James stood still, submitting to his housekeeper's measuring cord. He'd barely been back home half a day before Mrs Dower had noticed that he'd lost weight, which meant she'd have to alter his dress uniform for the wedding. Normally the work would fall to the port tailors, but everyone in Port Royal was buying new outfits for the social event of the year (even if society thought Mr Turner an oik that was no excuse to wear an unfashionable gown to the festivities).

'You're slight as a pole sir! You've lost at least a stone* of late, your dress uniform will hang off you like a sack if I can't alter it in time!' Mrs Dower had always been a little more familiar with him than was strictly appropriate for a servant, although she did still show him the proper respect. Being a naval widow she understood the Commodore's rank and responsibilities better than most civilians.

James made a non-committal noise at that, the casual observation sending a stab of apprehension through him. Did he have long to live? The prospect of fading away through illness terrified him as a man of action who awoke each morning in the knowledge that a battle might end him that day. To his horror, that cold unrelenting panic had even caused a bout of unmanly weeping in the privacy of his cabin on one mortifying occasion after a particularly agonising episode.

It was then that his manservant arrived with the news that Mr Turner awaited him in the drawing-room. James sighed internally, affixed his wig back atop his head and headed downstairs. Turner was stood examining the watercolours on the drawing-room walls when Norrington came to stand in the doorway. He glanced at the portrait of his naval captain great-uncle and casually touched the globe as he passed the occasional table it stood on. His footsteps alerted Turner to his presence as Norrington joined Turner in admiring the two excellent watercolours he'd commissioned of the Dauntless and Interceptor.

Will turned to see the Commodore standing beside him. Pale, composed and immaculately turned out even after weeks at sea; Will could see why the other man would have been a perfect social match for Lizzy. Sometimes that worried him, but he'd seen the Commodore's face when he'd released Elizabeth from their engagement. He might be prim, proper and rather stuck up, but he was also deeply honourable and loved Lizzy. He decided to ask the question that had been burning in his mind since the Commodore had returned empty-handed from his failed mission to recapture Sparrow. 'Did the Sparrow debacle affect your career?'

James was surprised and bypassed the usual social niceties. He did not think that was a matter that he needed to discuss with Turner and stalked over to the window, tucking his hands behind his back. 'I do not think such matters are relevant, Mr Turner.'

William cocked his head, noticing the slightly pink flush to the naval officer's cheeks. 'I guessed truly, I assume then.' The look levelled at him in reply was cold and flat. 'Will you make Admiral then?'

Internally Norrington laughed bitterly; not according to Hammond's gloomy estimate of his chances. Stiffly he said, 'Doubtless my chances of doing so within the next five years have been harmed.' He looked at Turner, meeting the younger man's appealing, honest gaze and was overcome with some ridiculous, maudlin rush of honesty. It was ridiculous to resent the boy for Eliz… Miss Swann's choice. 'Possibly not, although there are few officers of my skill to be granted the rank in my place.'

Will was utterly astounded by the other man's rare openness. While the Commodore was a scrupulously honest man, Will had expected to be harshly rebuffed. Still, while Will found Norrington stiff and tedious Lizzy was very fond of her old friend and Will had come in the hopes of making a truce with him before her headstrong fiancée forced them into one.

'You'll have guessed why I'm here….' Will stroked his beard nervously at that.

'Given my fortune of late it's either Miss Swann or Sparrow, both of whom seem sent to vex and try me.' The Commodore answered in tones thick with sardonic irritation.

Will smiled weakly, 'Yes, it's Elizabeth. She's started talking to me about you a lot.' At Norrington's raised eyebrow he shrugged. 'I rather think she wants us to be friends and I'd rather not wait for her to begin making her wishes explicit.'

James smiled wanly at that. Yes, he remembered the way 'Lizabeth had stamped her foot so petulantly as a child. He'd not been too much older than she, having run away to sea at a young age, but stifled in the stiff manners of a young man destined for officer selection but her unfettered passion would always intrigue him. 'She does have her ways and as men it is easier for us to allow her this victory.' He didn't fool himself though, Elizabeth and Turner would soon be wed; whether the man emerged to be amiable or irritating was irrelevant, their accord would fall by the wayside soon enough after the marriage.

A wave of exhaustion engulfed the officer and he wavered visibly, paling. Will felt a stab of concern. 'Would you like to have lunch with me tomorrow? I am rather tired at the moment I'm afraid I've been a poor host. If Miss Swann wishes to come also, I would appreciate it if you informed my housekeeper beforehand.'

Will stood at that, smiling at the other man. 'I'd be glad to come, although perhaps it would be better to come alone; Elizabeth has been ….' He gestured feebly, trying to convey the queer snappish mood his beloved had been in of late.

Norrington gave a nod of tacit understanding, a wry smile tugging at his greyish-pale lips. He walked Turner to the door, gave the order to Mrs Dower for the next day's lunch and then headed to bed before he out and out collapsed.

* A stone is a unit of weight that is fourteen pounds, or roughly six and a half kilos if you use metric measurements.