Madness
Davy Jones had been summoned to meet with Lord Beckett. The Dutchman's Captain stormed across the deck of the Endeavour, glaring murderously at everyone who looked his way. Groves clenched his teeth and cringed inwardly as the fish-like eyes faced him coldly.
"Where is Cutler Beckett?" Jones demanded.
"Right this way," Groves said, then turned and quickly led Jones down to Beckett's private dining room. Beckett was already inside, serving tea for himself and Will Turner, and waiting for Jones with exaggerated patience.
Jones stomped into the room. "I cannot be summoned like some mongrel pup!" he declared.
"Apparently you can," Beckett replied.
"I do not take orders from the likes of you! If not for your precious Mr. Mercer I'd be the captain of my own ship."
Groves had turned to walk away, but paused near the wall outside the doorway as he overheard the conversation from inside the room.
"What of the Admiral?" Beckett asked. Norrington was to be in command of the Dutchman, not Mercer.
"Admiral Norrington is dead," Jones spat. "I killed him myself."
Groves froze mid-step, feeling his chest turn to ice, hoping desperately that he had heard wrong.
"Too bad," Beckett replied. "He was valuable."
Groves suddenly felt like he couldn't breathe. A slow, cold dullness saturated his mind as the weight of Jones' words settled in. Groves tried not to believe it, but why would Jones say the Admiral was dead if he wasn't?
"God, no," Groves said. Because he'd always thought that he, Norrington, and Gillette would be together if any or all of them ever fell to evil forces.
The voices inside Beckett's dining room continued, but Groves couldn't hear what they were saying. The voices sounded like dull thumps coming from the other side of a frozen, impenetrable wall. Beckett. Groves felt his hands start to tremble, either with grief or from the sudden anger that nearly overwhelmed him when he thought of Lord Beckett's reaction to the news of Norrington's death. He hadn't been surprised, disappointed, or even pleased. He had simply been informed. He dismissed the death - the murder - of his "valuable" officer as a mere annoyance.
Groves forced himself to take a deep breath, slowly savoring the air that brought him back to reality. Footsteps from inside the room were coming towards the hallway, and Groves turned and left swiftly, refusing to encounter either Jones or Beckett, and feeling that he wouldn't have anything pleasant to say to Turner, either.
Lieutenant Peck met him at the end of the corridor. "Everything all right?" Peck asked.
"No," Groves said. "Everything is not all right. Nothing's all right."
"Did something happen?"
"Norrington's dead. Jones killed him."
"Norrington?" Peck blurted, surprised. "Why?"
"I don't know. Beckett certainly didn't give a damn, so Jones didn't elaborate." Groves moved past the other man. "I need a drink," he said. "Dear God, I need a drink." He went to his own cabin, vaguely aware that Peck followed him, and went straight to the bottle of brandy he kept on his small desk. He stared at the bottle for a moment, tempted to drink straight from it, the whole bottle, to drink until he couldn't tell the sky from the sea. But he just filled a glass, emptied it in one swallow, then glanced over at Peck standing awkwardly in the doorway. "If you're joining me, help yourself."
"No," Peck said. "I just didn't want to leave you alone."
Groves refilled the glass. "I'm fine," he said. "It's the world that's gone mad." He drained the glass again, then tossed it carelessly to the desk. It landed on its side and rolled off the edge of the desk, then hit the floor and smashed. Groves looked down at the broken glass for a moment, then cursed and kicked the desk chair as he turned towards the back of the cabin. He covered his face and just stood still for a long moment, trying to make sense of the anger in his head.
Davy Jones had killed Norrington. That's what Jones did. He either killed people, or made their lives a living hell. Jones was nothing but a heartless tyrant. He owed no loyalty to the Admiral, so he should have no reason to take anything but satisfaction from having killed him. But surely Beckett couldn't consent to the Admiral's murder. He certainly hadn't ordered it, as he had the Governor's. Even then, it would have been clear that Beckett was only using Norrington to advance his own power. But the cool, emotionless dismissal proved that Beckett had never cared one way or the other whether his "valuable" officer lived or died or turned pirate or...
"Think of your sister," Peck said, from the doorway.
Emma. Gregory. And their unborn child. Groves felt the dark thoughts fade, and he dropped his hands. The anger retreated, hiding itself somewhere in his mind behind the thoughts of his sister and her family. Groves suddenly felt tired, drained, and a bit woozy from the brandy.
"You've got someone to fight for."
Groves turned around, facing Peck again. "I've got someone who cares whether or not I'm killed."
"That too."
Groves sighed and shook his head in frustration. "I won't say any more. For their sake." He took the bottle of brandy from his desk and gave it to Lieutenant Peck. "You'd better keep this. The last thing I need is to be staggering drunk tomorrow, and I will be if I keep it."
Peck took the bottle and nodded. "Just think of Emma," he said. "And I'll be thinking of my Mary and our little one."
"I lost control," Groves admitted. "I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry too. I know Admiral Norrington was your friend."
Groves shook his head. "No," he said. "James Norrington was my friend. I'm not sure I ever knew who Admiral Norrington was."
As always, reviews are much appreciated! Thanks to all of you who keep reading! And yes, I know it wasn't Davy Jones who killed Norrington... I warned you in my summary I was taking a few liberties with the plot.