Disclaimer: This is the Mouse's house, I just play in it.
A/N: Companion to 'Third on the Left.' You don't have to read it to understand this. And for those of you looking for more at the end, you're in luck. More will be coming, I just don't know when.
Three Months
Those few months before she left were all a blur. She remembers James and his beloved Anna coming to visit often, but she doesn't recall what was said. She remembers seeing unfamiliar dishes filled with food in her kitchen, but she doesn't know where they came from. She assumes the neighbours and other well wishers brought them to her. They all knew she wasn't the cook in the Turner household. She wonders if they ever got their plates back.
She remembers they day she left with perfect clarity. She had been walking the streets aimlessly, hoping to clear her mind. She had ended up at the docks, watching the different crews unload the newest shipment of supplies to help rebuild the town.
It had been three months since the torrential rains and thrashing winds of a hurricane had ripped through Port Royal. Three months since the soldiers had gone door to door, gathered up every citizen they could and taken them to the fort for their own safety. Three months since the fallen trees and mudslides. Three months since she lost her husband.
James had come personally to get her and Will before the worst had started. They had grabbed what they could not afford to loose and ran for the fort. Much of the community had already been collected when they got there, but some were still being looked for. Will had insisted to James that he help look for those still out there. She had pleaded with him not to go, but it was no use.
They never found his body. James had said the mudslide he had been caught in had run into the harbour, his body most likely with it. The only consolation she had had was that the little boy he had given his life to save had lived. She never went near the water after that.
Then, three months later, she had wandered down to the docks. She sat on a crate as far from the Navy docks as possible, and watched the ships come and go. For hours she sat there, not speaking to anyone that past. The sun had set, and still she had sat there, waiting for what she hadn't known. But sometime that day, listening to the gulls call and watching for ships sails on the horizon, she had broken through the fog that had clouded her mind for so long. She had waited for darkness to fall before she moved from the crate. She had walked down the dock only little ways when someone had tapped her shoulder. She had spun around.
"You came."
"Course I did, love."
She went back to her house only for a change of clothes and her cutlass. She hadn't bothered with a note. James understood.
They took the longboat back to his ship, which was anchored in a cove close by. Gibbs and the rest of the crew had offered their condolences, but had not given her the pitying looks she'd had received on land. For that she was grateful. They'd not seemed surprised to see her, which meant he had planned to bring her back with him. She had glanced his way to see him watching her with curiosity. He smiled almost sweetly at her, before ordering the crew to set sail to Tortuga. He motioned her to follow him into his cabin, where he said she could sleep. When she had asked him where he would be, he said he would be at the wheel all night.
The following morning, she'd rushed out onto deck in her nightdress, not caring who saw, and leaned over the edge, sick. When she pulled herself back up, he had been standing behind her with a serious look.
"You don't get seasick."
A pause…
"No."
And another…
"How long?"
And another…
"Three months."
