AN: cookie if anyone notices the blatant reference to the DVD commentary.
Dinah's knees felt weak and shaky beneath her skirt. She did her best to ignore them and concentrate on composing her facial features. She would not let the Commodore know how much her heart was racing—and it wasn't from an adrenaline rush in preparation for a fight, oh no, it was something else—and she certainly wouldn't let him know that she was bluffing. Her finger was poised on the trigger of the pistol, and it was indeed loaded, but her finger seemed to be frozen. She could not pull the trigger, not even if she had wanted to, and she didn't.
Fortunately she was able to hold her arm steady, aim dead level with his eyes. And right now she was pretty sure that she held the advantage. It had been fortunate that she'd managed to glimpse him in the street—how could she not? The man was wearing so much damned gold brocade he probably lit up—and he hadn't exactly been discreet lurking in the window and then following her upstairs. And that struck her as very out-of-character for the Commodore she had heard so much about and envisioned in her mind.
"Not another move, Commodore," she said, voice steady and gun steadier, "or that wig will cease to be so white."
Norrington's hand fell away from his sword and he extending his hands slightly, palms out in a look,-I-haven't-got-anything-to-kill-you-with-at- all gesture. Dinah did not lower her gun.
James swallowed as his eyes flickered between the hole at the end of the gun and her face. This was not going well at all. It wasn't how he had planned it—but how had he planned it? Just what were his expectations for coming up here, since he didn't seem to want to capture her and the thing that did keep crossing his mind, well, he certainly couldn't do that. He took a small step back. "I'll just be going then."
"No," said Dinah quickly. "I told you, don't move." A brief wave of anger stuck her. How stupid did he think she was? "If I let you go, you'll just return with more soldiers, and I can't kill you all. So you see, it's a bit of a problem for me."
"So am I just to stand here forever?" he asked.
Dinah considered it for a moment. "Step inside and shut the door. We wouldn't want anyone coming down the hall and seeing this little spectacle, would we? I doubt it would do anything good for your reputation."
Norrington stepped inside the room and pushed the door shut behind him. It closed with a soft, final click. Dinah still had the gun trained on his head.
The same thought hit both of them at the same time: now we are locked in here together. And neither of them felt particularly unhappy about the idea.
"How did you find me so quickly?" asked Dinah.
"Coincidence, I assure you."
She raised her eyebrows. It was enough to send a shiver down Norrington's spine.
Dinah's knees felt shakier every second. She was beginning to feel rather hot and flushed as well. Perhaps the rum hadn't been a good idea. It seemed to be going to her head, although she usually held her liquor better than this.
"I take it you were planning on capturing me single-handedly and throwing me in prison where I belong?" she said, hoping that the dizzy feeling would go away. Why was it so hot all of the sudden?
"You're a pirate," Norrington replied, deadpan. She looked a little pale, he noted.
"It's so easy for you to condemn me, isn't it?" she asked.
"You were going to steal that man's ship!"
"Doubtless he could've afforded another, and would've been compensated for his loss."
"That's beside the point."
"No, it isn't."
Damn, she was making this difficult. "You don't talk much like a pirate," he said. "And I've met quite a few."
"Hung quite a few is more like. My mother was a lady's maid in England before she came over. She could behave like a perfectly respectable woman, and taught me the same."
"Was your father her employer?" he said without thinking, for he couldn't think of any other reason why a respectable woman would abandon such a position and raise a pirate daughter.
Her eyes flashed angrily. "That was hardly gentlemanly, Commodore. And don't you pride yourself on being the epitome of propriety? My father, for your information, was a pirate. My mother got tired of being someone's servant and left England. She made Tortuga her destination because in her opinion, it was the only place where a woman of her social status could be anything other than a servant, and she was correct. She ran a tavern and did very well. And she wasn't an easy woman, I can tell you're thinking it. She married my father. Just because he was a pirate and she a barmaid doesn't mean they weren't good people."
My God, thought Norrington, that seemed to be the message pounded into his head every time he met up with a pirate lately. And, considering this particular pirate, he was beginning to hope—and believe—that it was true.
"So if you could have been a respectable woman, why didn't you become one?" he asked.
She stared at him thoughtfully, and then, slowly, lowered the hand holding the gun. Her arm hung by her side, pistol still in hand, and he had no doubts that if he did try to run, there would be a bullet in his back in a second.
"What could I have done as a so-called respectable woman? Been a servant here in Port Royal or another place like it? No, thank you, I don't think I'd like to go around taking orders from snobbery and cleaning up their messes. It's easy for you to look down on me, Commodore, and think that I have some blackened soul to become a pirate, but you had the fortunes of birth that I am lacking. You were born to a social class that allowed you to become an important member of the community, well to do and yes, respectable. Even if I had wanted to be a maid, I have no references, I came from Tortuga. I wouldn't find good work. My mother's tavern was burned in an accident, and it was no easy job to be a woman owning such a place. She had the connection of my father whereas I was alone. So what then, Commodore? Should I have just become a whore?"
"What about your father?" he asked.
"Dead, died on the seas fighting another pirate's ship. The kind of death he would have wanted."
He considered for a moment. "You have your own ship then?"
She flinched slightly. "No, I was a member of another man's crew."
"Then you served just as you would've served as a maid."
"I took orders from my captain, yes. But the crewmembers all ate the same food at the end of the day, and even the lowest deck swab may yet aspire to be a captain. Tell me, what maid in Port Royal could dream of becoming a high-status lady in town?"
"I'm afraid you've backed me into a corner," he said. "You've argued your case so eloquently. But tell me, have you a name?"
"Ah, yes, you'll want to read it out when you hang me. Dinah, Commodore, since you asked so nicely."
"Actually," said Norrington, who was beginning to feel like a bit of a heel for being the one who was supposed to hang the lovely lady, "I had no intention of capturing you when I came over here."
She raised her eyebrows incredulously.
"No, really. I was just going to see the blacksmith across the way, Will Turner. We're acquaintances, you see. And there you were, so I just..." he held out his hands. "You know the rest."
Dinah stared at him, knees quivering beneath her skirt. Damned knees, she thought angrily. The chances that he was telling the truth were miniscule, and yet she wanted to believe him so much.
"Get out," she said.
"What?" he asked, surprised.
"Get out. You can't just stand there forever, and I don't really want to shoot you. Either you'll be back in fifteen minutes with more soldiers or you won't, and I don't really care anymore. So get out."
James, slightly befuddled, turned and silently walked out, hoping that now he could just go home and forget Dinah and get on with his life tomorrow.
Dinah's knees felt weak and shaky beneath her skirt. She did her best to ignore them and concentrate on composing her facial features. She would not let the Commodore know how much her heart was racing—and it wasn't from an adrenaline rush in preparation for a fight, oh no, it was something else—and she certainly wouldn't let him know that she was bluffing. Her finger was poised on the trigger of the pistol, and it was indeed loaded, but her finger seemed to be frozen. She could not pull the trigger, not even if she had wanted to, and she didn't.
Fortunately she was able to hold her arm steady, aim dead level with his eyes. And right now she was pretty sure that she held the advantage. It had been fortunate that she'd managed to glimpse him in the street—how could she not? The man was wearing so much damned gold brocade he probably lit up—and he hadn't exactly been discreet lurking in the window and then following her upstairs. And that struck her as very out-of-character for the Commodore she had heard so much about and envisioned in her mind.
"Not another move, Commodore," she said, voice steady and gun steadier, "or that wig will cease to be so white."
Norrington's hand fell away from his sword and he extending his hands slightly, palms out in a look,-I-haven't-got-anything-to-kill-you-with-at- all gesture. Dinah did not lower her gun.
James swallowed as his eyes flickered between the hole at the end of the gun and her face. This was not going well at all. It wasn't how he had planned it—but how had he planned it? Just what were his expectations for coming up here, since he didn't seem to want to capture her and the thing that did keep crossing his mind, well, he certainly couldn't do that. He took a small step back. "I'll just be going then."
"No," said Dinah quickly. "I told you, don't move." A brief wave of anger stuck her. How stupid did he think she was? "If I let you go, you'll just return with more soldiers, and I can't kill you all. So you see, it's a bit of a problem for me."
"So am I just to stand here forever?" he asked.
Dinah considered it for a moment. "Step inside and shut the door. We wouldn't want anyone coming down the hall and seeing this little spectacle, would we? I doubt it would do anything good for your reputation."
Norrington stepped inside the room and pushed the door shut behind him. It closed with a soft, final click. Dinah still had the gun trained on his head.
The same thought hit both of them at the same time: now we are locked in here together. And neither of them felt particularly unhappy about the idea.
"How did you find me so quickly?" asked Dinah.
"Coincidence, I assure you."
She raised her eyebrows. It was enough to send a shiver down Norrington's spine.
Dinah's knees felt shakier every second. She was beginning to feel rather hot and flushed as well. Perhaps the rum hadn't been a good idea. It seemed to be going to her head, although she usually held her liquor better than this.
"I take it you were planning on capturing me single-handedly and throwing me in prison where I belong?" she said, hoping that the dizzy feeling would go away. Why was it so hot all of the sudden?
"You're a pirate," Norrington replied, deadpan. She looked a little pale, he noted.
"It's so easy for you to condemn me, isn't it?" she asked.
"You were going to steal that man's ship!"
"Doubtless he could've afforded another, and would've been compensated for his loss."
"That's beside the point."
"No, it isn't."
Damn, she was making this difficult. "You don't talk much like a pirate," he said. "And I've met quite a few."
"Hung quite a few is more like. My mother was a lady's maid in England before she came over. She could behave like a perfectly respectable woman, and taught me the same."
"Was your father her employer?" he said without thinking, for he couldn't think of any other reason why a respectable woman would abandon such a position and raise a pirate daughter.
Her eyes flashed angrily. "That was hardly gentlemanly, Commodore. And don't you pride yourself on being the epitome of propriety? My father, for your information, was a pirate. My mother got tired of being someone's servant and left England. She made Tortuga her destination because in her opinion, it was the only place where a woman of her social status could be anything other than a servant, and she was correct. She ran a tavern and did very well. And she wasn't an easy woman, I can tell you're thinking it. She married my father. Just because he was a pirate and she a barmaid doesn't mean they weren't good people."
My God, thought Norrington, that seemed to be the message pounded into his head every time he met up with a pirate lately. And, considering this particular pirate, he was beginning to hope—and believe—that it was true.
"So if you could have been a respectable woman, why didn't you become one?" he asked.
She stared at him thoughtfully, and then, slowly, lowered the hand holding the gun. Her arm hung by her side, pistol still in hand, and he had no doubts that if he did try to run, there would be a bullet in his back in a second.
"What could I have done as a so-called respectable woman? Been a servant here in Port Royal or another place like it? No, thank you, I don't think I'd like to go around taking orders from snobbery and cleaning up their messes. It's easy for you to look down on me, Commodore, and think that I have some blackened soul to become a pirate, but you had the fortunes of birth that I am lacking. You were born to a social class that allowed you to become an important member of the community, well to do and yes, respectable. Even if I had wanted to be a maid, I have no references, I came from Tortuga. I wouldn't find good work. My mother's tavern was burned in an accident, and it was no easy job to be a woman owning such a place. She had the connection of my father whereas I was alone. So what then, Commodore? Should I have just become a whore?"
"What about your father?" he asked.
"Dead, died on the seas fighting another pirate's ship. The kind of death he would have wanted."
He considered for a moment. "You have your own ship then?"
She flinched slightly. "No, I was a member of another man's crew."
"Then you served just as you would've served as a maid."
"I took orders from my captain, yes. But the crewmembers all ate the same food at the end of the day, and even the lowest deck swab may yet aspire to be a captain. Tell me, what maid in Port Royal could dream of becoming a high-status lady in town?"
"I'm afraid you've backed me into a corner," he said. "You've argued your case so eloquently. But tell me, have you a name?"
"Ah, yes, you'll want to read it out when you hang me. Dinah, Commodore, since you asked so nicely."
"Actually," said Norrington, who was beginning to feel like a bit of a heel for being the one who was supposed to hang the lovely lady, "I had no intention of capturing you when I came over here."
She raised her eyebrows incredulously.
"No, really. I was just going to see the blacksmith across the way, Will Turner. We're acquaintances, you see. And there you were, so I just..." he held out his hands. "You know the rest."
Dinah stared at him, knees quivering beneath her skirt. Damned knees, she thought angrily. The chances that he was telling the truth were miniscule, and yet she wanted to believe him so much.
"Get out," she said.
"What?" he asked, surprised.
"Get out. You can't just stand there forever, and I don't really want to shoot you. Either you'll be back in fifteen minutes with more soldiers or you won't, and I don't really care anymore. So get out."
James, slightly befuddled, turned and silently walked out, hoping that now he could just go home and forget Dinah and get on with his life tomorrow.