Chapter 5: Over The Waves

Notes:

Movies AU, still not mine, not making any money, for funsies only

James stood by the window in the officers quarters he had been given and watched the sea. The grey skies and choppy water mirrored his own turbulent thoughts. Since leaving Nassau the day before, he had been kept in this room rather than the brig but given no explanation for why he had been taken, where they were going, or why he was being treated relatively well.

Admittedly he was rather curious as to their destination and the purpose the Royal Navy could have in kidnapping him. At first he had thought it might be his father, but given that they had not left the Caribbean, that did not seem likely. By his best guess they were sailing south, not north toward England. And if he was being dragged before the firing squad for desertion, they would not be keeping him in such relatively lavish living quarters; he would be in the brig. They had taken all his weapons, including his gift for Charlotte, so clearly he was not trusted. The meals he had been brought had included no cutlery, so he had been eating with his hands. There was nothing whatsoever that could even be remotely construed as a weapon, unless he intended to fight his way to freedom using a chair. He would be lucky to get past the guard at the door at this rate.

Not that it mattered for the moment. If he escaped now, it was likely he would die at sea. And that was if he even managed to get far enough away before they caught him. Even the chances of rescue were slim. On the off chance that Charlotte managed to work out where he was going, and if she managed to coax some speed from the sails, the odds were she would not catch up to the HMS Defiance before his fate caught up to him. He would have to rescue himself when the time came, then work out the best way back to his wife and the Cutlass.

Behind him, he heard the door opening and assumed it was the cabin boy, Peter, with his meal. The boy - if he had to guess, he would say Peter was around 15 years old - seemed nice enough. He suspected they had given the cabin boy the duty of bringing him his food because they preferred to avoid someone they looked down on. Peter, however, did not look down on him. He was polite to a fault, though had yet to divulge any information. But he had potential. Perhaps the boy could even be persuaded to assist him in his escape.

"Mr. Norrington," he greeted, as he set the tray of mouldy food down, glancing at James's tattooed hand when he backed up.

James grimaced at the lack of title. "Peter," he greeted, clamping down on the urge to correct him. He was beginning to understand how Sparrow felt. If anyone ever found out….

"Brung your bread and cheese," the boy announced, gesturing to the tray.

"Thank you, Peter," he said, smiling. "Still the same answer?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Norrington," the boy apologised. "I can't tell you nothing."

James leaned casually against the table. "Not even where we're going?"

The boy looked nervously back at the door, his jaw working. "I'm not sure if…."

"It's alright, Peter," he assured him with a kind smile as he picked up a piece of the bread and picked off the mould. "I won't force it." The boy walked to the door, put his hand on the handle, opened his mouth, and hesitated. "What is it?"

"What did you do, Mr. Norrington? Why are they all...why do they look at you like that?"

James put the bread down and looked directly at him. Honesty seemed the best policy. "I deserted my post and became a privateer."

"Why?" The boy was incredulous. As though he could not comprehend a world where anyone would leave the Royal Navy for any reason.

In fairness, he used to be that boy. At the same age the Royal Navy was everything to him. "I decided that the orders I was being given weren't worth hanging my morality, as my wife would say." He smiled at the thought of what Charlotte would say - he was fairly certain she would not be so polite.

"What could possibly be so bad in the Royal Navy?" Peter's eyebrows knit together as though he were truly struggling with the concept.

James pressed his lips into a firm line as he recalled watching Davy Jones plough through pirate ships, dreading that he would see Charlotte's body amongst the debris. "I was nearly responsible for the death of the woman who would become my wife. I was responsible for the deaths of...many friends and colleagues…." Shaking his head to clear it, he looked back up at the boy. "Not everything is as it seems, Peter. You'd do well to learn that."

"Yes, sir," the boy said with a nod.

Half-heartedly he grinned to himself as he resumed picking the mould off his bread. It was no 'Captain Norrington', but at least he seemed to be getting through to the boy on some level. The boy was still standing at the door, though. "Was there something else?"

"It's...your...your tattoo," he stuttered, pointing at his hand.

James smiled. "What about it?"

"Never seen nobody with a tattoo on their hand before. What is it?"

"My wedding ring," he replied, lifting his hand with the tattoo facing out for Peter to inspect.

"Funny kind of ring, innit?" he asked, taking a step closer to inspect it. "Is Charlotte your wife, then?"

"She is," James confirmed, grinning as he remembered how she had reacted on seeing it for the first time. "Charlotte didn't want a ring, insisted the tattoo was more romantic since it can't be lost or stolen."

The boy blinked. "A lady with a tattoo?"

"I think she would balk at being called a lady and would insist on being called 'captain'," he laughed. "But yes, she does have a matching tattoo with my name on it."

Peter wrinkled his nose. "So why'd you get one?"

James shrugged. "I love my wife and I wanted to show her how much. And I'm happy for the world to know that."

The boy frowned and his features pinched together. "You said she's the captain? I thought you were?"

"We both are," he clarified. "We share the captaincy of our ship."

They hit a wave and Peter nearly went off his feet. When he regained his footing, he cleared his head, then went quickly to the door. "I got to go, Captain Norrington."

As the boy scurried away, James smiled to himself. Finally.

Charlie handed the wheel to Joanna as she stepped to the railing overlooking the dock. Up ahead the seas were becoming choppy and the clouds were rolling in. They were in for some bad weather. Nothing the Cutlass could not handle, by the look of things. She snorted a laugh, thinking how perfectly it suited her mood.

She barked a command down to the deck to tie down everything that could be tied and prepare for bad weather, then descended the steps and entered their cabin. With the incoming weather, it would do no good to check the navigational charts on deck. Growling at the dress still on the floor, she propped the charts open on James's desk and began checking the route they had decided on. If the weather became too bad, they might need to go to port, so it might be best not to go too far out to sea. But by the same token, she did not want to risk adding too much time to their trip. If his father had wished him dead as a boy for the simple crime of being rescued by a pirate, who knew what he would do to a fully grown man who deserted his post. Hopefully James would tell them about their letters of marque and that would be enough to stay his execution until she got there.

She grimaced at the thought.

Perhaps there was a way to coax some more speed from the old galleon.

Suddenly she stabbed one of her daggers into the desk with a growl that quickly turned into an hysterical giggle when she pictured her husband's reaction to the damage. Somehow she doubted he would be surprised, but could practically feel his exasperation. He would probably try to cover it up with some sort of decoration. Too proper for any imperfection in his desk, he was. Good lord, she missed him and it had only been a little over a day, at her best guess. She had never been great with that, but on next to no sleep, her ability to judge the passage of time had certainly not improved.

With a sigh, she slid down into his chair, leaving the dagger where it was and staring at the maps and charts laid out.

When the door opened, she did not even bother to look up.

"Oh, good," Joanna muttered. "I'm glad you got the desk before it got us."

Charlie smirked without turning to look at her friend.

"It's been a day and a half since we left Nassau," the other woman sighed. "Have you slept at all?"

Charlie knit her eyebrows together, the smirk slowly fading away. "How can I? James is out there, his father - who, by the by, is an absolute asshole - has him. The man wished him dead when he was only six years old because he was ashamed that James was saved by a pirate. Six! What kind of man is that?"

"Definitely an asshole," Joanna muttered, leaning against the desk.

"What if he doesn't care about our letters of marque?"

Joanna arched an eyebrow. "You mean what if he illegally punishes your husband for crimes for which the crown has issued a pardon?"

Charlie worked her jaw for a few moments, then Joanna continued.

"We're maybe half a day behind them. We're pushing the sails too, so it's likely far less," she assured her. "We'll catch up in time and worse comes to worst, we can't trade at the port in Anguilla."

A wry grin twisted Charlie's face. "Somehow that doesn't seem like it's the worst case scenario."

"No," Joanna agreed, deadpan. "The worst case scenario is the Gods themselves descend from the heavens, judge us all unworthy, and decide to cleanse the world with fire."

"I -," she began eloquently. When nothing else came out, she shook her head to clear it. "Alright, point taken." She sighed and ran a hand across her jaw. "I'm still not sure I can sleep just yet, though. What if I promise to make an attempt after we've passed through the storm?"

Joanna pursed her lips. "Don't suppose I'll get a better offer," she grumbled.

"Not likely," Charlie agreed, smiling sadly.

"How about we see if we can't use this storm to our advantage, then, aye?"

That got her attention. Charlie quirked an eyebrow in question.

"We don't have to be as, shall we say…'adventurous' as Jack Sparrow, per se, but," her First Mate drew out the word, "it's likely there'll be some high winds. Why not use that to our advantage?"

Charlie grinned. "You know you're desperate when you start emulating Jack on any level," she laughed.

Joanna returned her smile and reached out to toy with the dagger still stuck in the desk. "You know he'll hate this, right?"

"It's not like I have many options for taking out my frustrations," Charlie grumbled as she reached out and yanked the dagger from the desk. She twirled it in her hands, fingering the edge of the blade.

"You do realise," Joanna began, pushing off the desk, "that if you murder anyone in the Royal Navy, especially Admiral Norrington, you'll negate any pardons for us all."

"What about just a small stab wound? Nothing serious," she muttered as she stood to follow. "Or maybe a black eye?"

"You can explain it to your husband, then," Joanna laughed as she led the way back out onto the deck.

Charlie chuckled lightly and resheathed the dagger. The rain was now pouring down in force on the deck and she pulled her hat down tightly on her head, shouting orders to the crew over the storm. Joanna was right - she would need to sleep after they pulled through the storm. But for now she was determined to get her husband back. She just hoped he knew she was coming and did not do anything stupid before she got there.