A few hours later
(Norrington's POV)
I felt sick. The remainders of Barbossa's crew were locked in the hold as we headed back to Port Royal. The surgeon had been in the cabin all night, and still no word. I had eaten or drunk anything out of worry, not even the sea being its usual comforting self.
The surgeon pulled himself up the stairs, bloody and tired. I moved forward quickly, eager and yet worried about Fiona's condition.
"How is she?" I asked impatiently. My hands were in fists, my jaw quivering.
"She's asleep, and she'll be fine," he replied. "She's incredibly lucky. The bullet went straight through, and didn't hit any vital organs. When we get to Port Royal I'll need to have a look at her again to make sure she's healing properly, and I'll check on her regularly during the trip back." I sighed, leaning on the railing and shutting my eyes, finally allowing myself to breathe. "Why does she matter so much to you, sir, if you don't mind me asking?" he said after a moment.
"She's my fiancée," I confessed, not deigning to look at him. "And I do mind you asking."
"Ah. Well, if it's any comfort, she'll still be able to have plenty of children, Commodore, plenty indeed." I grimaced, my lower lip curling in disgust.
"Mr. Halstaff," I said stiffly, resuming my straight, upright position and impassive composure. The surgeon turned around as he began descending the stairs.
"Yes, Commodore?"
"As a respected surgeon in the service of His Majesty's navy, I would have thought you would know better than to make such an inappropriate statement as that one about children." He swallowed nervously. "Make sure it doesn't happen again. Understood?"
"Perfectly, Commodore." He had gotten my point – the next time, he would be thrown out and have to become a surgeon with his own practice. After he had disappeared below decks, I handed the ship over to the Captain and went down to the cabin, trying not to rush and appear overly concerned. I entered quietly. Fiona was sound asleep under the effects of the drugs, in a white gown someone had scrounged up, lying under the sheets and blanket on the small bed. Throwing my jacket and hat onto a chair, I sat beside her, leaning up against the backboard, watching her peacefully sleep. Gently, I stroked her face, feeling the tears welling in my throat yet again. I had been so lucky. I would give her anything and everything to make her happy. I knew she would do her best to be the best wife she knew how, do everything within her power to do whatever I desired. It was only fair that I do the same. She had been through so much in order to come out on the better side of things, and a few of those things had been for me, in a sense. She would make a good wife.