Back to our "regular programming" after a brief stint into Groves' love life. Am I the only one who found him to be adorable and delicious for such a "small" part? In any case, let me know what you think of the story thus far. Any requests for mischief or personal fantasies you'd like to see played out? On with the show!
"Get yer mind on yer task man!" Ashlynne growled at Groves once they were alone in their cabin and the door safely shut.
Groves pulled off his hat and wig and ran a hand through his hair, tossing the offending objects on his bunk. "I am trying. I just cannot seem to concentrate."
"I bet I can guess as to why." Ashlynne snorted at the glare he sent towards her. "In any case, we are pullin' out tomorrow at tide and can nay afford to give that 'igh and mighty lieutenant any reason to delay that. If ye donna wrap yer mind around the present and out of pretty petticoats we are all gonna pay."
Groves lay on his bunk with a sign, his arm tossed across his eyes, to block out the world no doubt. He had indeed not had his mind on task all day and more than once, whenever she'd managed to venture beyond her station in the chart room, she'd had to nudge him back into his duties. Scatter brained didn't even begin to explain how the man had acted all day. After coming in the night before, a wee bit tipsy and very giddy in an entirely different fashion from drink, she'd known that he and the Lady Sally had finally realized that the Lady had good instincts in her assumption that they'd be a good match—it had only taken Groves a long time to realize the truth of the matter. Hopefully there was an understanding between them, though it would a difficult time for both of them since they were going to be away at sea for so long. However, long engagements were seen in a favorable light these days, or so she was told.
Ashlynne hid her knowing smile and went about the routine of readying for sleep. With only the two of them in the cabin, it didn't take much maneuvering to maintain her privacy and keep her sex in disguise. That was one reason why she'd made sure to have her contacts get her the job as clerk. It was a civilian position and so while she was subject to the rules of the navy she did not have to keep as close an eye on all the regulations and she also had some wiggle room that the rest of the crew did not. She was there to keep an eye on the records and daily logs, not hoist the sails or keep watch. It was a physically less demanding job and she was overall better suited to this task without risking her disguise. She could fight with the best of them, in a pinch; in all her adventures for the scientific society she'd picked up fighting and survival techniques from various cultures, however she didn't want to draw too much attention to herself with her skills. Yes, being a lowly clerk was the best option.
Well, at least as long as that blasted Lieutenant Norrington kept his eyes to himself. It had been a long and grueling last day in port of double checking stores and records and last minute preparations, not made any easier by Groves being absentminded and groggy. The rest of the crew, at least a good lot of them, had nursed a hangover at the beginnings of the day but after a few minutes of Lieutenant Norrington's "care" they'd magically cured themselves. The day had been filled with tense moments, curses traded under breath, and growlings. Thankfully, Ashlynne understood that it wasn't always going to be like this, but for every good shore leave there was a bad follow-up morning.
What was perhaps the most frustrating aspect about the lieutenant, for her at least, was her awareness of him, not only as a possible threat to her disguise but also as a man. She understood her shipmates to be men well enough, they never let her forget that, but she did not find herself drawn to any of them in the way she fought herself with the lieutenant. Almost from the moment his honeyed voice had sounded near her ears on that first day months ago—even in her memories she was painting exaggerated pictures of his allure, how pathetic—she'd found it more and more difficult to keep her attention entirely on her figures and charts and records whenever he came close to look over her shoulders.
She was sure that was part of the reason he watched her so closely. He must sense her interest in him—she couldn't deny anymore that she, against better judgment, found him attractive and intriguing. While he hadn't, as yet, placed the reason why—she was sure he had not—he had sensed it. No man got to be a lieutenant in the king's navy without good observation skills and intuition. More than once she'd found herself staring at his hands or his chin—heaven forbid his lips too—and then found him looking back at her, face blank though eyes alert. Each time this happened, it had taken every ounce of willpower to not overreact at having been caught staring, as well as fight the blush that her feminine side demanded she show.
For her part, today, she'd been able to keep him happy enough, and her staring down to a minimum. He'd found nothing to complain about with her records and organization skills and he hadn't watched her too keenly. Perhaps he'd been too preoccupied with yelling at surly sailors and hazy officers. With the way they'd operated that day she was sure they'd make it to their next port o' call without harm, but if certain members of the crew didn't snap out of the love-induced haze they were currently in then there could be issues once on the high seas towards Port Royal.
At the thought of their upcoming arrival in Port Royal she felt her gut clench. As she lay down and blew out the light in their cabin she sent up a silent prayer for her family. True to his threat, Ingram had sent word to her of her family's current situation, and included a few notes written in their own hands to be held as evidence. As of yet he had not harmed them, other than verbal abuse and frustration, but that could quickly change if things took too much longer.
With so little time left, only a matter of months really, she was more determined than ever to work fast. Nothing could stand in her way, not even peevishly handsome lieutenants and love-giddy cabin mates. She couldn't afford to lose any more of her family and hope to remain sane.
Her parent's murder, and the subsequent betrayal of the family's supposed allies to the very man who'd murdered them, had done a number on all the Fitzpatrick's. That was perhaps one of the reasons why she'd made such an effort to take on a role in life that was so out of character for women, not to mention Irish women. That was definitely one of the reasons why she was so willing to risk everything now. Enough blood had been shed in the Fitzpatrick family. They had more than earned a right to live long and peaceful lives. She just needed to get them this last piece of hope in order to live out that right.
Understanding that staying awake late in the night worrying would accomplish nothing but gain a headache and a harder time concentrating the next day, Ashlynne rolled over and let her eyes fall shut. She could already hear Groves' steady breathing and smiled. He wasn't bad as a cabin mate and she hoped that once this was over she could find him and call him friend.
That was, of course, only if she managed to get out of this alive.
Lieutenant James Norrington knew that the watch was set, the men alert, and all was ready for when they set sail the next day. He knew these things and yet here he stood, on deck, staring across the neighboring ships at dock. His mind was wandering far and near, double checking procedures, analyzing ways in which things could be improved, and yet, time and again, straying to the image of the lad.
James frowned slightly and resisted the urge to rub at his brow. It was an old habit, one he'd picked up from his mother, but it was a habit that made obvious whenever he was troubled or deep in thought. It never bode well for him to betray such facts to those around him, especially those beneath him in rank. Instead he tightened his grip on the rail and leaned out a little further.
Something was amiss about the lad Ashlin Fitzpatrick, James was sure of that. He didn't know what it was, or if it was dangerous, but he knew that something just wasn't right about him. For as open and playful as he appeared to be with the man Groves, the lad was almost downright skittish around the rest of the crew and clammed up like a shellfish whenever he came round him. He spoke only when spoken to whenever James was around and more than once James had found the lad staring at him with an awareness that just didn't sit right coming from a male clerk.
If he was going to be honest with himself, James shook his head and frowned, he would have to admit that he had been drawn to the lad from almost the time when he'd first seen him at the on the ship laughing with Groves. It had been his first day after the transfer. He had just finished reporting to the captain and was getting the tour of the ship when he'd heard laughter. Laughter itself was not foreign to naval ships, the Dauntless included, but it was the pitch and type of laughter that had made him pause. When his eyes had finally pinpointed the source of laughter he'd had to mentally shake himself. While the laughter had held a musical quality almost solely unique to the weaker sex, it was instead coming out of a bare-faced lad of no more than eighteen. He was sitting atop a barrel beside one of the lesser officers and the pair were obviously trading jests whilst breaking the noon meal. The lad's hair, shortly cropped about his head, was the type of black that almost shone deep blue in the right lighting, and the noon sun was indeed the right lighting. James didn't have to be close to know that his eyes were most likely a bluish tint. He had the look of the Irish about him, from his pale skin and lanky limbs, to the lilt he heard in the lad's voice even from the distance that he was.
It wasn't until later when all the crew had been introduced that he learned of the lad's name and position as civilian clerk on ship, as well as confirmation of his Irish heritage and blue eyes. His eyes were in fact the color of the sea outside Port Royal, a rich color not easily forgotten. The poor lad was most likely picked on by his shipmates for having such an otherworldly look about his face—from his knowledge of folklore the fairies of Ireland were called the Tuatha de Dannan and most likely the boy was accused of being one of them from his large eyes, upturned nose, and pointy chin. He was not overly skinny but neither was he muscular, and had probably yet to grow into his limbs, if his baggy clothes betrayed anything about his physique.
In any regards, James found his awareness of such facts about the lad to be somewhat troublesome. To know the color of a clerk's eyes, in addition to having assumptions about his physique, was quite troublesome indeed. He could not quite pinpoint why he was so aware of the lad, nor what he expected of the awareness, but he did know for certain that the lad was aware of him too. Whether or not it was the same sort of confusing intrigue that he felt, or if it was just feeding off of his own, he hadn't yet decided. Perhaps once they were at sea and his mind had other things to focus on, such as safe passage of the new governor of Port Royal and his daughter whom they would pick up at their next port of call, would cure him of this confusing interest.
He heard someone approaching and looked up to find his sub-lieutenant Gillete approaching. The man was capable and would make a fine captain one day, James was certain of that. He nodded to him before looking back out at the port.
"The crew is eager to be at sea." Gillete stopped once he stood beside him and also gazed out at the sleepy masts.
James nodded, "They'll find themselves there soon enough."
They stood silent for a few moments before Gillete gave him the crew roster report for the evening. A few of the crew members had had to visit the doctor but were back and settling in. James nodded at the report and let silence fall between them again before he stood up straight again and clasped his hands behind his back.
"Have you noticed anything odd about the clerk Fitzpatrick?"
Gillete shook his head, "He's a bit shyer than most on board and he keeps mostly to the midshipman Groves. I have noted a number of men have taken a liking to teasing him for his gentle ways. He's an able bodied clerk though and not too bad with a sword as far as I've noted sir."
Gillete was correct in his observation. James had seen Ashlin practicing with a few of the other crew members, though mostly with Groves. He'd bested the majority of them, able to use his size and agility against the larger sailors. He moved on his feet with a grace that James had rarely seen in men, yet another thing that set him on alert. He was less keen with the muskets though and had earned a nickname amongst the sailors after an accident that had left James' heart beating a bit faster than it normally would have had it been just a normal clerk at risk— yet another fact that he found troublesome indeed.
"Thank you." James nodded to Gillete before moving off towards his cabin.
He would not be able to answer his questions about the lad tonight, nor in the morning. He would continue to keep his eyes open and his senses on alert for any signs of danger or further strangeness. He was determined to prove himself as a capable lieutenant and would not allow unbidden fascinations for civilian clerks distract him from that endeavor.