(Norrington's POV)

I slipped the ring on her finger, allowing myself to smile broadly with the sheer happiness I felt. Fiona smiled patiently, excitedly up at me, eyes sparkling. There was pride and love in her eyes, a faint hint of the healed wound in her side. She had recovered quickly, and despite the doctor's warning that she might be too weak to attend the ceremony and my own objections and pleas to wait a few more weeks to assure complete recovery, she wanted to go through with the marriage as soon as possible.

"I know my own limits, Lawrence Norrington," Fiona had told me firmly, raising a warning finger as she slowly packed her things in her room, taking care not to overexert herself. "Trust me, dearest Commodore." A familiar flash rippled through her eyes then, and did the same now at our wedding.

Fiona was ethereally beautiful in the white dress, tiny white flowers woven into her golden locks which were drawn up into braids around the crown of her head. I had wanted to cuddle her against me immediately, but resisted my emotions, knowing that proper conduct was essential until we were alone together in our home.

"I now pronounce you man and wife," the priest said. A roar went up from the crowd.

"They cheer for you, husband," she giggled proudly. "For finally getting your act together and getting married." I wanted to burst into laughter, but just shook my head before offering my arm and drawing her onto the dance floor. We waltzed, talked, played the perfect host and hostess, and even Gillete's best man speech was noteworthy. Elizabeth and Turner were there, their wedding only a few days after ours. They stood away from the crowd, and neither Fiona nor I objected. We had made a point of distancing ourselves from them.

As the sun slipped down onto the horizon, making a golden road across the water, Fiona and I slipped away onto one of the side streets. I drew her close to me, being gentle.

"Turn here," she murmured, and as I glanced questioningly at her we turned left, going down a street that opened out onto a cliff, the houses set back far enough from the edge to provide for comfort. The view over the bay was brilliant. We stood silently, watching.

"I wanted to see it before we go home," Fiona explained. "I found this place the day you didn't show up to give me a tour of the docks." She grinned up at me teasingly.

"That was out of my control," I defended. " I have a duty to attend to." She laughed lightly, wrapping her arms around me.

"Come, my dear, you shall be able to see both sunrise and sunset from our bedroom," I told her, drawing her away from the promontory and back towards town.

"Our bedroom," she repeated in a contented murmur. Nestling into my embrace, we walked back, and I guided her towards my residence that was now hers as well.

(Fiona's POV)

I had found my new life to be more than I had ever hoped it could be, and soon settled into a pattern of daily life. Lawrence never failed in his attentions to me, nor I to him. We rarely ever saw the Turners, though we were invited to their wedding. I continued to work for Mrs. Archon, and the wound in my side healed quickly. Lawrence's constant worrying about it was a relief to be rid of. I felt that my life now had meaning, since I was now with someone I cared about exceedingly and who felt the same for me. After two months, I knew I could not be happier.

Nine Months Later (Norrington's POV)

A child's wail echoed out of the bedroom, and I leapt to my feet, storming in. I immediately went to the bed, where Fiona, slightly propped up by the pillows and completely limp, gave me a weary, content smile. Her face glistened with sweat, hair plastered over her temples and forehead. The midwife appeared on the other side with the child in a white blanket of sorts, screaming bloody murder. As Fiona took the child in her arms, gently cooing and humming, the wailing stopped. I crawled onto the bed next to her hesitantly, gazing down at the newborn, a grey-pink color.

"Lawrence, meet your son," Fiona sighed as she leaned back against me. I felt the air go back into my chest. I gazed in awe at the newborn. The infant's small face was red and wrinkled a bit, eyes squeezed shut and mouth open. He struggled, arms moving slowly and stiffly, and he let out a wail. Fiona put him up against her bare chest near her throat, and his tiny hands groped at the warm skin. She stroked his head, a wistful smile of weariness covering her face. The midwife dabbed the sweat away from Fiona's face with a cloth, and I took it from her, deciding to do it myself.

"His name shall be Thomas," I said.

"I was just thinking that myself. And shall dear Thomas have a middle name?"

"Oh, how about Edward Fitzgerald?"

"Thomas Edward Fitzgerald Norrington. Yes, that shall do quite nicely," she murmured in agreement. "Would you like to hold him?" Her blue-grey eyes came to mine. Unsurely, I reached forward, I took the baby, cradling his head and bottom before holding him in my arms. Fiona watched me intensely, carefully. Thomas didn't cry, but his eyes opened, staring up. I stroked his cheek, and he blinked a few times. A smile creased my face, and I touched his nose. It scrunched under my touch as he yawned. Laughing, I moved towards Fiona.

"Fiona, look at him," I said, then glanced at my wife. She was sound asleep, breathing shallow. I could only imagine how tired she was. As I stood in the room holding my child and slowly rocking him, I felt my heart swell with the satisfaction of having my life complete, wholly rounded out and rich. I was a blessed man.

Fin

Author's Note: All right, does this chapter lack in anything that you readers would like? And secondly, should there be some sort of sequel? Any suggestions? Yes or no?