Mwa ha! From the shadows, I emerge, fully intending to present another chapter despite the essay I should be writing! Mwa ha!
Okay, I'll write the essay tomorrow, honest!
And while we're on deadlines.....I don't suppose, by some stroke of reviewer genius, that you could give me 50 reviews, could you? Huh? Huh? Pleeeaaase?
Sweet A.K.: Yes, Jack thinks Hook is a pansy. I think it's the frilly collar. Glad it sounds like him!
Lady J. Riddle: Pillaging! Whee! And hey, Indiana Jones kicks major evil-tushie! Go Indy! :D
morph: *grovels, begs for forgiveness* I'm so sorry! I mean it! And I sincerely hope these chapters meet up with expectations....or you have permission to thump me! (The same holds true for if I should ever be stupid enough to forget you again!)
Khamul: Yes, there are quite a few fangirls, strangely enough. Wonder why? And glad Heather kicks some ass...redcoat and pirate alike!
I88er-az: Yes, I am an evil genius. Mwa ha! And I have capable hands when it involves Captain Jack Sparrow? Are you sure? And pirate Heather is wicked, yes!! *happy rum dance* And yeah, it is weird about the name, isn't it? There's about 50 bazillion Heather's around here and back home where I went to highschool....one of my art classes had 6 Heathers...
Saiyan-girl-cheetah: Why, thank you! Yes, that last chapter was my favorite line too....ooh....scandalous! Ooh...Captain Jacky Sparrow! That may be what I'm being for Hallowe'en...either that or Dazzler, I dunno.
Completeopposites: Thanks! Here comes more!
BeautyDark: Yes, it is our prerogative! Our duty! Canary pants and Jack are two different creatures, luv!
Pirate-Jazzy: I love it too! Seems to be a very popular idea, somehow.... and is there any way we'd rather have Jack than horribly confused? Glad you're enjoying!
LaDyKaGoMe409: I really am quite impressed, that you think I've got him that in-character! *happy rum dance* And I get Jack because I'm quite too much obsessed...
Lilrujan: Ahh...poor Ruthie...all alone! I'm actually amazed that I've managed to write all these "lovey-dovey" scenes too, as, really, this is such a self-insertion fic that I wasn't lying about never having drunk, or never having kissed a guy before. Yes, that's right - none of this lovey-dovey is taken from personal experience - I'll be 19 in...19 days, and I ain't even held a guy's hand before!! So thank you forever for your confidence! I need it!
TriGemini: Ooh....I luv you! *huggles* Yes, I thought they were funny too....I had entirely too much fun writing this, I think! And yes, Hellcat will pretty much be sticking as a nickname for Heather. Too much fun to leave it out!
Lyssa2: Ack! No Rebecca! No seawater! And sheesh, all those geography classes where they made us memorize country's flags had better come in use sometime in our lives, right? And yeah, I can't see Jack being a proper gentleman with anyone, no matter what some fanfics I've read try to tell you. *huggles*
~KKR~: Glad you like it! And yes, I do share the morals. I don't believe one should do any of that until married, and one thing that drives me nuts more than anything is those fanfics where the character expresses the same belief, then along waltzes the author's lust object, and suddenly, all the characters morals go out the window. It disgusts and saddens me. But anyways, thanks!
BubblyFizz03: Mwa ha! Am a good noter! And Uni is good...except that it eats your life.
Christé: You have returned! *huggles* You don't give up on the string-the-sequels together idea, do you? Fortunately for you, I'd already started this chapter before you reviewed, or I'd be tempted not to, just to spite you....:D
Nope. No own nothing. Save a barely-started Classics essay about Greek women........
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Silence, for a moment, reigned.
And then, with a soft sigh, Commodore Norrington turned, his normally commanding stride reduced to more of a dejected slump. Behind him, his former fiancée and the attention of her affections were slightly distracted by each other, her father also walking away, smiling slightly wistfully.
That left one rather depressed lieutenant, and a young woman dressed in one of those horribly restrictive corset-dress combinations. And as she had no great desire to remain with her depressed companion, she, hiking her skirts up, ran after the Commodore.
"Commodore Norrington!" She called, making him half-turn, surprise on his features.
"Miss Christine," he said softly, with a slight nod.
Slowing to stand beside him, she reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "I...I'm sorry about Elizabeth, sir."
Norrington's eyes strayed to the couple standing on the battlements. "It was not meant to be," he said softly, wistfully. "How could I keep her from what her heart desires?"
Christine nodded, reaching up to play with the ribbons that held her hat strapped on. "Heather seemed to follow hers as well," she said softly. "I guess we're an awful lot alike, Commodore. Two left-behind souls."
A ghost of a smile crossed the Commodore's face. "Yes, that we seem to be." He paused for a moment, then cleared his throat awkwardly. "The day is still young. Might you fancy a walk? I'm afraid that I may not be the most pleasant of company, but I can promise at least a companion better than I estimate Lieutenant Parsons may be at the moment."
Christine laughed, glancing back at that one Francis Parsons, who stood staring out at sea, looking as though he was going to burst into tears at any moment. "That you probably would be," she smiled. "He doesn't seem very cheerful at the moment, poor man."
"And one can blame him?" He asked, then offered his arm. "Deign to accompany, m'lady?"
"Gladly," she smiled, looping her hand through his arm. "And to what destination shall we make, Commodore?"
Norrington frowned slightly. "I can offer a humble cup of tea, should you like to accompany me to my home?"
"I should like that," she smiled, biting the insides of her cheeks to keep from grinning. Honestly, it was ridiculous, the way everyone talked like everything was just spiffing (and wasn't that a funny British word?) when the entire world had just fallen down around them? And this talking in haughty, hoighty-toighty style...it nearly made her want to start laughing her head off. Instead, she just bit the inside of her cheeks, and matched Norrington's pace.
"Will you be returning home, to St. George?" He asked suddenly, breaking her out of her silence.
"Oh, no," Christine shook her head. "There's nothing there for us now. I suppose you will have heard how we were shipwrecked, here? I do believe my grandfather was lost to the ocean."
"I'm sorry," Norrington said softly, his other hand reaching up to awkwardly pat her hand where it rested on his arm. "That must be hard for you."
"Yes," she said thoughtfully, looking away. "My sense of pain seems to have been dulled, somewhat, by the events of the last month, however. I feel...numb, much of the time."
The hand resting on hers tightened. "I swear, had that creature masquerading as a man still been alive..." A look a fury had descended on his usually calm face. "I would certainly not have allowed him his liberty, not now, not ever."
"Well, I'm flattered," she smiled a little, glancing up at him. "Thank you."
He flushed, and loosened his hold on her hand. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that..."
"Oh, no, please do." Christine grinned, reaching her other hand up to lightly pat his arm. "It makes me feel quite protected, to know that a Commodore of the Royal Navy would react so strongly to a threat towards me. Do carry on."
A light chuckle escaped the Commodore, a smile touching his lips again. He made no further comment, as they seemed to have reached his home, a medium sized home for the area, but mind-staggeringly large compared to the tiny houses she'd seen as they walked. He led her up the steps, and they didn't have to open the door, as it was opened for them by a butler.
"Ah, Poole," Norrington smiled, greeting the older man. "Thank you. Could you perhaps inform Molly that we have a guest for tea?"
"Of course, sir," Poole answered, holding out a hand for Norrington's hat and coat. "Might I take your hat, miss?"
"Oh! Of...of course!" Startled a little, Christine fumbled at the ribbons under her chin for a moment, before Norrington startled her.
"Here, let me," he said politely, and she quickly dropped her hands as he bent to unravel the twisted knot. "There we are!" Proudly lifting the hat off her head, he turned to deposit it in Poole's hand. "We'll take tea in the drawing room, Poole."
"Of course, sir," Poole nodded, then turned to leave the hallway.
Christine looked around awkwardly, taking in the fine mahogany hall desk, the carefully woven tapestries lying on the floor as rugs. "It's a very beautiful home, Commodore."
"Thank you," he nodded. "The drawing room is just..." he froze, as he had lightly touched her arm to draw her attention, and she had winced, pain chasing its way across her face. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she lied, gritting her teeth. "It's just a small injury, it's nothing..."
Norrington didn't sound like he was going to stand for it. "Come," he ordered, leading her towards the drawing room.
He's acting like I'm one of his soldiers, Christine thought to herself, half-grinning, despite the fact that her arm felt like it was on fire - again. "Really, it's nothing," she protested, but Norrington pointed firmly to a chair, and she sank into it, watching him warily.
"Roll the sleeve up," he ordered, and when Christine didn't do so immediately, he raised an eyebrow. "I could simply call for the doctor, but I doubt he'd be as considerate about your modesty."
Christine shot him a narrow-eyed glare, but he managed to look detachedly innocent. Frowning, she took the cuff of her shirt, and carefully rolled it as far as her elbow before pausing. Shooting him the same suspicious, narrow-eyed glare, she maintained, "It's really nothing. Are you sure you don't want to just move onto to something more pleasant? Like tea, maybe?" She watched him hopefully, but the look he shot her clearly said 'no arguments'.
Sighing, she took the edge of the sleeve, and tugged it up to her shoulder, revealing her upper arm.
"My...God..." Norrington gasped, not even noticing that he was, in fact, doing one of the very things he abhorred about pirates - in taking the Lord's name in vain.
There was reason, of course. Her entire upper arm was a mass of bruising, some still dark red, others faded to dull purple, other places festering black and yellow. They were hand-prints, the marks of a man's hand gripping her arm far harder than ever necessary. Norrington leaned forward, gingerly touching the afflicted limb, which caused Christine to wince, pulling her arm back again.
"Did that creature do this?!" He demanded, face set into a terrifying fury. "Barbossa? Did he do this to you?!"
Christine winced, and nodded.
"Good God," he murmured. Then he stood again, Christine standing with him. "No, please, sit."
"It's just a bruise," she protested, though Norrington did not look convinced. "It's nothing, really."
"It is not nothing," he said firmly, and pointed at the chair. "Now, please. Sit." When she slowly lowered herself into the chair, he nodded, then turned to the door, moving to open it, just as it swung open from outside, admitting Poole and a tray of tea. "Ah, Poole. Excellent."
"Yes, sir?" Poole asked politely, setting the tray carefully on the table. He glanced up, turning to look at Norrington, but his eyes landed first on Christine's arm, and his gaze froze. "Miss, you're injured!"
"I'm not..." she started, but Norrington smoothly interrupted her again.
"Poole, would you please fetch the salve for me? This needs treatment."
"Of course, sir," Poole nodded, leaving.
Christine gaped at the Commodore. "It's just a bruise! It's not like it's a cut even, or anything, it's just a bruise!"
"Yes, but one that bad could easily go septic," Norrington said, altogether too calmly, moving to pour two cups of tea. "Now, have some tea while we wait for Poole, will you? It's earl grey, I do hope that's alright."
Christine glared into the cup suspiciously. The only tea she drank was green, and then, only because she needed to pull an all-nighter to finish a project. Steeling her guts for what she assumed was going to be something absolutely horrible, she lifted the cup to her mouth, and swallowed. Hmm, she thought. Not too bad. Kinda...tea-ish, I guess. Lifting her eyes from her cup, she watched Norrington, drinking his own tea, through her eyelashes. He didn't seem to notice, so she let her eyes trail over him appraisingly. He's not half bad looking, she decided. Elizabeth really doesn't know what she's missing. She took another sip of tea, then mused, I wonder what he looks like without the wig?
Her rather random thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Poole with the bottle of salve, and she watched warily as Norrington took it, then proceeded to open the jar. "This isn't going to hurt, is it?"
"It shouldn't," the Commodore said, kneeling beside her chair. "And if it does, I sincerely apologize."
"S'okay," she murmured, bracing herself. He dipped his fingers into the jar, then carefully spread the pale green gel across her arm. Christine sucked her breath in at his touch, though she realized he was being as gentle as he could, or she would be in excruciating pain. Instead, she was only in pain enough to make her whimper, biting her tongue.
"I'm sorry," he murmured back. "But this needs to be done. There." Norrington rocked back onto his heels, having rolled her sleeve back down, then looking up at her for a moment. "That should do it."
She glanced at the arm warily, then nodded. "Thank you, Commodore."
"Please," his voice surprised her, and she looked up to see him standing over her. "Call me Edward."
A smile quirked at the corner of her mouth. "Of course, Commodore Edward."
He smiled. "No, just Edward, please."
"Well, then, Just Edward, please, call me Christine."
He actually laughed. "I would be honored. But perhaps, I should call Roberts with the carriage? You should be heading back to the Governor's house." He held out a hand, and helped her to her feet. "Christine...might I have you over again? Perhaps for dinner?"
Christine bit her tongue, cursing the fact that her cheeks were really, really quickly turning bright red. "Yes, that would be lovely."
He smiled, looking relieved. "Excellent. I will see you again, soon, then."
"I'd like that," she answered, honestly. She realized this man had just lost his fiancé, but really, this was getting to be really interesting. "Until next time, then."
"Yes, until then." He lifted her hand, brushing his lips lightly across her knuckles. Christine knew that it was merely proper manners that he did that...and c'mon, this guy had to be twenty years older than her, but...her insides still felt like they were melting.
"Thank you," she whispered honestly, then let him lead her out of the drawing room, and back towards the front doors. Poole, who seemed to have some kind of psychic showing-up-exactly-when-needed power, stood waiting with her hat in hand. Nodding her thanks to the butler, she set it on her head, and headed out the door, towards the carriage.
She climbed the steps, and settled herself on the seat. Looking out the window, she could see Norrington on the steps, and grinned, feeling considerable haven't-we-done-this-all-before deja vu, and waved.
As he waved back and the carriage jerked into motion, Christine grinned. Let me have my pirate - she had her own interesting set of possibilities!
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Blargh. Yes, it was odd. It was sappy. It was weird. It was Norrington. *twitches*
I must sleep..................Jack, stop poking the computer. It won't bite.
Oh, forgot to mention the mailing list - don't forget to give me email addies if you want to be informed of updates. Apparently authors alerts seem not to be working for my stories.
50 reviews, friends!