Chapter 7: Ye Have Locked Yerselves Up

Notes:

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

Reunited and it feels so good. Sorry, I'll stop singing.

Thank you to all who've read, reviewed, and left favs/follows - I appreciate you all :)

James sighed to himself as he picked a small spider off his trouser leg and flicked it across the room. It was nearly the evening, which meant yet another course of mouldy bread for his meal would be arriving soon. He had hoped his father would at least consent to feed him better, but alas he was stuck with the same as the rest of the prisoners. At least on the Cutlass the bread was more bread than mould and they had some fruit.

Another sigh escaped him as he stood and began pacing. He knew Charlotte had spent her fair share of time in cells and wondered how she managed to do it without going insane. He smirked to himself, thinking about how she would correct him - more insane.

A few of the prisoners were gathering at one of the windows and muttering something. Likely an ill-conceived escape attempt.

"Not likely a Royal Navy ship," one of the prisoners said, just loud enough for James to hear.

That caught his attention.

He jumped up onto the ledge and looked out into the harbour. There amongst the Royal Navy and merchant ships, the Golden Cutlass sailed into port. Her golden trim gleamed majestically and he grinned.

"Charlotte."

On the way back to the ship, he would stop and buy a fine meal for them - something, anything to get the taste of mouldy bread out of his mouth. He had been right, that night would be spent in his own bed with his wife. Nothing could dampen his mood now.

Almost the moment the gangplank hit the dock, Charlie ran down it with Joanna at her heels. Now that they were in Anguilla she had no intention of wasting any time and planned to find James as quickly as possible. It was likely her first stop would be either the Governor's mansion or the fort. More likely the latter, given his father and the Royal Navy appeared to have been responsible for his abduction. She stopped and glared up at the fort, squinting in the bright sun.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a tall, lean man with stringy brown hair and a freshly cleaned jacket run up, demanding to speak to the captain and get their papers, and going on about how improper it was for them to run off the ship before the captain.

"I'm the captain," Charlie grumbled, tearing her gaze away from the fort.

"I beg your pardon!"

"I'm the captain," she growled. "And Miss Brannon is my first mate. She'll help you with your paperwork and payment for docking, so you can speak to her after you tell me if you've seen James Norrington."

He raised a hand to his chest and asked in a high-pitched voice, "Who?"

Charlie would have told him then and there what she thought about being lied to had she not been in a rush to rescue James. Crossing her arms, she bit the inside of her cheek and narrowed her eyes at the harbourmaster. Instead she said, "So, you have seen him. Is he up at the fort?"

"Miss, I don't know what -."

"Captain," she corrected him. "He is at the fort, then. Is he a prisoner or free?"

The man looked over her shoulder, presumably at Joanna, then back to her, "Miss, as I said, I don't know -."

"Thank you for your assistance," Charlie cut him off. She pulled the letters of marque from her jacket and showed them to the liar. It would be dishonest to say she had not relished in the look of surprise he gave her when he read their names on the letters. "Joanna?" she called over her shoulder with a grin as she repocketed the letters. "Help him with the rest of the paperwork and his payment."

"Captain Norrington," she acknowledged, smirking.

"Thank you again for your assistance," she said to the harbourmaster before racing down the docks and up to the fort.

By the time she reached the fort, she had worked herself up and calmed herself down half a dozen times. She could not go in, guns at the ready, if she wanted them to be released. And James's father did not seem to be the most reasonable man. She would have to watch herself to ensure she did not land them both in nooses, regardless of how tempting it would be to dress Admiral Norrington down.

There was a reason she had left her sword on the Cutlass.

Taking a deep breath and flexing her fingers, she composed herself one last time before walking up to the entrance to the fort where two guards stood watch. Both were quite tall - perhaps only an inch or two shorter than her husband - and both were quite muscular. Neither appeared to have a sense of humour, if the rigid posture and neutral expressions were anything to go by.

"I'm here to see my husband," she announced as she marched up to the gate.

The one nearest her blinked and turned to look at her. "Your…," he said.

"You're clearly the clever one," she muttered. If he had been more articulate, she might have been willing to concede that she had actually not quite given enough information. "My husband, James Norrington. Where is he?"

Again they gaped at her.

A frustrated groan escaped her, and she raised her tattooed hand. "James Norrington," she repeated, pointing to his name. "He has the same tattoo with my name, Charlotte. Where is he?" They exchanged looks. "He's in a cell, isn't he? Take me to him."

"Miss -."

"Mrs," she corrected. "Though I prefer 'Captain'."

"We'll need to get the Admiral," one of them said.

"Then get him, but take me to my husband in the meantime."

Neither moved.

"There are two of you, you realise," she muttered. "And if you need someone to mind the gate, I'm certain there are more soldiers just inside, aye?"

Again, no response.

"Surely there's no law in Anguilla against a woman visiting her husband in prison?" This time when neither moved, she sighed in frustration then pushed past them into the courtyard of the fort. "Which way?" she asked over her shoulder as she scanned the colonnade. She stalked past an ornate set of double doors to a well-worn and locked door guarded by a younger guard. "You!"

The young man startled and looked at her, then behind her, then back at her.

"Is this the jail?" she asked. "Unlock the door and let me in."

Behind her she heard what she assumed was one of the two guards from the main gate explaining who she was to someone, who sighed and told them to lock her up with her husband. "Let her in," he ordered in a louder voice.

"You heard him," she said to the young man. "Chop chop!" Oh, god, she thought. I'm turning into Jack. Sighing, she slipped past the young man and inside, then ran down the stairs.

"Miss, wait!" one of the guards called behind her.

"Captain!" she shouted back and added softly to herself, "At the very least he could say 'Mrs'."

"Charlotte?"

The corners of her mouth tugged up at the sound of her husband's voice. "James!" She ran forward, past cells of dirty prisoners and disgusting comments, and slid to a stop outside his cell. He was standing in the middle of the cell, eyebrows raised in amusement.

As he opened his mouth to speak, one of the soldiers ordered, "Lock her in with him."

James wrinkled his brow. "What did you do?"

She could not stop the corners of her mouth from pulling upward in a wide grin. "Nothing. They wouldn't tell me where you were, so I let myself into the fort and found you."

"Miss -," one of the soldiers began, coming up behind her. She could hear the jingling of the keys in his hands.

"Captain," James corrected.

By Jupiter, she loved her husband.

As the soldier who had come up behind her began to unlock James's cell, another soldier dressed more elaborately approached. By his uniform, Charlie would guess he was likely a Captain as it closely resembled the uniform worn by her husband when they first met. There were a few small differences, but that was likely due to being posted to Anguilla rather than Jamaica.

"You really ought to teach your wife some control," he sneered, looking down his nose at her. Though, on closer inspection, perhaps it was less a sneer and more just the way the man's weaselly features looked naturally.

Instead of responding, she walked into the cell to join her husband.

"What on Earth for?" James asked, eyebrows raised slightly.

"If you don't rein her in, she may start getting ideas in her head," the man scoffed. "Wives should be obedient and demure."

James snorted a laugh. "You've clearly just met my wife. She has wonderful ideas and she's anything but obedient and demure. I wouldn't have her any other way."

As the guard closed the door and locked them both in, Charlie blew the pig of an officer a kiss, then turned to face her husband. He rolled his eyes and sighed, but the corners of his mouth were turned up somewhat. She ignored the officer's reply and walked up to her husband with a grin. "You wouldn't have me any other way?" she asked, biting her lip. The door slammed shut as the guards and officer returned to their posts.

Another sigh and he finally let the grin overtake his face. "You know I wouldn't," he muttered, pulling her into his arms. When her arms slid up around his neck, he leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers. "How did you find me?"

"Groves," she replied. "He knew there were men from Anguilla in Nassau and that your father was posted here and looking for you." She shook her head slightly. "He felt terrible for not speaking up sooner. And the harbourmaster saw you board the Defiance." Her hand slid around his face to caress his jaw and she bit down on a grin when he leaned into her palm. "I see you've not been allowed to shave?" she asked, running her fingers over the stubble with a smirk. "Must be awful for you."

"Mmm," he sighed as he closed his eyes and turned to kiss her palm.

Clearly he was not in the mood to be teased, so she trailed her fingers along his jaw gently and softened her grin a little. "What have I missed?"

"Nothing," he muttered.

Charlie giggled. "Nothing? You're in a jail cell, darling."

"Mmm," he grumbled, his hand sliding up to grab her hand and pull it down between them to lace their fingers together. As he caressed her fingers, he continued, "Fitzwilliam sent a letter to my father."

She rolled her eyes with a sigh. "So that's why he was so insistent we attend the gala."

"Seems so," he agreed. "He mentioned the brothel and told my father you're a pirate."

A shaky breath escaped her. Was he embarrassed or upset that someone knew about the brothel? She caught his eyes and searched them for the answer and he smiled.

"It's alright," he assured her, lifting his head to kiss her nose lightly. "I have some very fond memories of that night."

"As do I," she agreed with a soft laugh. "Though I can't imagine your father was terribly impressed."

His brow creased and his nostrils flared, while the corners of his mouth pulled downward. "Not particularly. He had some rather choice words," he muttered.

Charlie laughed lightly and reached up to pull a lock of his hair away from his face and caress his frown lines. "He called me a whore, didn't he." The growl she received in reply made her giggle.

He sighed and she saw the beginnings of a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. "I told him not to belittle you and that I wasn't leaving you. When I said the conversation was over, he went on a tirade about locking me up to knock some sense in me."

"Sense is overrated."

The grin finally overtook him at that and he beamed down at her. "I knew you would say that," he chuckled. "Just as I knew you would find me."

"Since you brought up my daring rescue...," she drawled as she pulled her arm from around his neck to toy with his lapels. "I do believe this counts."

His eyebrows knit together. "For?"

"You said I had to do something romantic. Sailing across the entirety of the Caribbean to rescue you must count, surely." She grinned up at him through her lashes, biting her lower lip.

A loud bark of laughter escaped her husband, startling her a little. "So it does."

"I told you I could be romantic," she said.

"That you did, darling," he chuckled, pulling her close again to kiss the top of her head. After a moment he murmured into her hair, "Charlotte?"

"Mmm?" she sighed.

"Did they search you?"

With a soft chuckle, she pulled back to look up at him innocently. "For what?" At the arched eyebrow she received in response, she smiled and guided his hand over her shirt to where one of her daggers was hidden.

His expression turned to amusement and he sighed as he reached up to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. "My wife," he muttered, tracing her jaw gently.

She pulled out of his arms and sat down on the ledge, carefully running her fingers along the grime and pushing down on the stones. They were not the softest she had ever slept on in a jail cell, but they were not the worst either. When she looked up at James he was smiling down at her fondly. "What?"

"Did you just test the comfort of the mouldy stones?"

"Hardly the same level of comfort as our bed, but it'll do in a pinch, aye?" she replied with a grin.

James laughed lightly and sat down next to her, pulling her into his arms. "I love you."

Charlie tucked into his side with a smile and closed her eyes. Perhaps she could finally get a little rest.