time." Jack spoke over his shoulder, making sure he kept a good distance away.

"My what?" Norrington asked, horrified, still not used to the raunchier innuendo and jokes that the roommates tossed off, which seemed to have gotten worse on Barbossa's arrival.

Jack chose not to elaborate and moved on to the next subject. "I'd have to say that wasn't bad. Our chances at the charity tournament on Saturday are lookin' pretty good."

"Except for the part where we'll play against men who make it their job to play golf." Norrington winced and leaned against the car while Jack fumbled with his key fob, trying to unlock the door. As he glanced down to position the slushy cup, it came to his attention that the tire beside him was flat. On closer examination, the cap was off, air still whistling out. "Sparrow…"

"What?" Norrington pointed down. Jack frowned at the tire. "That's odd."

Barbossa pointed down on the opposite side of the car. "These are both flat." He offered. Jack checked the last remaining wheel and cursed, finding it flat as well.

A moment later, his cell phone chirped and he flipped it up. 1 New Message blinked up at him from the display. He pushed 'enter' to read, spotting Will's cell phone number up top.

This means war.