A/N: Even though I LOVE Jack Sparrow, this little fic has become more of a favourite than the other, Silent Adoration. ;; I can't help but love it! I hope you all enjoy!
Disclaimer: Must I? Please don't sue me, I don't have a thing you would want or need.
Dedication: To my good friend Rea, or, "twin" sister. We've been through lots, don't know what I'd do without ya. )
Simple.
Simple, as most things were.
She was rather surprised that no one had seen it before.
His face was not hardened by the habits of cruelty, his eyes not steeled by sternness. He was not solemn, not strict, and not even bitter. Those were all human labels, things that could be used to describe the otherwise indescribable.
He was lonely.
Not surprising for a man of his stature, because with his title he could only afford to spend time upholding it. Commodore James Norrington. Was the promotion worth the constant aching in his heart?
He liked to think so, because it was easier to accept lies when in a constant state of denial. James stood at the window, his tall, proud frame dressed in a rich royal blue naval outfit. Looking out over Port Royal was one of the few things he still enjoyed in his life.
Today, there was no powdered wig. There was no sword at his side, only a hat atop his neatly pulled black brown hair. It was a simple look, and very becoming.
At the same time, this plain appearance left him vulnerable. It was easy to see what lay in his eyes, and his face was open and free of all pretenses.
The door opened slowly, and James turned to see a young woman entering the room. It was Eliza, the serving girl he'd taken a liking to that one sunny morning. She looked at him with bright green eyes, a small smile on her freckled face.
The Commodore couldn't bring himself to return the favour. It was too much effort, lifting his features into a gesture that held no meaning behind it. He nodded to her, once, and then turned his gaze back to the sprawling landscape.
Eliza bustled around his room, straightening the sheets of the bed and re-arranging everything the way she knew he liked it. While she was working, she chanced a glance up at his strong back.
Why had no one else seen it?
He was lonely.
James was far too proud to ask for anyone's help, or companionship, but the maid knew he wanted it more than anything else. It was glaringly obvious to her and she didn't understand why no one noticed but her.
Perhaps it was because she had seen another side of him, a more humane side. He had been kind, gentle, and full of laughter then…
She wanted to hear his voice.
It wasn't enough, to see his scrawling handwriting on the page in front of her. Eliza had not minded that she was deaf all her life, but sitting besides James she cursed her disability.
He sensed that she was still nervous around him. He didn't blame her; it was uncommon for a wealthy man such as himself to be speaking to her on such level terms. The soon-to-be Commodore smiled slightly as though to comfort her.
Eliza furrowed her brow. "Why…are you different, from all the others?" She asked softly. Every word was stroked by her thick English accent, not refined as James' was.
James was taken aback by her question.
What do you mean?
The piece of parchment was passed from his larger hand to her small one, and she read the script that she had come to admire so much. Her green eyes met his deep gray ones, and she bowed her head, unable to hold the gaze.
"You're a noble, and about to be Commodore. I'm not to speak to you, but you treat me as though…" Eliza wrung her hands and finished in a tiny voice, "As though I'm a person."
His eyes had softened then, and before she could realize what he was doing James had pulled her into a warm embrace. She stiffened at first, but soon relaxed in his strong arms. This was the one place she had been looking for, the one place where she felt as though nothing could touch her.
"Sir?"
James smiled.
I do have a name, you know.
Eliza's freckled cheeks turned a vivid colour red, and she shook her head. "Oh no, I could never, sir." The very thought of calling him by his first name, as if he were familiar to her, made her recoil inwardly. The girl stared at the piece of paper as if it were a scandalous thing.
James.
The correction was neat, and she saw the gleam in his eye as he wrote it. Eliza swallowed hard. "James."
That's better, Eliza.
She had to work to fight back the tears. She wanted to hear him say her name, more than anything in the world! It wasn't enough, to see it written there on that faded scrap of paper.
They sat there, James and Eliza, wrapped in a tender embrace. No words were needed; the handsome man was drawing his strength from her understanding of him, and she from the mere fact that he treated her as an equal.
It was all so very simple.
Eliza straightened, the muscles in her back and shoulders still aching from the work she had done the previous night. The memory of that pleasant afternoon was still fresh in her mind as she walked over to him and tapped him very gently on the shoulder.
James looked down into the serving girl's face, the face that had captured his curiosity so many weeks ago. There was nothing overly beautiful there, but her eyes were a laughing green and her cream-coloured skin was freckled pleasantly.
"If you wanted company, you could have asked," she chided in a motherly tone, her country-burr soothing to him. Norrington couldn't stop the smile from spreading on his handsome features.
Walking over to his well-polished mahogany desk, he pulled out a spare piece of parchment and a quill pen. Dipping the writing utensil in ink with grace, he wrote his response.
I don't know what you're talking about.
Her face darkened into a scowl when she read it, just as he had predicted it would. With a laugh, he watched her point a threatening finger under his nose. "Don't you give me any of that, James Norrington."
James raised his eyebrows, laughing again when he heard the tone of voice she used. He raised an eyebrow, and she continued in a gentle voice. "You can't fool me. I know you're lonely."
His gaze was half-way to the window when she said it. Freezing, all traces of merriment vanished from his face. How did she know…?
"It's alright. You don't have to be when I'm here." Shyly, Eliza reached for his hand and took it in her own. For a moment he remained motionless, and the young girl of eighteen feared rejection.
Slowly, he looked down and a smile came to his face once more. Squeezing her hand, he turned to face her and examined her closely. A few loose brown curls had escaped from her bonnet, and were now situated sweetly around her face.
James reached out and touched one, as though it were the most fragile thing in the world.
He loved her. It was as simple as that.