"And Before the Song Dies"
jemi gr.
Disclaimer: Alright, I admit it! I own Pirates of the Caribbean. I created it all, the ride AND the movie. And on top of that, I am also Mrs. Jack Davenport. HA. Suckers. [/sarcasm]
Author's Notes: Yes, I am very much aware that Gillette is majorly OOC. But too bad.
"One day's head start," he had said, but his eyes as they met mine told a different story. One day to recover,' they said to me. One day to heal, one day to sort this all out. Just one day, then business, business as usual.'
His heart had been broken, and not even James Norrington could bounce right back unaffected.
He sat in his office for the rest of the day with the door shut and bolted. No one in their right mind dared to interrupt with whatever he was doing - everyone knew the story of his rejection and assumed that it was best to just let him be.
I, however, have never been in my right mind and, as a rule, do not assume anything. The first chance I had I knocked frantically on the door.
There was no response.
"Commodore?" I asked hesitantly, knocking again, somewhat less frantically this time.
Silence.
"Commodore" I pleaded, and there was a sigh from within the office.
"Gillette, please leave me alone," was the muffled response, and I could just imagine him in there, sitting at his desk with his head in his hands, dark hair disheveled about his shoulders, eyes staring blindly at a piece of parchment in front of him, mind trying vainly not to dwell on the past
"That is simply out of the question, Commodore!" I exclaimed as a glassy tear ran down my imagined Norrington's pale cheek. I hurried to explain myself further lest he should misunderstand my words. "There's something I must speak with you about as soon as possible, sir," I said hesitantly.
"Is it about professional matters, Lieutenant, or my personal life?" he responded, and added after a short pause, "or lack thereof."
"Uhm both?" I replied, raising my eyebrows helplessly.
I could almost see him roll his eyes, but my interesting response worked nonetheless. I heard him push back his chair with an exasperated sigh, get up, and proceed to unbolt the door. I prepared myself to face James Norrington at his absolute worst.
The door opened, and there he was: powdered wig neatly pinned in place, uniform spotless, eyes glistening with tears? No. Agitation.
"Uhm sir you look fine," I sputtered in disbelief.
He raised an eyebrow. "Thank you, Lieutenant," he said slowly, as if unsure if he had heard me properly. Meanwhile, I stood there gawking at him like an idiot, unwilling to believe that there wasn't sorrow in his eyes or a scuff on his boots.
"Well, come in, Gillette, and say what you've got to say - I'm a busy man!" he exclaimed finally, impatiently, and I nodded my apologies and did as I was told.
He shut the door and returned to his desk, motioning for me to sit down as well. I did so, and for a few moments we sat in silence as he scratched something onto a piece of parchment with a long feathered quill. Finally, he looked at me, his dark eyes filled with neither agitation nor tears, but well-disguised mirth.
"I apologize for the mess in here," he said. "I'm tending to some long-neglected paperwork that I never finished because we were you know chasing cursed skeletal pirates." He smiled at me and I gladly returned the favor, seeing now precisely what was going on. Of course, how could I have not seen it sooner? He was burying himself in his work, pretending as he so often did that nothing was wrong. Idle hands are the devil's workshop. How very Commodore James Norrington. Ish.
I felt his eyes study my face, and I instantly colored. "Well? What is it?" he asked me finally.
"Nothing, sir, it's warm in here, that's all," I said quickly. He chuckled and leaned back in his chair.
"No, Gillette, what did you want to speak with me about?" he asked with a smile. Or a smirk. I blushed harder at my misinterpretation of the question and, naturally, he did not miss that either.
"Nothing in particular," I responded meekly, having seemingly no other options. "I just didn't think you should be in here all day by yourself considering recent events" I trailed off, immediately regretting allowing that last part to slip out of my mouth. I had been previously acquainted with Infuriated Commodore James Norrington and did not particularly want a reunion. I sighed helplessly, and prepared myself for the blow of I can handle myself, Gillette, thank you very much!' that was certain to come.
But it never did. He simply pondered my words for a moment, his gaze resting on a small crack in the ceiling, before he calmly replied. "Thank you, Gillette," he said in a soft, almost painted, tone. I didn't look at his eyes. I didn't want to see him cry.
"My name is Romain," I told him quietly, and though it wasn't all I wanted to tell him, it would have to do for now.