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.

8.

He gripped his jacket collar closed with his free hand as he hobbled toward the street. Though the air itself felt warmer than it had since his arrival in Port Royal, he felt chilled to the bone; yet his face still perspired. He blamed that on the mortal embarrassment he'd suffered at Elizabeth's words.

And here he'd been thinking he'd dreamt it all the other night.

As he stepped through Elizabeth's gate and onto the road, he imagined he could feel her gaze on his back. He imagined her standing in the parlor window, waiting for him to return.

As he hopped slowly toward town, his mind turned backward.

*** He'd woken early one morning to find the village chief crouched beside him, nudging his shoulder.

"Norr'ton. You wake."

He pushed himself onto an elbow, blinked at the chief. "What is it?"

"Go with Wira'una today. Take things."

Wira'una, the chief's son. When Norrington rolled on his pallet, he saw the indian standing some feet off with two other men from the village--Jaci and Aritana. The sun hung beyond their heads, forcing Norrington to squint. He was unable to read their expressions.

"Where going?" he asked the chief, sliding into the manner of speech they used when speaking to him.

"Long walk. Take things." The chief waved his hand in a circle, palm facing the ground, indicating that Norrington was to bring everything. He took the fact that he was going to bring his belong with him to be a good sign--if they were going to kill him, they'd probably rather he left his things behind--not that he had many things.

"Leave soon?" he asked.

"Leave now."

"Need to say good--"

The chief cut him off with an impatient grunt. "Leave now. Aritana help get things."

The three men who were to accompany him began their accompanying the moment he rose from his pallet with his crutch shoved in his armpit. Aritana had scooped Norrington's few articles of clothes and the medals from his uniform into a rough blanket in the time it took Norrington to gain his feet. Aritana pushed the package into his free arm.

Norrington noticed that each of the three men carried a machete and a pouch of water. Spears were strapped to their backs.

"Yours," Jaci said, pulling a spare water skin from his shoulder. Norrington ducked his head so that Jaci could hang it on him.

He stood three inches taller than the tallest of the young warriors, even on his crutch.

"Follow," Wira'una said, waving his hand.

Norrington's pallet lay on the edge of the village, and from there they skirted the village to reach the main path into the jungle. Norrington glanced over at the long, low buildings of the village with every step, wondering if he was to ever return.

Just as they reached the path, Norrington's visual search finally netted him what he was after: Jupicahy's face. It bobbed for a second over a stand of brush, then disappeared, then reappeared again beyond the brush, its features obscured by smoke from a fire. Then Jupicahy's face was clear. The whites of his eyes were wide. His brow had deep creases. He jogged toward the party of four.

Jaci mumbled something meant for Aritana and Wira'una's ears. Norrington heard only the sound of the voice and not its words; he had turned to watch Jupicahy approach. A hand closed on his arm and tugged.

"Leave now."

"Let me say goodbye."

"Leave _now_." The tug on his arm became a jerk. The water in Norrington's pouch sloshed.

Aritana had jogged toward Jupicahy, arms out. He called to Jupicahy, and then, stopping him, began talking. They were too far away for Norrington to understand. And then Jupicahy was leaning across Aritana's outstretched arm and yelling toward him, even as Jaci urged Norrington to come.

Wira'una threw his arm around Norrington's shoulder and forced him to turn away.

A lump expanded in Norrington's throat. It was obvious now why they were taking him away from the village. He risked a glance back at Jupicahy, who was being held back by two other men, in addition to Aritana. Someone must have seen them. Someone must have told.

***

Norrington shook himself free of his memories. He saw that lights were on in some of the establishments in the middle of town, as well as in many of the residences above the shops and offices that lined the Port's main thoroughfare. He hadn't looked at the clock before he'd fled Elizabeth's, and he no longer owned a time piece, but he guessed it to be seven o'clock-- certainly no later than eight.

Mud splashed onto his pants as he hopped into a puddle. He set the end of his crutch down ahead of him and swung his body forward and out of the water. Onward. Although he had no idea where he was headed at the moment, he had some idea that he would end up back at Elizabeth's at the end of it.

Wasn't it better that she knew? Simpler?

Wasn't it better to not have to live a lie?

Voices piqued his interest as he neared the next cross street. He craned his neck as he approached and nearly ended up sitting in the mud as another man came reeling haphazardly around the corner.

"What's the commotion?" Norrington asked, trying to right himself and help the other man to rights, too.

A stale cloud of alcohol billowed in Norrington's face as the man teetered forward to giggle. He clapped a hand on Norrington's shoulder. "Turner's back, 'course, mate." He weaved.

"Turner? Turner who?" His heart and hopes rose even as his brain tried to take authority and explain that "Turner" was a far from uncommon name.

"Will Turner. Where've ya been? Will Turner and his crew."

Norrington's blood stopped. "Will? Where? Where is he?"

"The doc's, I 'magine. Why? Who's lookin' for 'im?"

"Good God." Norrington swung back on his crutch. The man's hand slipped from his shoulder. His heart beat in his chest like a caged animal. It couldn't be. Could it? His crutch splashed down in a fresh puddle as the drunken man called after him. Ignoring him, Norrington hiked himself forward and onward. The doctor's. Will!

Men and noise spilled out of two separate pubs on the cross street. Celebrations, it seemed. Will's crew? He wanted to ask after Will but stuck instead to the middle of the road and hurried past both pubs; he'd find out soon enough, and be at Will's side when he did.

No crowd was gathered at the doctor's. Maybe it wasn't serious, then, if no one was worried. He grabbed the railing to hoist himself up the flight of steps.

Lights shone behind the curtains, but the door was barred. Norrington pounded on the wood with the meat of his hand, then stepped back to watch the window for silhouettes and shadows.

In a moment, he heard the lock pulling back. The door crept open a foot.

"Yes?" A gray-haired woman in a dark dress peered through the space. He recognized her as the housekeeper who had let him in when he'd come for his physical. Mrs.... Mrs.... The name escaped him.

"Will Turner," he said.

"You're not Will Turner."

"No, I mean, is he inside?"

"Who are you?"

Norrington was in no shape to cover his exasperation. "Didn't you just see me the other day? I was here for an exam." He lifted his crutch as though that would jog her memory.

She looked down over her nose at it.

When she did nothing further, Norrington said, "Well is he here?"

"Mr. Turner? Yes."

"Can I see him?"

"'Fraid not. Come back at a reasonable hour, why don't you?" She started to close the door.

He slammed his hand against it. "Wait. I need to see him. Is he all right? At least tell me that. His wife.... Please, just tell me is he all right?"

"What's going on, Mrs. Southby?" came another voice.

Hair rose on the back of Norrington's neck.

"I don't know." The woman moved back from the door. "Some drunk banging on the door. He's been--"

"James?"

Norrington's chest felt to burst as he saw Will squinting at him in the doorway. He had no words, barely had breath.

"James! I'd heard you'd come back, but no one has had any idea where you've been hiding out. James. It's really you, isn't it?"

Will's hair was blonde in the light from the doctor's foyer, his skin had taken on a tan, and his lips were chapped. The angles of his face had hardened in the years since Norrington had last seen him. He looked taller, or at least had more of a presence. He'd become a man. And there was blood on his shirtsleeve. Blood on his trousers.

"Will," he whispered.

Will's brow furrowed. "You're shaking."

Norrington blinked. His eyes felt hot.

"Are you all right? Come inside." He reached for Norrington's arm.

Through his jacket, Norrington felt the strong fingers. Real fingers. Alive fingers. Elizabeth would be wild when she saw he'd made it back alive after all. He pulled away.

"James?"

"Sorry. I'm sorry." He'd been about to marry the man's wife. His face flushed.

"Sorry for what? Jesus, you really are shaking. Come in here." He stepped onto the porch and put an arm around Norrington's shoulders to lead him inside. "Are you cold?"

Norrington shook his head. "Elizabeth."

"Shh. It's all right. Dr. O'Brien?"

"Elizabeth...."

The doctor came from the exam room as they crossed the foyer. He wiped his hands with a towel. "What's going on out here?"

"Can you take a look at him?" Will asked.

Norrington shivered. He grasped Will's coat as Will led him into a room one down from the one the doctor had just come from. "Wh-- What are you doing at the doctor's, Will? Is everything okay?"

"Shh. Everything's fine. I had a man slice his foot open with a bottle, that's all. He'll be fine."

"Will, where have you been?"

"Me? Where have _you_ been?" He guided Norrington to a high, wooden exam table, then helped him up. Norrington shivered. Will pulled a blanket over and wrapped it around his shoulders.

"Well, what's gone on?" Dr. O'Brien asked, stepping between them. "You were healthy as a horse last week, weren't you?"

"I'm f-fine." Lifting his gaze back to Will, he pulled the blanket closed at his throat.

The doctor peered into one of Norrington's eyes and then the other. He pressed a hand to Norrington's forehead, then one of his cheeks. "Got yourself some color there, and you're a bit warm. Have you been eating like I told you?"

Norrington nodded with a shiver.

"What do you think?" Will asked.

O'Brien tugged on Norrington's ear so that he could squint inside. "Fever. I'll give him something for it." He straightened. "We'll hope for the best."

Norrington shivered.

"Where are you staying?" Will asked him.

He swallowed and realized he was growing thirsty. "Elizabeth."

Will stepped back, shaking his head. O'Brien approached with an amber bottle and a shot glass. The neck of the bottle clinked against the lip of the glass as he poured sluggish liquid from one to the other.

"Drink this. We'll get you over to that bed and see how you fare overnight. Mr. Turner?"

At the doctor's nod, Will slipped himself under Norrington's arm. After Norrington dutifully handed back the empty shot glass, Will helped him to his foot, then across the room to the narrow bunk.

The thick taste of medicine lingered on his tongue. "Something to drink," he whispered as Will helped to stretch out on the bed.

"All right. Do you have any more blankets, doctor?"

"The cabinet over there. I'll have Mrs. Southby fix some broth, though I doubt he'll be awake long enough to drink it. The stuff I gave him works pretty quick."

Norrington watched from under drooping eyelids as Will laid two woolen blankets over him, then smoothed them under his chin.

"Go see your wife," he tried to tell Will. His words sounded as sluggish as the liquid he'd drank. His eyelids slipped closed; he struggled to open them back up. As soon as he succeeded, they fell again.