Author's Note: thanks for your patience in updating this! I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as the first. Chapter 3 should be coming out by the end of the week, perhaps Sunday (8/8/04).
Tempus Fidgets, chapter 2
by CinnamonGrrl
"I have something to tell you," Lieutenant Groves said, his face and tone very serious, and she felt her heart leap into her throat. Talk about working fast.
"Yes?" Dawn said breathlessly. Would it be a declaration of love? Perhaps, even, a marriage proposal? Not that she could, or even would, accept but wouldn't it be the most romantic thing ever?
"Commodore Norrington has arrived," Groves told Dawn, nodding in the direction of the courtyard behind her.
What? "What?" she said. That was it? No words of undying adoration? "Oh."
"You were expecting... something else?" Groves asked, leaning forward rather closely to speak into her ear, in a tone so amused she wondered how it was he wasn't actually laughing out loud.
"Not at all," Dawn replied loftily, shifting Joyce so the baby was between them. He did laugh, then, and she wondered if he knew everything she was thinking as she felt her cheeks warm.
"Lieutenant Groves," said a voice that was positively arctic in tone, "may I be so bold as to inquire exactly what you are doing with this woman in the middle of the yard? For I assume you are both capable and willing to explain why you are neglecting your duties—I know for a fact you should be supervising the inventory and repair of cannonry on the east wall—to fraternize with a civilian, who most certainly ought not to be in the rear yard."
Dawn knew that voice. Only one person was able to deliver snark and condescension in equal measures, and throw in a side of resigned and undeserving patience for good measure. She pasted a pleasantly neutral smile on her face and turned around.
Commodore James Norrington was wearing a white curled wig, feathery triangle hat from hell, and long blue coat with enough gold braid to qualify as his own float in a Mardi Gras parade. His face was identical to the James that Dawn knew, but his eyes were a paler, even frostier shade of blue, and his features lacked the smidgen of warmth that Buffy and then Joyce had brought into his life. For a moment, she felt absolutely, hideously sorry for him and found herself blinking away tears.
"Are you well, Miss Summers?" Lieutenant Groves inquired solicitously.
"Just the sun in my eyes," she said, offering a weak smile and dropping a kiss onto Joyce's head. She thought she detected a flicker of recognition in James' eyes at hearing her name, and wanted to shriek that Buffy was there, that she herself was holding his daughter—sort of—but forced herself to simply stand there sedately.
"Am I to receive an explanation for Miss... Summers' presence here, or shall we stand around all day?" James asked. His tones were clipped, the hallmark of the busy man for whom time is very valuable.
"Actually, sir, we've had a bit of a mystery on our hands since yesterday," Groves said easily. "Miss Summers and her sister seemed to simply appear in the barracks last afternoon, and have refused to speak of the whys and wherefores with anyone but yourself."
Something sharpened in those pale eyes, then; a suspicion that was tinged with a hope so wild Dawn felt like weeping again. "Is that so," was all he said, however, managing to sound supremely bored. But then Joyce stirred, removing her floppy-brimmed watermelon hat, and waved it at him.
Her face was still too infantile and chubby for anyone to discern which parent she most resembled. Her hair was James', dark and unruly, but her eyes were pure Buffy: deep green with startling gold flecks and a darker ring around the iris.
James's own eyes widened in the only outward symptom of shock he would reveal; then his lips clamped tighter and he stepped back. "Bring them to my office," he said. "Immediately." Then he turned on his heel and strode away, the gravel crunching noisily under his feet.
Buffy was smiling when Dawn and Groves returned to the room, but it quickly faded upon hearing Dawn's blurted-out words.
"James is here," she said. Buffy blinked, her hand flying to her throat. "It's... been a long time since they've seen each other," Dawn explained to Groves, who was obviously confused by Buffy's reaction to the news.
Buffy rummaged through the diaper bag for a comb, and ran it through her hair. "Do I look okay?" she asked shakily. "Should I put on some makeup? Will—"
Dawn took the comb from her sister's trembling fingers. "Buffy," she said, "It's James. No matter what, it's James. It doesn't matter how you look. He'll think you're beautiful. He always does."
Buffy stared up at her a long moment, then nodded, squaring her shoulders. "Yes," she said firmly, and held out her arms for Joyce. "Let's go."
Groves once more escorted Dawn, with Buffy just behind, through the fort until he stopped at a door. Knocking perfunctorily, he pushed it open and gestured for Dawn to enter. James was seated behind his desk, every inch the commodore. His only concession to having come inside was the removal of his hat, which now perched on a peg on the wall; he still wore his wig, coat, cravat, and approximately eighty other layers of clothing.
He stood when Dawn entered, nodding to her, but then his gaze went past her to the woman who followed her in. "Buffy," he said, but made no move toward her.
"Hi, James," she replied, offering a shaky smile. "It's good to see you again."
He nodded solemnly. "And you," he said. His tone was polite, but there was a throbbing undercurrent of emotion that was sending chills up Dawn's spine. She shivered.
"Commodore," exclaimed Gillette as he dashed into the room, breathing a little hard from running. "I came as soon as I learnt you were back. There are—oh." He cut himself short upon seeing the two women. "Never mind, then."
"The matter is well in hand, Lieutenant," James said, his gaze never wavering from Buffy's face. "Might I trouble you to take Miss Summers for a turn round the fort whilst I speak privately with..."
"Mrs. Summers," Buffy supplied.
"Mrs. Summers," he finished, his voice silky as it caressed the syllables. Another shiver, and Groves was watching her oddly.
"Of course, sir," Gillette agreed, and before she knew it, Dawn was whirled from the room on his arm.
Damn. And she'd hoped to be able to watch their reunion, too.
Buffy's arms tightened around Joyce a fraction as she stood across the room from James. He hadn't moved a muscle, except to speak, since she'd entered. It felt odd to be with him again; though her husband was virtually identical to his predecessor, still he was the product of a 20th century upbringing. The man before her was 17th century through and through, and especially so now that there was no extenuating circumstance like being stranded in an abandoned mansion. James would not make a move toward her, this time.
"This child is yours, then, and not your sister's?" he asked at last.
"Yes, she's mine."
"And how long has passed for you since you returned?"
"Almost two years," Buffy replied, feeling like she was being interrogated. Her suspicion that he was wondering if he could possibly have fathered Joyce was confirmed at the slight slump of his shoulders as he did the math.
"You are married now, I assume, to the father of this child?" His stance did not relax at all as he clasped his hands behind his back. She nodded. "And your new name?"
She took a deep breath. He'd believed her about being the Slayer, about travelling through time in the first place. Surely this wouldn't be so far-fetched for him to accept? "Buffy Norrington."
He drew in a sharp breath through his nose, the only indication he was surprised or that he'd even heard. "Explain."
Bored, Joyce started to fuss. Buffy eased into one of the chairs before his desk, settling Joyce on her knee before digging through the diaper bag for a toy. She handed the stuffed doll to her daughter before raising her eyes to his tall, forbidding form only a few feet away.
"I went back," she began. "After a few days, I met a man. He wouldn't leave me alone, and I was starting to get angry. But then he said that he wanted me, and I looked harder at him." She took a deep breath and smiled at his expression of puzzlement. "It was you, James. You came back to me, like you promised you would."
"I do not understand," he said in a low voice.
"Your soul, James. Your soul was reborn into the body of one of your brother's descendants." She jiggled her knee to bounce Joyce up and down. "Your soul guided you to find me at The Port Royal Inn, after I returned from this time."
"My soul."
She nodded. "He's nearly identical, that James, to how you are now. A captain in the Navy, obsessed with the Bermuda triangle..." She had to laugh a little at that hobby of his. "He loves his work, considers it a calling rather than a job, but was happy to change things once I got pregnant, so he wasn't gone so much. He's still got that dry sense of humour, and the deadpan face. I was crying like a big idiot at our wedding, and he was so calm and cool the whole time. I only got him to admit later how nervous he'd been by tickling him." She smiled at the happy memory.
"And the child?"
"Her name is Joyce, after my mother," Buffy told him. "She was conceived the night James asked me to marry him, though he won't admit it." Another smile. "No one can believe how good he is with her; he can diaper her better than I can. And he hurries home every night to give her her bath and put her to bed; I know he feels bad he doesn't see her since he's at work, but he tries to make it up at night and on the weekends."
"You love him," James stated. His voice sounded... hard, like something in him had dried up.
"I love you, James," Buffy replied, startled. "You now, you then... it's still you." She ventured a smirk. "Even if you're wearing a wig that makes you look like the world's largest Q-tip. I love you no matter what."
James was standing before her almost before she could blink, his hands hard on her arms as he hauled her upright, but still careful not to squash the child she held. "I have been... disconsolate without you," he muttered, his eyes searching hers. "I never thought to see you again, and certainly not—" his gaze dropped to Joyce's curly dark head, "--under these circumstances."
"She's not a circumstance, James, she's your daughter," Buffy said, frowning, but then he was kissing her, kissing her like it would save his life. Her mouth opened beneath his, the familiar taste of him bringing tears to her eyes. It had only been a day since they'd been flung into the past, a day since she'd seen her husband, but it had seemed like forever.
A sticky little hand on her cheek made her pull back. Joyce was patting Buffy's face in the way she did to try and gain her mother's distracted attention. "Guh guh guh," Joyce said happily, then reached to pull on a little of the eight miles of gold trim adorning James' uniform.
"You have had a child," he said, his voice a little awed. "You love him enough to have a child with him."
"With you," Buffy corrected absently. "Look at that nose, James. Who else's could she be?"
His arm came around her in that eventual way of his, as if he'd considered both pros and cons of embracing her and found the action acceptable. His other hand came up to touch Joyce's hair, then the tip of the aforementioned nose. "He... I... look the same?"
Buffy snuggled deeper against him. He smelt a little different now, of bay rum and spice, whereas James the Second smelt of the Dolce and Gabbana cologne she'd given him for Christmas last year. Still, she had no complaints—underlying it all was the scent of him she adored. "Identical, except your hair is lighter and your eyes are darker. And not much, just a little."
"Extraordinary," he breathed, eyes closing as he pressed a kiss to her temple. "You are extraordinary. She is extraordinary."
Buffy laughed in relief, glad he was taking it all so well. "The word's getting old, James. Try a new one."
"How do you feel about 'beautiful'?" he asked seriously. "Or 'perfect'?"
She laughed again. "Those are two really good words." She reached up to touch the beloved planes of his face; he closed his eyes in bliss. "What have you been doing since I left?"
His eyes opened again, and latched onto her, pale but intense. "Working," he replied. "As ever. It's not been easy, carving out a new capitol city after Port Royal's destruction. We lost a lot of people. But Kingston is a fine little town, and soon shall be quite impressive, I believe."
She saw for the first time the fine lines round his eyes. He was almost thirty-seven years old, and in this century they didn't have things like sunscreen to help prevent premature aging. "And what about your love life?" she asked lightly, wanting to tease him a little. "Been courting any pretty girls?"
His brows raised in incredulity. "Even were there the time, I have not the inclination," he said repressively. "None seem able to compare with the brazen trollop whose acquaintance I made in Port Royal several years ago."
Buffy smiled, even though inside she was incredibly sad for him. "Don't spend your whole life alone, James," she whispered, resting her head on his chest. "I won't be here long, you know. You have to move on. I can't stand the idea of you by yourself forever."
"Shh," he said, and kissed her again, and again. Thus it was that Dawn returned with Lieutenants Gillette and Groves in tow, arguing with the former about something as Groves knocked on the door and opened it.
"I'm telling you," Dawn insisted. "There's no nutrition in that crap. Even if your teeth stay intact, you're not getting anything out of it but a raging case of constipation."
"Hardtack has been a staple of the Royal Navy since its inception, Miss Summers," Gillette replied, frowning fiercely. "I doubt we would be the current ruler of the seas were it so totally lacking in merit as you say."
But she dismissed his statement with an airy wave. "It's either a coincidence, or a miracle," she told him, then grinned broadly at the sight of Buffy and Joyce in the protective circle of James' arms.
The lieutenants, however, were rather more surprised—some might call it "poleaxed", to be completely accurate—and went into full stiff-upper-lip mode in classic British style to hide their shock and embarrassment. James gently extricated himself from Buffy and Joyce and stepped back behind his desk.
"Lieutenant Groves," he said, "perhaps that will prevent you from entering an office before you are beckoned?"
"It shall never happen again, sir," Groves replied fervently, and Buffy had to laugh.
"They're just jealous because they're not getting smoochies, James," she told him. The lieutenants looked even more appalled at the idea of the Commodore receiving "smoochies".
"Please, sir," Gillette said, "I really should be drilling the Marines on formation—"
"And there's that inventory I've been so lax about, sir," Groves volunteered. "I really ought to go complete it."
Buffy had to bite her lip to stifle the giggle that bubbled up when James' mouth turned up at the corners in the grin that said he was about to enjoy himself at someone else's expense.
"Certainly not," he said smoothly, "I won't hear of it. You shall both join us for luncheon in my apartments. To celebrate."
"What exactly," Gillette said, shooting the evil eye at Dawn, who was outright laughing at their distress, "are we to be celebrating? Sir?" he added belatedly.
"Why, this visit by Mrs. Summers, Miss Summers, and Miss Joyce," James replied. "I feel confident that, with a little time, you shall become as glad as I to welcome them here to Fort Charles and Kingston."
"Indeed," growled Gillette when Dawn shot him a look of triumph. Groves just stared at his feet, looking like he didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
James' "apartments" turned out to be a suite of luxuriously appointed rooms on the west side of the fort, overlooking the palisades dropping to the enormous harbour Kingston boasted.
"Nice place," Buffy commented.
"It's good to be the commodore," James replied modestly as a trolley bearing a quantity of food was rolled in and the sailor bearing it began setting platters on the table.
Buffy placed Joyce between her and Dawn so they could take turns tending the baby whilst they ate, and their meal was actually quite pleasant. Dawn couldn't say she was entirely fond of the stewed eel, but the cheese biscuits were delicious and the pork rouillettes practically melted in her mouth.
"I have to get the recipe for these things," she mumbled around a mouthful, her fork already full for another shoveling.
This amused James. "You can cook?" he asked, glancing toward her sister. At her nod, he continued, "A talent that does not run in the family, it would appear."
"You didn't seem to mind doing all the cooking last time," Buffy grumbled, and gave Joyce a bit of roasted squash to gum.
"I was trying to stay on your good side last time," he informed her. "I was loathe to say anything to cause your disapproval."
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Please," she retorted. "You were totally okay with me getting banged up, climbing those orange trees because you were too scared. My legs were skinned for a week from that, Mr. I'm Afraid of Heights."
"I am not afraid of heights," James denied, nose lifting about an inch as he stared down it at her. "It was merely to preserve my dignity that I refused to climb trees in search of fruit."
"You're just lucky I was willing to share," Buffy told him, waving her forkful of pork at him. "I could have made you eat that shoe leather crap." She turned to Gillette on her left. "We made this godawful stew—"
"Who made it, madam?" James interrupted. "Who?"
"James made this godawful stew," she amended with another roll of the eyes, "Dried beef and hardtack, wasn't it, honey?" she asked him for confirmation, slipping into the pet name she had for her husband. James nodded carefully, and Dawn noticed how Gillette's already-sharp gaze seemed to become positively piercing.
"And how did you come to be in a situation where the Commodore would be required to cook survival rations for the two of you, Mrs. Summers?"
Uh-oh. Buffy turned to James, her eyes telling him she'd go along with whatever he said. "Do you recall, Gillette, when I was washed overboard during that storm?" Ah, so it would be the truth, then.
"Of course, sir," he replied immediately. "We'd thought you dead."
"Then why did you keep searching for me?" James asked, the curl of his mouth a little less of a smirk and more of a genuine smile as Gillette stammered a little, turning his red face down to his plate. "Mrs. Summers, too, had suffered a mishap due to the storm, and we found ourselves stranded at the governor's mansion for a period of days."
"You mean you were there with Mrs. Summers for several days? Alone?" Lieutenant Groves asked, his gaze flicking to Joyce. But James did not answer, his sole raised eyebrow making it clear that no more details were forthcoming.
"That is where we made each other's acquaintance," James said at last, and sipped at his wine, looking at no one in particular. Buffy just smiled a secret smile and continued to feed Joyce.
"So!" Dawn said, a little nervously, to fill the silence that ensued. "I sure would like to get a tour of Kingston. How about you, Buffy?"
"You can go without me," Buffy replied casually. Too casually, if you asked Dawn, who perked up and listened with suspicion as her sister continued. "I think I'd just like to hang back, play with Joyce a little, and rest."
Rest? Buffy never needed to "rest". She had more energy than a nuclear power plant. Dawn's suspicions were confirmed when James said, "Splendid idea, Mrs. Summers. Feel free to avail yourself of my apartments, so you and the little one may be as comfortable as possible, until more appropriate rooms for you and your sister can be arranged."
They are so going to do it as soon as the rest of us are gone, she thought grouchily. This was nothing new—Buffy and James the Second were always coming up with these flimsy excuses why they couldn't do something, and would Dawn mind terribly babysitting Joyce for the night?
"Let me guess," she said, setting down her silverware with a clatter. "You find yourself kind of tired, Buffy, and don't I want to bring Joyce with me so you can take a nap?" She turned to James. "And oops! You've been working hard all day. You're tired too. Naps all around." A glower for all present. "Like I believe you're going to be sleeping. Hah."
Gillette sounded like he was choking on his tongue. Groves didn't even bother to try and hide his smile. Buffy blushed, and even James had a bit of colour high up on his cheeks. Joyce just blew a spit bubble.
"If you don't want to watch Joyce, just say so," Buffy said testily.
"It's not that, and you know it," Dawn replied. The truth was, she was jealous. Buffy had this true love thing, and it was exciting and adventurous, and the way James looked at her—no matter which James, in which century—had a way of making this funny pain rise up in Dawn's chest. She'd never had a man look at her that way, like he'd die if he didn't get to kiss her. And she wanted that. A lot. "I don't want to talk about this right now," she said, her throat tight.
"If you truly do not mind taking Joyce for a few hours," James said gently, "we would be much obliged to you. It has been a long time, and we have much to discuss." The coolness had slid from his face for a moment, and there was the new brother she'd grown to love over the past two years: a little awkward with the being-compassionate stuff, but still pretty good with it. "You could take her for a brief tour of the waterfront; the ships are certain to impress even one so little as she."
Dawn nodded jerkily and concentrated on cleaning her plate, more to keep from having to make eye contact with anyone than another reason. She felt like an idiot; English people were not big on getting emotional in public, especially with people you just met. For all that James was so like the one she knew in the 21st century, he still had never met her before. And that wasn't even mentioning Gillette and Groves...
"Though I would dearly enjoy squiring Miss Summers round the harbour," Gillette said in the most insincere tone Dawn had ever heard, "I do have a great deal to accomplish today. You'll be wanting my report of the fort during your absence, and—"
"I would be more than delighted to escort you, Miss Summers," Groves interrupted quietly. She looked up quickly, and found him watching her, his face intent. "If you will do me the honour?"
"I... um... sure," she finished lamely, aware of Buffy's pleading eyes in her peripheral vision. "When?"
"No time like the present, if you are done with your meal," James put in, dropping his napkin on the table and standing. The lieutenants rose as well. Gillette said his farewells and scampered away, and Groves waited patiently whilst Dawn readied the baby and her ever-present diaper bag for their little jaunt into town.
"Thanks, Dawnie," Buffy whispered, giving her a quick hug.
"Yeah, yeah," Dawn grumbled. "Payback's gonna be a bitch."
"Yeah, yeah," Buffy replied, and shut the door on them.
Dawn heaved a sigh, which made Joyce look up at her with wide eyes. "C'mon, baby," she said to her niece, "let's go look at some big boats."
"Ships," Lieutenant Groves corrected automatically as he led her outside. She just shot him a look. "We can take a carriage," he said, "but it would take longer if we were to walk." Unsaid were the words, "and thus leave more time for the Commodore and your sister together."
"Walking is fine, if you don't mind taking turns carrying Joyce," Dawn said as they made their way to the portcullised entrance to Fort Charles. "She's getting so big."
They walked in silence a few moments, Dawn's sandals slipping a little on the unfamiliar cobblestone of the streets. Then Groves asked, "How old is she?"
Dawn nodded and shifted her to the other side, already getting tired of holding the child's weight. "Nine months exactly, in two days. Why?"
Groves stopped and turned to face her, his eyes clear and honest. "Then there is no way she could be the child of Commodore Norrington," he said. "I believe he is under the impression that she is, and that is a deception I cannot support, Miss Summers."
Dawn's mind raced as she tried to think of something to say. She didn't want to reveal to him the weirdness that was life as a Summers woman; besides, the whole time-travel-reincarnation thing wasn't her story to tell. "Listen," she said at last, "I can't tell you the truth. Only Buffy and James can do that. But I need you to trust me when I say that Joyce is James'. Really, she is."
Groves stared at her a long moment, and Dawn was beginning to squirm under his steady regard until at last he nodded, then looked down at Joyce. She looked back at him, and held her little arms up. Obligingly, he took her from Dawn (much to the relief of her aching arms). "I believe you," he said, but was studying Joyce.
"Thank you," she said with a relieved smile. Disaster avoided, she thought giddily, and was pleased that Groves trusted and believed her.
"Don't get too smug," he told her, a teasing edge to his deep voice. "Look at that nose." He nodded down at Joyce, who was making a hopeless mess of his carefully-knotted cravat. "Poor child."