READ THE FOLLOWING FIRST BEFORE READING: This story is not my creation, but of a future Fanfiction author, ForeverBloomingRose. So, whatever credit you give goes to that author, not me. I'm just the one who put it up because ForeverBloomingRose is currently busy and can't get an account at this time.
Anyway, ENJOY!!!!
"Mother, Mother! Someone's at the door!"
The young boy with light brown hair ran up to his mother, smiling with excitement, almost dancing up and down.
Elizabeth Turner smiled at her son, and rumpled his hair.
"Alright. Let's go see who it is."
He took her hand and they ran to the door. Elizabeth took a moment to smooth down her hair, and opened the door.
She felt the blood drain from her face, and her mouth opened in shock.
"May I come in?" Serious gray eyes probed hers for a moment.
"Yes- do come in." Elizabeth stumbled backwards, and let the man in. She felt numb as he removed his hat and hung in on the peg just inside the door. "My husband will be home soon if you need to talk to him."
"No. I just…" the eyes shifted from her, to her boy and back again; the man licked his lips. "I…I should go."
He turned, and was about to pick up his hat and stride back out the door into the summer air when Elizabeth grabbed his arm.
"James."
He turned so sharply that his chestnut brown hair stung his cheek, left an angry red mark. He seemed to tremor under her hand.
"Stay."
Meanwhile, the young boy looked on in curiosity. "Mother?" He questioned, his freckled nose wrinkling.
Elizabeth turned, and managed, "Son, this is a friend of mine, a friend I've known since I was a very young girl. His name is James Norrington, and you should call him by his title Commodore-"
"Norrington will suffice."
Elizabeth turned, still flustered. "What?"
"The young man may simply call me Norrington."
"Good." The boy piped up. "I don't think I can pronounce…com…con…cop…"
The corners of Norrington's mouth turned up, but his eyes remained heavy and haunted. Elizabeth was struck by the fact that although there were deep grooves around his eyes, there was not a gray hair on his head. It made him look very old and very young at the same time.
"Come see my boat!" The boy exclaimed suddenly, tired of the silence. He grabbed the hand of James, and nearly dragged him into the parlor. Elizabeth hurried after them, anxious.
The boy, trembling with excitement, was telling the guest that it had taken him a week to make the boat, and that he planned what it would look like before he built it…
"Don't overwhelm him." Elizabeth whispered. James' eyes darted in her direction, but he tried not to give any implication that he had heard her. His hearing had gotten sharper than it used to be.
The boy laid the boat in his superior's hand, trying to control himself. He was very excited. He knew that his mother had many adventures when she was young, but he had never met anyone that had been involved. He hoped the man – Norrington, he reminded himself – liked the boat. He watched as James Norrington studied the boat, made from a block of wood, a few metal scraps, and string. He was suddenly aware of the fact that the sails bore a faded flower pattern on them, due to the fact that he had sneaked the fabric from his mother's scrap bag. He was ashamed of the fact now that he knew that the sharp gray eyes would notice.
James took a finger, and touched a place next to a tiny rigging line.
"You only need one more line, right here." He mused. "Other than that, you have a perfect fore-and-aft rigging." Then, turning to the boy, he added, "You must study ships a great deal."
"Oh yes." The boy nodded, his hair flopping in his eyes. "I want to be a sailor one day. Are you a sailor?"
James didn't answer. The boy took this as a 'no' and went on.
"It doesn't matter. I'll sail in the Navy, and get treasure, and I'll have a ship all to myself, on the sea."
"A ship on the sea alone can be lonely. I've seen them before."
"Oh." There was a pause.
"What's the name of your ship?"
"I don't know yet. I was going to name it after some ships I heard the older boys talk about at school one time. They were…Endeavor, or The Flying Dutchman, or perhaps The Black Pearl. Do you like any?"
"They're all very fine names. Legendary ships." James answered.
"Thank you, Mr. Norrington. I think I shall have to contemplate a while longer."
James almost laughed at the boy's poor pronunciation of 'contemplate' but something stopped him from doing so. Perhaps it was because the twinkling brown eyes were watching his every move.
A door slammed.
"That's father, I think. He said he was going to get home early today. Stay here while I go see."
James Norrington felt uneasy. He could only hope that the master of the Turner household didn't turn him out. He was painfully aware of the worn places in his dilapidated uniform, of the fact that he was not dressed fashionably. He sat uncomfortably, fingering the tiny boat, and waited, bracing himself for the worst.
The minute Will Turner saw his wife's pale face he knew something was wrong.
"Elizabeth? What is it?"
"It's…" she sounded near to tears. "Will, it's James. James…"
"What?"
"Norrington. He's back."
Will's chocolate brown eyes widened. "Norrington? I thought…"
"It's been long enough, Will." Will thought a moment, and pursed his lips.
"Elizabeth. You knew this would happen, didn't you." It was a statement, not a question.
"I guessed." Elizabeth answered meekly. "I only guessed."
"What are we going to do?" Will swallowed.
"Why don't we let him stay?"
"Stay?" Will's brow wrinkled.
"It won't be for long, and you know that." Elizabeth was almost indignant.
"Fine. He stays." Will sawed his lower lip between his teeth.
"Thank you." Elizabeth felt her cheeks color.
"Father's home!" The boy ran to Will and smiled.
Will rumpled his son's hair; smiling ruefully, glad not to be arguing with his wife any longer.
"Aren't you going to meet Mr. Norrington? Mother said he was a friend of hers when she was a girl, and-"
"Yes. We've met before."
"He said my ship was nearly perfect, and I only am one rigging rope off, and Father do you have any string…?"
"Slow down." Will put a hand on his son's shoulder. "We'll all go into the parlor and be good hosts."
Norrington jumped, then scrambled to his feet as the family entered the room. He suddenly felt as if he didn't belong in the cozy home. He belonged elsewhere.
"Hello." Will nodded curtly at James.
James bowed, straight and from the waist. "Master Turner, thank you for your hospitality."
"Just Will."
"Just James, then." He straightened, and ran a hand through his hair, further disheveling his look. There was a silence between them all.
"I'm hungry." The boy piped up.
James Norrington had never been so glad to hear silence broken.
"Yes, let's go have tea." Elizabeth said smoothly, although it was four in the afternoon, she was eager to break the discomfort.
They sat around the dining room table, Will at the head, and Norrington discreetly placed himself at the foot, hoping to go unnoticed.
"Do you want anything to eat?" Elizabeth asked him gently. He seemed engrossed in the tablecloth pattern, tracing it with his finger.
"James?"
His head snapped up. "Oh. Yes."
Elizabeth went to the kitchen, brewed a pot of coffee, and got out some teacakes. Thinking of Norrington, she added several more to the plate.
"Here." She put the cakes in the center of the table, and poured each adult a cup of coffee. She gave her son a glass of milk.
James eyed the coffee like he had never seen anything to compare it to before.
"Go ahead." Elizabeth urged.
Will picked up two cakes, put them on his plate, and took a swig of the coffee.
Suddenly, James Norrington picked up the mug, and took a tentative sip. Then another. Then he gulped.
Elizabeth had never seen anyone eat with the ferocity that James did then. He ate a dozen cakes, and four cups of coffee. Elizabeth excused herself, and brought back some cold meat from the night before.
James ate that without a pause. Elizabeth ran into the kitchen, and brought back an orange. James bolted it down that as well, seeming to relish it. He ate quickly, without pausing, washing down especially large mouthfuls with coffee. Finally, he sat back with a sigh.
"Sorry."
"No, no it's fine, you're a guest." Elizabeth gathered up the plates, and set them in the kitchen. She was still amazed by how he had eaten. 'He must have been starving,' she thought.
When she came back, her son was telling James about his violin, and James seemed to hang on his every word.
"Son, you have some arithmetic practice to do, don't you?" She reminded gently.
He scowled at her, but got out his school things and began to draw out sums on his chalkboard.
"What are you working on?" The gray eyes scanned over his books.
"Multiplication. I hate it."
"You have to multiply to navigate." James said.
"You know how to navigate?" The boy looked up, eyes bright. James shrugged.
"A little bit. Do you have paper?"
The boy got him a sheet. James sat, and took the ink quill from him.
"Say your longitude is thirty-six degrees. How do you find your latitude only knowing your longitude?"
The boy shrugged.
"Like this."
Even Will sat down to watch when James dipped his pen for the sixth time. He never spoke to explain, but simply let them watch him work the problem. He finally finished, and circled his answer.
"There."
The boy's eyes widened. "You're fast."
"Thank you. I've had lots of practice multiplying."
"Could a sailor do calculations anywhere? Even to the end of the world?"
The gray eyes, which had grown a tad warmer, suddenly had the light snuffed from them. To himself, James murmured, "It's a long, long way to there."
"Could you?"
"I suppose." James stood, and handed the boy his slate. "Here. Finish your work."
The boy eyed him with a respect so high it was almost worship, and turned to his work; concentrating so hard he nearly chewed through his lip.
"Father?"
"I'll help." Will sighed and bent over the slate with his son.
James sat in the parlor while the boy finished his work. He spied the piano.
"May I?"
No one answered him, so he sat, and played.
Elizabeth started as a vaguely familiar melody drifted from the parlor. She followed the sound, and peaked into the parlor.
James was sitting at the piano, eyes closed, swaying gently in time to the music. Suddenly he stopped, and whirled, eyes meeting hers.
"I-"
"It's-"
"Sorry, I-"
"Fine, no…"
They stopped.
"I couldn't resist."
"It's fine. I…can you still play that one song you would play when I was learning to dance? I love that song."
He shook his head, eyes sad. "I've forgotten almost everything I used to know. Sorry. I still enjoy playing what I can."
"I'm finished!" the boy walked into the room, a smile wrinkling his nose. Will followed him. The boy darted out of the room, and darted back in, carrying a small violin.
"I can play a dance." He said, looking up at James expectantly. "Can you dance?"
"I don't know a gentleman who can't." James replied.
"Father can't dance too well." The boy stated bluntly. "Can you dance well?"
"If I can remember."
"Try." The boy struck up a merry tune, wincing whenever he hit a sour note, which he did often.
James, forced into dancing, sighed, set his mouth in a line, and bowed to Elizabeth. She curtsied, and then they danced.
James was clumsy at first, but then he remembered more steps, and slipped into the dance. He was surprised by how good of a partner Elizabeth was.
When the boy set down his violin, James and Elizabeth bowed to each other again, and the dance was over. Elizabeth was flushed and panting, but James showed no sign of his exertion. Even his breathing was still steady.
"You're a better dancer than I remember." He admitted.
"You as well." Elizabeth responded.
James shrugged. "I didn't remember all of the steps, and, to be honest, I was never one to wear out dancing shoes."
They stood awkwardly for a moment, and then Will clapped twice, politely.
"How was my playing?" They boy looked up at Norrington, expectant.
"Very good." He replied. "You can play far better than I can dance."
The boy smiled, and put away his violin.
Just then, the clock in the hall chimed six. Elizabeth was surprised at how fast the time had gone.
James appeared agitated. He walked over to the window, and opened the curtain, glancing at the position of the sun. He hissed between his teeth.
"What's wrong?"
"Son, don't bother him." Elizabeth gripped her son by the shoulders.
"May I go outside?" James threw Elizabeth a desperate look.
"Yes." Elizabeth nodded at him, and felt her heart squeeze as he darted out the door without another word.
"Mother, what's wrong?"
"Just…leave him alone."
Elizabeth's grip slipped, and without a word, her son wriggled away from her. "Son, come back here!"
He disobeyed her, and was out the door. Elizabeth, angry, went out after him, and felt Will's presence behind her. "Son…"
She stopped abruptly, so that Will almost rammed into her from behind.
James was sitting on the ground, his boots beside him, his knees drawn up to his chest, his chin on his knees. His feet were bare. Her son sat beside him, unspeaking. His feet were bare as well.
"James?" Elizabeth was inexplicably possessed by the desire to weep.
"I like the feel of the grass." He said, not even turning to look at her. He ran his fingertips against the ground, stroking the green shoots between his fingers.
"I do too." Her son put in, roughly petting the grass as well, then suddenly tearing up a handful and releasing it into the wind.
Will looked at the son, then down at his watch. "Son, it's time to come in and start quieting down. It will be your bedtime soon."
"No, oh please may I stay up?" The boy turned and scowled at his father.
"You should go to bed." James agreed with Will.
"Oh no." The boy wrinkled his forehead. "Please-please?"
Elizabeth saw Norrington sigh heavily, and then he shook his head. "Do as your father says."
"Alright." The boy stood and brushed the grass off himself. "Will you be back tomorrow? I didn't even get to hear anything about you."
"I'm a friend of your mother's, that's all. No, I won't be back tomorrow. My ship weighs anchor tonight. I'll be gone before morning."
"You're a sailor?" The boy's eyes widened. "Why didn't you tell me? I wanted to hear all about sailing, and, and…I wanted to hear what adventures you've been in, and you never told me. And you're a sailor! What's it like?"
"It's awful."
"No! Sailing isn't awful, you can't say that, that's…what are you on the ship?"
"The Captain." Norrington smiled bitterly. "I wish I could be anything else."
The boy, confused, said, "But…" Then he turned, and ran into the house. Will followed him, and turned to Elizabeth. She nodded, and they both knew: they would tell him, later, after he had calmed down. Then Will went into the house.
James and Elizabeth were left alone on the lawn. James began to put on his socks.
"He'll never like me again." He said quietly, pulling on a boot, jamming it onto his foot with a coarse violence that greatly surprised her.
"It's just a phase he's going through." Elizabeth said, "He'll grow out of wanting to be a sailor, he's grown out of wanting to be a tiger, and a teacher, and a soldier…"
"He may not grow out of wanting to be a sailor. Especially with the blood of a pirate in him."
The quiet words were not meant as an insult, but Elizabeth felt her cheeks sting anyway.
James glanced at the setting sun, and stood. "I should go."
"Why did you do it?"
He turned to look at her, gray eyes glittering like pieces of flint. "Do what?"
"Stab the heart. Take the place of Davy Jones. Save us all. Let two pirates go free." Elizabeth ducked her head. She heard James sigh, the sound rattling in his hollow chest.
"Because I didn't think of what I was condemning myself to. I thought of how you would be free."
Elizabeth felt a terrible ache in her throat. "James."
"I didn't want fighting." He sighed. "The crews of The Endeavor, The Black Pearl, and The Flying Dutchman were all spared because I knew I had to choose."
"I'm sorry."
They were in the holding cell, and then James was there, his eyes dark in his unusually pale and drawn face.
"I'm choosing a side."
They followed him; climbed over to The Empress, and when Elizabeth turned back to see if he was behind her, he was gone. She thought of starting back across the rope, when there was the sound of two shrieks from the other ship, and suddenly she saw a figure tumble to the deck. But the other scream went on, climbing into a horrible sound that left ringing in her ears. She hadn't recognized the voice at first; it had been so distorted, but then…
"James!" She turned to the pirate next to her. "James, it's James, I have to go back…"
She sat, numb, while trying with no avail to block out the horrific cries from The Flying Dutchman by clapping her hands over her ears, trembling when that didn't work and she could still hear.
The shriek ceased abruptly. Someone from The Empress was behind her; they shot the ropes, cutting their boat free from The Dutchman. And she had remained on the pirate ship, helpless, as they sailed away.
She sighed, shakily, his scream haunting her memory.
"Do…do you have a crew?"
"The crew of Davy Jones had no debt or obligation to me. They were free to go, or to stay aboard with me as their new captain, if they wanted to. I have one first mate. No one else."
"Bootstrap?" Elizabeth whispered.
"Bootstrap."
A silence. James Norrington ran a self-conscious hand down the front of his tattered uniform, aware of the sixteen-inch scar beneath it on his chest.
"James?"
"Yes?"
"I never said this. Thank you."
She couldn't bring herself to tell him what she was thankful for, she trusted he knew. There was a pause. He swallowed. They both watched the glowing red-orange ball in the sky as it got lower and lower.
"Elizabeth…" He was trembling. He reached for her hand, and took it in his own, tightening his fingers gently around hers. "I know I'm a fool and a sinner for this, but I still love you."
Silence. James raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it, his whole body shaking.
Silence.
"Oh James," She cried, the tears choking her, "You didn't…Did you….Did you think I'd be waiting for you…Oh…" She fought against the tears sliding down her cheeks. He had come back for her, when she had nearly forgotten him. She had remembered him at first; he had been a sharp pain in her stomach, a nagging soreness to remember. She had hurt. Calm, collected James had done something foolish and rash. For her. She had never thought that she would hurt if he was gone, but she had. She realized that the wound had healed over time, much like the one left from the death of her father. And so, she had forgotten him. And now…James had thought she had waited for him.
He dropped her hand from his mouth, but still held it in his own.
"No." He looked at her, tried to smile, and failed. His chest heaved, and he bit his lip savagely.
"You hoped though, didn't you?" She sobbed. "You…thought that just maybe, I would be waiting…oh James, I'm so sorry…" She wanted so badly to comfort him somehow, but she couldn't think of how to. She extended her hand to touch his shoulder, but thought better of it, and lowered her hand. She was suddenly sorry she had done so.
"No. I know you too well. I'm happy for you. I didn't want you to wait for me." He smiled at her, so sadly, his jaw trembling. He glanced up at the sun again, eyes glassy. "I have to go." He dropped her hand, but she grabbed his arm, and he turned back around.
Without knowing why, her mouth was on his. She felt the salty tang of tears between their lips, hers as cool as ice, his burning as if with fever. His hands crept to her shoulders, caressed them for a moment, and then he shoved her violently away, and the tears were finally running from his eyes. He wheeled, and ran.
Elizabeth suddenly remembered something, called for him to wait, dashed into the house and returned. When she was back, it was too late.
He was gone.
And he had forgotten his hat.
She sat on the lawn and cried. Then Will was there, Will had his arms around her, soothing her, Will was kissing her, and she felt ashamed because she had just kissed another man.
When her sobs had passed, Will helped her to stand.
"I want to go down to the docks." She hiccupped, "Please."
Without another word, they both ran, as fast and hard as the man running to meet his deadline, least his carelessness should cost him his life, immortal or not.
They reached the dock, panting, just as the sun was low on the horizon.
The Flying Dutchman was there, floating on the water, almost seeming to glimmer. The gangplank had been drawn up, and Norrington and Bootstrap were weighing anchor, straining and heaving, lunging against the weight.
"James!" Elizabeth screamed, "James!" She waved his hat furiously, trying to catch his attention. It wouldn't bother him to sail without it, but there was something deeper that needed resolving.
They either didn't hear, or chose not to. Elizabeth yelled again, and then Will caught her arm, looked her in the eye, and gently shook his head. Elizabeth lowered the hat, understanding and silent.
The sun met the water. Elizabeth and Will had to look away because of the reflection and glare. Suddenly, there was a last strong burst of light in the sky, a final beam of sunshine, and the sun had finally set.
When they were able to look again, The Flying Dutchman was gone.
The twilight had fallen abruptly. The wind moaned through the trees and struck the sea, tousling the waves. If Elizabeth could hear correctly, the wind also carried back the echoes of a song, one that had been played in her own parlor only hours before. It was a soft, gently lamenting song, like a lost soul grieving for something it would never have, but would love anyway.
Will put an arm about his shivering wife.
"Elizabeth, let's go home."
She leaned into his arm, sighing, brushing the salty streaks of tears off her face, still trying to even out her breathing from the sprint they had just made.
"Do you think that Jack will remember him?" She asked quietly.
"Our son? Remember Norrington? Of course he will."
"James." Elizabeth corrected softly.
"James." Will confirmed. "Elizabeth, let's go home."
She heeded this time, and they began the long trudge back to their home. Overhead, in the inky sky, the stars were out, marking the ending of another day…just a single day.