A Little Karrington, Maybe?

Karrington - Kat Sparrow and Norrington Fluff. Because it's fun to think of. Hush.

A little drabble thing that I'm not putting on because it's OC/Norrie and Kat would come off looking like a Mary-Sue. Which, she kinda has those with her breakfast and that would be really insulting. DX

I did this mostly to try my hand at a hurt/comfort fic, try at fluff, and also experiment at writing in Norrington's POV. Because his mind is really, really fun to write. I need a thesaurus, though.

(And let me explain one thing: Kat brought Norrington, Gillette and Becket back to life, mostly because one of her crew was holding her at knife point. So, this is Post AWE, after the resurrecting of Norrington, but he has yet to be recommissioned completely.)

The Cherished

Chapter 1: Rescue
Norrington's POV
2100 Hours, Port Royal

I cannot remember what brought me to that place, nor what thought prompted such actions at such a late hour. All I remember is the scream that echoed through the deserted streets and woke me from my fitful sleep. I do not think I pondered on the subject long, since such deep thinking at such an hour leaves one with nothing solved and a headache gained. It felt like eternity had passed once and again before I stumbled out of my temporary sleeping quarters, dressed in nothing more than my trousers and a simple under-shirt. I felt terribly vulnerable, underdressed as I was, and I admit to having second thoughts on taking leave in nothing but my skivvies.

Another scream split through the ever growing darkness, and I found myself drawn to a rarely used street, and then to a sea-side building I could have sworn was not there that morning. It was ramshackled and as old as some of the people who frequented the streets of Port Royal, and if I had sneezed on it in the wrong spot, it would have fallen down upon itself. I approached the door with extreme caution, as the door was slightly ajar and I was unarmed against whatever may have lurked just past the threshold.

I do believe I could have put more forethought into my impromptu venture, most certainly my dress, or lack thereof. I do remember thinking of the simple pen knife that I had carefully positioned in my left boot on the inward side, one which would have been better suited in my hand at the moment than in my old boot. I peered into the crack between the door and frame, and upon locating a sword upon the far wall, my thoughts on my lack of pen knife were discarded in favor of thoughts on how in hell I was supposed to get that bloody sword.

I backed off from the door, placing one palm flat on it to see how much force would be needed to knock it down. I was feeling more confident about my venture now that the proposition of being well armed was just barely out of reach. To my utter surprise, just the slightest pressure of my palm sent the door to the floor with an echoing clatter, and the wood shattered upon the stone. I raised my arms to my face in reaction to the wood fragments that were hurled in all directions. After a moment the dust settled onto the stone, and I looked up from my guarded position. The room inside was dark save the glint of steel on the wall.

I felt my old fears rise in my chest and grip at my heart with cold, dead fingers. My breath quickened and my muscles tensed under my skin. I was painfully aware of the cold, breathless air that was seeping out of the room and beginning to coax my fears into the light.

"On your guard… Be ready for anything…" I said to myself, willing my courage forward with me as I carefully made my way across the room. It stunk of old cloth, of rum, sweat and rotting, wet wood, like the bilges of an old ship that has spent too long at sea, which prompted me forward faster than I would normally have dared. I grasped at the sword's hilt on the wall, and it fell off in an instant, the weight surprisingly light in my hands. My eyes ghosted over the steal and gold filigree and I felt a rush of warmth in me, despite the cold stone walls and the chilling air.

She was mine; my old sword had found her way back to her master and as fate would have it, just at the 'opportune moment', as Sparrow would say. I felt the smile grow until I felt that it would break my face in half, and then turn into a heroic smirk of triumph. With my sword ahead of me, the shining hope acting like a beacon of light to guide me, I found the stairs, and as I began to climb, my heart began to sink.

The stairs were wooden, and had seen so much wet weather than they had begun to mold and rot. I felt my way past holes and missing steps, praying for all I was worth that the stairs would end soon. After another eternity had passed once and again, I found the door to the upper floors, and knocked it down with a single kick.

There was only one other door on the upper floors, and I ran to it with all the energy I had left. It was already open, and the room inside was dark. I strained to find a shape within the darkness, something that may have produced a scream. There was a clump of rags in one corner, a window with a cover, and a box. I strode over to the window and removed the cover, so the light from outside could aide in my search.

I looked over and felt my breathe catch in my throat. What I thought was a rag was actually a young captive. The poor thing was as thin as the dead, with only a rag for cover and matted, chocolate brown hair. For a moment, I thought it could be Sparrow, but the shape was too feminine to be the pirate I was currently searching to capture. I pressed my hand to the neck of the body, finding a slow pulse. My fingers came back covered with blood such a dark red color that it looked like the darkness in the room.

I knelt by the figure, laying my sword on the floor, and carefully turned her over. I still could not identify the girl, for the face was covered in dark red blood. The manner of the shirt and pants the girl wore as her only cover made me think she was once a proud pirate. The shirt looked to be hemmed in several places, like it was once too large to fit properly, and the girl in question cared enough about how she looked that she fixed it as best she could. Also, the tanned wear of her skin pointed towards a life spent primarily at sea, and the soles of her feet hinted at a normal lack of boots.

I guessed as well as I could at her age, being around the early twenties, which was much older than I took for her at first glance. She was too thin to have been brought to this place recently, and I estimated her arrival about a week or so ago. Just around the time I arrived back in port myself, actually.

Suddenly, I had to know who this mysterious pirate actually was. I felt a stone of dread sink into the lower pit of my stomach, which I ignored with all the power of my being. After locating the cleanest rag I could find, I used the end wipe at the blood on her face. After only part of the blood and grime was removed, I began to recognize the face, and my heart seemed to stop.

She… she was the pirate who risked her life to save me from the inevitable circumstance of death. She did not belong in the place, pirate or not. No one should harm a woman as this one had been. I felt courage rise through me again, accompanied with anger and hate. What man on earth would dare to do such a thing to a woman?

I froze when the sharp tip of a blade pierced my shirt and pressed lightly between my shoulder blades. I gripped at the hilt of my rapier, preparing to fight, when a voice, thick and sweet as honey, echoed from behind me.

"James, what pleasure it is that you are here. You must forgive me for not... cleaning up, but you gave me no warning to your arrival." The silky smooth voice held a mocking tone, and whatever feelings I ever had for the man were pressed into the back of my mind.

"Becket, would you care to explain why the girl who saved you from certain death is lying beaten at my feet?" I asked, my anger evident in the tone of my voice. Becket chuckled to himself, a harsh, grating chuckle that ate at one's sanity. Once, I would have deemed that little chuckle endearing, but his deeds of the night turned my mind red with rage.

"Norrington, do not question my actions. I do what I do for reasons that you would not understand. Please do not take it too harshly, James, but your mind is still too young and innocent to understand my ways of thinking." He spoke like he was talking to a child, someone with a small mind and an ill sense of understanding.

I spun around, Beckett's sword slicing a deep line in my back. I stood hunched over slightly, my sword crossed with his. My blood was not the only blood on his sword.

"I understand perfectly, m' lord. You are just a pirate hating, cynical, plotting madman with no sense of priority or honor. I feel as though I can no longer respect you, since you have deliberately injured a lady, be she a pirate or not. Now, if you'll excuse my rudeness, I have more important matters to attend to." I spat on his boot as an afterthought, before returning to the pirate's side. The adrenaline pumping through my system withheld any pain I might have been feeling.

I tensed as steal slid past my neck, pushing my head back to avoid being cut. I felt his hot breath in my ear and I grimaced at the tang of blood that was beginning to envelope me.

"Now, now. I think we have other things to attend to first, don't you agree, Admiral?" His voice had lost the honey in it, and I fidgeted in his grasp. I could hear the smile in his voice.

"Best not to resist, James. It will be over sooner if you just relax." I felt his cold hand press into my back, his nails digging sharply into my shirt and flesh. I gritted my teeth and forced my elbow back sharply, coming into contact with his chest. He stepped back, pulling his sword with him and barely scraping my neck. I turned, facing him, sword in hand. He was choking on the impact of my elbow, down on his knees.

I lowered my sword so it was level with his neck, letting the steel hover a hair's breathe from his skin. I felt a pang of guilt well up in my chest and I forced it back; this was no time to feel sorry for that awful man.

"By your leave, M' Lord." I spat, sheathing my sword. He did not move, and after a moment of watching him, I turned around once more. The pirate was bleeding badly and needed medical attention. I knelt by her, and with a whispered word of apology to her, I scooped her broken body into my arms. She let out a cry of pain, but that was it. Her body went limp in my arms, her head drooping to rest against my chest. I felt her heart beat deep in her bosom, the rhythm slow but stable.

It did not take long to carry the pirate girl back to my sleeping quarters. I charged Gillette with caring for her injuries while I took a stroll on the beach. I needed to calm my nerves and the roll of the open ocean was my one escape from the world I lived in. I watched the salt water lap at the boat hulls and the docks silently, letting the whisper of wind on water put my mind at rest.

This was a much needed break.