Title: Between Wind and Tide

Author/Pseudonym: Ruby Isabella

Rating: R

Disclaimer: The following is fanfiction based on a property owned by Disney.

Summary: Norrington returns to Port Royal after long absence

Notes: Sequel to "A Windward Tide." Also, you might worry at times that this is not slash, but it is. Really. Cross my heart. Finally, it takes place some years after PotC.

6.

The road was muddy and puddled, but the rain for the moment had abated and the sun must have been shining somewhere above the clouds for the clouds had turned a promising white rather than their usual dull, heavy gray.

Norrington recognized the two men--or, not the men exactly, but their purpose--the moment they wheeled around the corner onto the street up which he walked. Recognition lighted their faces as well.

"There y'are, Commodore!" the rounder of the two midshipmen called.

"Where've ya been?" asked the other. "You just up and disappeared." This one clasped Norrington's arm, though not with unnecessary force--a one- legged man wasn't going to flee with extraordinary speed. Or grace. The petty officer who had spoken first fell in step on Norrington's crutch side.

"I don't see that it's any of your business," said Norrington, allowing them to lead him in same direction he'd been walking anyway.

"Guess it's not," said the one at his arm with a shrug.

"Nope. Our business is to get you to the governor's. Apparently you've been having trouble finding your way."

He took comfort in the fact that their appearance lent truth to the story he'd given Elizabeth.

"'Cause surely," the petty officer continued, "you wouldn't be ignoring the governor's invites."

"No. Not me."

~~~

"Well, you're owed some back pay, Commodore" said Evans, standing on one side of a great mahogany desk. His barrel chest lifted the ruff of his collar so that it buried his chin as he said the words "Well," "back," and "pay."

Norrington, seated in a hard, wooden chair on the other side of the desk with his crutch leaning against the inside of his thigh, watched Evans bring a wallet out of one of the desk's drawers.

"This is just an installment, but it should be more than enough to cover your needs, and the rest will be paid out on a regular basis till you're caught up. In addition to your regular pay, of course."

"It's not 'Commodore' any longer," Norrington said, not moving to take the wallet.

"Bucking for a promotion, eh? I daresay you--"

"I no longer consider myself in the King's service."

"Perhaps you just need to think it over. Wouldn't want to do anything rash, would we?"

"I'd hardly call it rash. I've had a few years to 'think it over.'"

Evans weighed the wallet in his hand before sighing and setting it on the corner of the desk. "That money's still yours, and more to come. Regardless." He turned to the windows. "Hell of a run of bad weather we've been having, eh?"

Norrington chose not to comment.

Evans turned back. "Tea? I daresay I've been drinking the stuff by the barrel lately. This damned weather."

Dutifully, Norrington followed Evans into a sitting room where, in a moment, a maid brought in a tray of tea and cucumber sandwiches. It came as no surprise to him that Evans had planned on tea. He did feel a little bad that tea would not be the comfortable, convivial affair Evans had likely been planning on.

"So. What are your plans, Norrington?" Evans asked as he lifted a steaming cup toward his lips.

"Plans. Well. None. So far."

"Staying here? Going away? Anything?"

Norrington, his tea untouched, glanced toward a window as though to contemplate his locale. Nothing came to mind. "No idea."

"I wish you'd reconsider your old-- Well, it wouldn't be your old job, quite." Evans's gaze made a quick reference to his crutch. "But there's a place for you with the Royal Navy. Or.... Well, with the Navy."

Norrington had caught a flash of expression in Evans's face that told him that Evans had been about to offer a position in the governance of the settlement; or, rather, he'd caught the flash of expression that showed Evans wasn't sure he liked Norrington enough to make that offer.

"Thank you, but....really. No."

Evans, shaking his head, set down his cup. "I daresay you're making a mistake. A man needs a purpose in life, and the Navy would give you one."

"Thank you. No. If...If you'll excuse me...." He pushed the chair back, rising.

"Yes. Of course. Well." Evans, too, rose and began to follow. "Oh, your pay....."

"Send it to the Inn to cover my bill. And the Abernath's. I owe them for some clothing...and a wig, which I'm afraid I've lost." He approached the door to the hallway. "The rest send to Miss Swann."

"To--?"

"Mrs. Turner. I'll get it straight." He hobbled through the doorway. The front door loomed welcome ahead of him.

"Norrington? Have you lost your mind?"

Norrington, his eye on the door and the fresh, rainy air of freedom, ignored him.

~~~

"Lunch," Norrington said to the barkeep. He dropped into a chair at a table by the bar at the inn.

"It's stew today," said the barkeep as he set a short, crusty loaf of bread in front of Norrington. "And someone came and collected your things."

"Someone else will be along to pay off my bill."

"Oh come now, you've no bill here."

"The room, the food--" He glanced toward the bar. "--the drink."

"You owe nothin', Commodore. It's been a right--"

Norrington's jaw tightened. When he spoke next, his voice was low, but authoritative. "Just let me be a man and pay what I owe."

"Fine, sir. Anything you'd like, Comm-."

"It's not 'Commodore.'"

"Sure, sir, Mr. Norrington. Something to drink?"

"Tea."

"Just tea?"

"Yes. Thank you."

While the barkeep was gone, Norrington drummed his fingers on the tabletop. An itch had come over him; he felt as though he was beginning to waken.

"Tea." The barkeep set a pot and a cup in front of him.

"Do you know...." Norrington's heartbeat picked up at the thought of what he'd suddenly had the desire to ask.

"Yes?"

"Do you know of any ships pulling out?"

"There's one tomorrow, I think. Bound for England, I believe, if that's where you're looking to go."

Norrington, lifting the pot to pour a stream of steaming tea into his cup, nodded. "That'll do."

~~~

Estrella let him in and offered to take his coat. "She's in the parlor."

He'd thought he'd seen her face at the parlor window as he'd come up the walk. He nodded to Estrella and headed onward.

"I don't think I can take one more day of this weather, James," Elizabeth said as he came in. She still stood at the window, gazing out.

"Had enough of merry old England, have you?"

"Yes. I'm quite ready to get back to having it feel like Bermuda around here--heat, humidity, large bugs and all. How did your meeting go?"

"Well as can be expected."

Elizabeth lifted her hand and placed her fingertips against the window's glass. "James?"

"Yes?"

"I was thinking, while you were gone." She turned. "Last night, too."

"About?"

"We almost got married once, you and me."

"That we did."

She turned once again to the window, touching its glass again. Norrington leaned on his crutch, waiting.

"Why don't we do it, then?"

"Excuse me?"

"Why don't we marry?" Once again she turned toward him. "Oh, I know it's improper for the woman to ask, but I.... Doesn't it just sound right, James? We're all that's left, you and me, and I am fond of you, as you are of me, or you wouldn't have asked me to marry you in the first place, right?" She held her breath in the silence that followed and then, seeing that Norrington had no words to fill it, she went on, her cheeks bright red, her hands pulling at one another. "Of course that was a long time ago. I understand. But think about it James--doesn't it make sense? James?"

"I...." He moved backward, leaned against the back of the sofa. "Elizabeth, I'm leaving. Tomorrow."

"What?"

"For England."

"So soon? You never mentioned...." Her fingers twisted with each other. "Right. Well. I couldn't leave. Everyone I know is buried here, you know. Well, most everyone."

"Elizabeth, I'm sorry...."

"You apologize an awful lot."

"Yes."

"Yes." She turned toward the window. By the soft shudder of her shoulders, he knew that she was upset, but he didn't know how to fix it. What she'd said did make sense, in a way, except how did one marry one's ex lover's widow?

He pushed away from the couch. He had no luck in approaching stealthily, not even with the carpet to aid him, but she kept her back to him anyway. Her hand rose to bring her handkerchief to her face to blot a tear on her cheek. Norrington, feeling awkward, leaned once again on his crutch and set his free hand on her shoulder.

She glanced at him, her eyes wet with tears, her cheeks streaked. "I'm sorry," she said. "I don't know what--"

"No, it's all right."

She searched his eyes. Then, with the same swiftness she'd shown in hugging him that morning, she lifted up and kissed him on the mouth.

It had been a long, long time.

Her lips tasted salty, and they were soft. And warm. And gentle.

He pulled back. "I'm sorry."

"There you go again," she said in a quiet voice.

"I've never...."

"What?"

"...with a woman." He took a step back, touching his mouth with his fingertips.

Her eyes widened. Her lips formed the shape of surprise. "Never? But surely.... You were in the navy. You stopped at ports....."

He shook his head.

"In the jungle? You told me you'd stayed with...with Indians...but you didn't, not even with....?"

*A brown body crouched by his pallet--brown because all of the bodies, except his, were brown. The whites of Jupicahy's eyes showed in the dark as he stared into Norrington's face, presumably wondering whether he was awake. When Norrington stared back, without moving, Jupicahy smiled and stretched beside him on the pallet. "You too pale," he said, keeping his words simple; although Norrington had caught on to the language, the Indians seemed unable to talk to him as they did to each other. Jupicahy put a finger on Norrington's thigh, the bandages on which still became bloody at times. Jupicahy's finger lay higher than the bandages. "Now you no have enough feet. No woman want you for husband."*

"No," he said to Elizabeth. "It wasn't...." He ran out of words. No way to explain. He pulled at his waistcoat.

Elizabeth shook her head. He body remained facing him, but her face turned once more toward the window. "That's not fair. Now I want you more you than ever."

Norrington, taken aback, said, "What?"

"You're a treasure." She bit her lower lip as though to keep from crying again.

"I...." He pointed behind him. "Things to do."

She nodded.

He met Estrella again in the foyer.

"I put your things upstairs. Let me show you to the guest room."

"Yes, uh.... Thank you."

When she swept open the door to his room for the night, Norrington felt almost as though he had to grip the wall. He was accustomed to the ground, somewhat accustomed to the narrow beds in both the inn and the room he'd spent the previous night in. He was not accustomed to the oversized room, the fireplace, the four-poster bed, the tall windows dressed in dark blue velvets and light blue silks....

"I put your clothes in the wardrobe."

"Thank you."

"Are you going to go in?"

"Yes."

Still he stood there.

"Mrs. Turner had me find you some night clothes. They're in the wardrobe, too."

"Thank you."

She waited another moment before stepping back. "Well, I'll leave you to it. Dinner will be ready in a few hours."

"Yes. Thank you."

When he heard her feet descending the stairs, he finally stepped into the room. The bed was twice as high as any he'd slept in recently. He crossed to it and pressed on it with his hand, testing its height against his perceived ability to climb onto it.

A knock came.

"Yes?"

The door opened a foot and Estrella's face appeared. "Would you like a fire, to take out the chill?"

Half of him wanted to say not to trouble herself; the other half wanted the fire. He let the latter win out.

When she had gone again, he came to stand in front of the fireplace, allowing the fire to dry him out--he hadn't felt dry since the rain first started to fall, one day out from Port Royal.

Not even with an Indian woman, he thought.

*His chest had expanded with air as he'd gathered courage to say the first thing that had come to mind in response to Jupicahy's statement about the women of the village. "I don't want a woman," came out finally. Jupicahy's teeth had flashed white in the darkness. "You make do with me." His finger drew higher up Norrington's thigh. "Okay," was all that he could manage in response.*

~~~

Elizabeth was absent from dinner; Estrella told him she'd begged off on account of a headache.

"She sends her apologies."

She stayed in her room, too, after dinner, until the hour grew late enough that Norrington decided he had no reason to continue to linger in the parlor.

"Off to bed, then?" Estrella asked, popping her head out of the kitchen as he passed.

"Yes."

"Early morning, isn't it? I'll bet you're excited."

"I...well, yes, I suppose." He hadn't thought of it. Yes, when he'd made the decision, his heart had quickened, but the further he walked away from the port, the more his enthusiasm abated. It wasn't that he'd been overcome with misgivings; the feeling had simply dulled, until, as he crossed the threshold into Elizabeth's house, he was barely thinking of it at all, except as news that he had to somehow--badly, as it turned out--impart.

He took off to his room, undressed, and managed to climb onto the bed on the first try and without much more than a single soft grunt of exertion. Once in bed, he lay silently with the blankets up to his armpits and his hands folded on his sternum.

He wished things had gone better all around. First dreaming that she knew about him and Will, then crushing her fingers when all she'd been trying to do was wake him. Their reunion could certainly have gone better.

"First I scared you half to death, then I inebriated you," she'd said at breakfast, taking the blame onto her self.

He sat up, at once disbelieving the connection his brain suddenly made. What if actually had been touching him where he'd dreamed she had?

What if her hand, sliding up his thigh, had launched the dream?

His heart ached at the realization of how lonely she must be, watching through the parlor window day after day with no one coming to see her because everyone she'd ever loved was dead.

Her shock at learning that he'd never been with a woman came back to him. She had assumed him to be more experienced than he was, and she had gotten him wrong.

He'd gotten her wrong.

Was she lying awake in bed tormenting herself over what she'd done wrong, and gotten wrong?

Slowly he settled back onto his pillow.

She'd made him think of Jupicahy. He wondered if he'd be alive if it hadn't been for Jupicahy. This morning, Evans had said that a man needed a purpose in life, and indeed he did. When he'd lost his leg, the last hope he'd had of returning to civilization bled out of him. How could a one-legged man drag himself out of the jungle and over the ocean?

But then Jupicahy had come and given him a reason to wake up the next morning, and the next.

Had it been love? No.

Salvation?

It had saved him.

He closed his eyes.

~~~

A knock came at the door as he plucked the cuff of his shirt free from the cuff of his jacket, making it look proper. He found that as long as he didn't concentrate too strongly on what his fingers were doing, they went about on their own taking care of buttons and ruffles and such; they had a better memory than he did.

"Yes?"

The door opened. He turned, expecting Estrella.

"I apologize for missing your farewell dinner. Let's make it a farewell breakfast?"

"Elizabeth."

"It must have been the crying. Or the weather. I developed this horrid headache. I could barely hold my head up."

"Are you feeling better?"

"Much. Yes. Thank you. Well, all things considered, that is."

"Elizabeth, I have to tell you--"

She shook her head. "Let's just leave it at goodbye. Perhaps one day I'll sail over to see you. Or you'll come back here, and we'll have--"

"I'm not going."

"James?"

"I'm not leaving today."

"Was the ship held up?"

"No. It's going on. I'm not. I'm...." His hands shook. With the crutch nestled in his armpit, he rubbed his palms together to stop the shaking. "I wasn't very good at this the first time, if I recall."

"At what? Leaving Port Royal? You--"

"Elizabeth. Will you marry me?"