AN: no prizes for guessing who went plummeting from the deck of the Dauntless. A gratuitous chance to see wet!Norrie being all heroic and stuff. I know you've probably all seen DMC by now (sniff! I must wait until my sisters break up from school, they will murder me if I go without them), but in case you still feel the need for civilised!Norrie, allow me to oblige…dd xx
17
Norrington's mind was deadened with fear and panic. He did not need the keening cries of the other two women to know that it had been Miss Groves who had plunged from the slippery deck. Looking desperately towards Port Royal, he could see that the other four boats were already nearing land and much too far away to hear his calls for aid.
There was little time to think, though he felt an overwhelming sense of terror at the thought that Miss Groves was drowning even as he delayed, and he removed his sodden great coat and his embellished brocade jacket before similarly hurling himself into the black, churning waters.
He heard Gillette's crazed entreaties to stop as he fell, but could only see Miss Groves' shy smile before him, a candle to his moth-like desperation as he hit the numbingly cold water.
It was strangely quiet underwater. Looking up, he could see the surface swirling above him, but the dark depths were still and eerily silent. His eyes, stinging in the salt water, swiftly caught sight of Miss Groves' light green dress billowing in her watery surroundings.
His frantically kicking legs would not move fast enough – they felt leaden as he swam towards her sinking form, and his rapidly emptying lungs were burning.
Underwater, she was beautiful. Far more wonderful than the youthful prettiness on land. The loose tendrils of her hair were suspended lightly in the water, and clouded around her pale face gently, creating a dark halo. Her closed eyes seemed peaceful and serene, and Norrington felt it would be a blessing indeed to wake with that face beside him each morning.
His irrational musings hindered him as he grasped at her falling body, and hauled her agonisingly slowly towards the surface. The dress weighed her down, and Norrington found his legs tangled in her skirts as he tried to kick and thereby propel them towards fresh air.
It was a cruel irony that, when he surfaced, gulping the air thirstily, he found the storm had at last abated. It was still raining, but the sea was much calmer and the sharp forks of lightning no longer split the sky. He trod water for a moment, regaining his breath, keeping Miss Groves' lolling head above water.
'Miss Groves!' he gasped croakily. She did not stir in his arms, and, though he found some vestige of strength in his tired bones to shake her a little, it was to no avail. Panic swelled within him again.
With a great feeling of relief and hope he saw Myers' boat steering towards them, all occupants pulling hard at the double oars. He waved feebly, his other arm tucked around the limp woman's tiny waist.
The boat drew nearer, and eager hands reached out to haul the unconscious girl into the boat. The Commodore clasped the outstretched arms gladly, and let his men pull him, too, into the hull, where he lay, panting heavily, for several moments, while two marines attempted to bring Miss Groves round.
Lying in the bottom of the small boat, hearing the frantic calls and shouts of the men and women aboard as though he were still underwater…somehow distant and muffled, Norrington watched the grey, oppressive sky swell above him. There seemed to be so little urgency anymore…he was floating on a bed of exhaustion. He thought of Miss Groves' dress swelling and billowing in the water as she sank, and felt again the frailty of her wrist as he finally caught hold of her.
Then he heard her coughing, and somehow his body galvanised itself into action, and he was his usual decisive, commanding self, kneeling in a pool of dirty water and helping her to sit up, hitting her back lightly as she expelled water.
'Are you alright?' he asked, his voice a little higher and quicker than he intended.
She nodded between frenetic coughing.
'Pull harder, men!' Norrington called to the sailors already exerting themselves at the oars. 'Miss Groves must not catch a chill.' He looked down at her breathing raggedly, curled pitifully in the bottom of the boat, and willed the land to draw nearer more quickly.
She looked up at him, her hair matted and plastered to her ashen face, her eyes red from the sting of the salt water. Her weak smile was to Norrington as though the sun had dared to make an impromptu appearance. He suddenly saw her sinking away from him further into the darkness, and caught his breath in the realisation that he had saved her, that she would be there to smile at him thus in days to come.
All occupants of the boat were thoroughly wet by the time they reached the long pier of Port Royal. It seemed an agonisingly long time before they were tethered and secure, and the marines could help Miss Groves ashore.
She stood, her lovely dress sodden and clinging to her legs, shivering wildly. Norrington could see Groves running towards them down the thin wooden walkway, anxiety scrawled across his face. As he sprang from the boat himself, his legs unusually shaky, he saw Miss Groves give a small gasp and faint quietly away.
Despite his own fatigued state, the sight of her waist drooping like a young willow drove him forwards and, improbably, he caught her in his arms and felt the press of her lithe young body against his damp shirt, and discerned the quickened pace of her heart against him.
Again, he thought idly that he could stay this way forever, with Miss Groves protected and warmed by his tight embrace…but her ice cold face and blue lips forced him into reality and pragmatism.
'My office!' he shouted, still holding her clasped against him, feeling the dead weight of her limp body slump into his chest. 'Bring me hot wine and blankets!' he added swiftly, gathering the small figure up in his arms, cradling her lolling head against his arm, and stalking as rapidly as possibly down the pier towards the fort. The marines followed dutifully in his wake, although many of them were also shivering and could hardly grip the ropes to tie the boats securely.
It was a matter of seconds before he reached the door of his small office, but it seemed an age to the Commodore, whose own exertions had tired him thoroughly. His legs seemed like jelly and were sluggish as he made the last few steps towards a dry, warm haven away from the pounding rain.
The door closed behind him silently, and he savoured the sudden stillness – away from the mad, whirling world, with only this woman in his arms, this woman stirring very slightly and opening her brilliant eyes like an infant, for the first time. He laid her reverently on the large leather couch by the fire, immediately feeling the void left by her little body. Now that she was out of danger, he suddenly blushed to be alone with her, to see her dress cling to her so tightly, to see her so vulnerable and small in the chair in which he himself had so often slept.
'I…I have sent for hot wine and blankets, Miss Groves,' he said haltingly, retreating into the shadows by his desk in confusion, distancing himself from her prostate form.
She nodded slowly, and brought one cyanosed hand up to her temple to brush the straggly tendrils of hair away, but found it was shaking too violently. She bit her lip and looked utterly miserable, so that Norrington could not stay away and watch her shiver mutely. He pulled his best coat down from its peg and placed it softly around her shoulders, tucking it around her thin white arms.
'Is that better?' he asked, his voice automatically low and soothing. He intended to move back to his guarded position by his maps and books, but found that the fear and misery in her dark eyes compelled him to kneel down beside her.
'I…Commodore…I am so very sorry…I have caused you so much trouble today…I…' her voice was hoarse and evidently close to tears, and Norrington flinched to think that she might feel guilty.
'Miss Groves, please…' he said hopelessly, aimlessly. 'Do not apologise…I…' he realised his voice was beginning to run away with him, in the old familiar way he felt with Elizabeth (in days that seemed so distant at that moment). 'I could not have faced your brother had you perished,' he finished lamely. She nodded, unable to stop hot tears from chasing down her smeared cheeks, and looked at her lap, refusing to meet his gaze.
They sat in silence for several moments, and her shivering abated gradually. Norrington watched her thin face, and wondered what it was he had truly meant to say…that he could not have lived had he reached for her vanishing hand and seen her sink away forever? Seeing the reassuring rise and fall of her bosom, and hearing her gentle breath in the otherwise silent room forced him to realise that it was so. On an impulse, he stretched out a trembling hand and brushed the wet hair out of her eyes, tucked it tenderly behind one dainty ear.
At his touch, she did not start, but looked at him from the corner of her tear-stained eyes. He managed, though his throat felt tight and dry, to smile wanly.
The door opened, and Groves came in, his young face worried, carrying a steaming goblet of wine.
AN: ah, I love it. as my friend Alex inexplicably said to me the other day, 'I love it like Xabi Alonso loves Steven Gerrard.' I just raised one contemptuous eyebrow at her and patted her condescendingly on the head, bless her. Anyway, returning to le fic – will Alicia catch pneumonia? Will she be forced to leave the town to recuperate in the far-off hills? Will Norrington be consumed by his own depressive thoughts? All will be revealed in the course of several chapters…dd xx