PotC fic: A Halcyon Sea, 6/6
Full headers in Part 1
Chapter 6
"I don't mean to criticize," Norrington said, "but the next time the situation arises, you might wish to consider that if you shoot a man standing at the top of a ladder, he's likely to fall down that ladder, knocking over everything in his path. Such as, say, a commodore of the Royal Navy."
"You must be feeling better," said Victoria. "You're speaking in complete sentences again."
Norrington was feeling better, in fact. He'd spent nearly twenty-four hours unconscious before awakening in the naval hospital in Fort Charles with an infernal headache and a lovely goose egg (more like an ostrich egg, from the feel of it) on the back of his skull. For two days, all he could do was lie there and moan piteously at the vaguely human-shaped blurs who kept blundering into his room with water and soup and medicine, and making far too much noise. This morning, however, he'd awakened with cleared vision and only a mild throbbing behind his temples. He was now having tea and toast served to him by Victoria, who didn't look nearly contrite enough.
"What was I supposed to do?" she demanded. "He was sneaking up -- or, rather, down -- behind you with a cutlass."
"You could've said, 'James, there's a privateer behind you with a cutlass.' I'm trained to handle such contingencies, you know."
"Humph. He could've slit your throat five times while I was getting all that out. And why are you yelling at me, anyway? You should be yelling at Captain Sawyer, for saying the ship was secure when it wasn't."
"I'm not yelling at anyone. I've been forbidden to yell. Doctor's orders."
"You should follow them, then." Victoria took the teacup from his hands, refilled it, and handed it back to him. "Really. Aside from any aversion I might have to being yelled at, I don't want you to make yourself sick again."
"I feel fine," Norrington grumbled. "I wish people would stop fussing. You're almost as bad as Lieutenant Gillette."
Victoria smiled tolerantly and took a piece of toast from his plate. "People fuss," she said, "because people are fond of you. And you have given us all a horrible scare."
"Which was entirely your fault."
"And I'm trying very hard to make amends for it. Look -- I'm buttering your toast. That's how conscience-stricken I am. I intend to fuss until you forgive me."
"In that case, I forgive you immediately."
"Wonderful! I would've hated to leave Port Royal thinking you were angry with me."
"You know perfectly well I was never angry with you." Norrington suddenly found himself unable to look anywhere except into his teacup. It offered no inspiration. After a while, he put it on the tray next to the bed and clasped his hands in his lap. "Please don't leave," he said.
There was a soft clink as Victoria put her cup down too. "I beg your pardon?"
He'd thought it would be easier, once he actually broached the subject. He'd been wrong. Already, he could feel his hands sweating, his shoulders tensing, and a remnant of his ruthlessly eradicated childhood stutter clawing its way up his throat. He hadn't felt this nervous before battle. In fact, there was only one recent occasion on which he'd felt this nervous, and that wasn't exactly a memory to inspire confidence.
"I said, don't go. Let your father hire himself a secretary, if he needs one so badly. I'll hire him one myself, if I must."
"Commodore--"
"I can't promise to take you around the world. But the Caribbean isn't the first place I've been posted, and it won't be the last. It won't be a dull life, I don't think." He ventured a smile. "Not much call for crocheted tea cozies in my household."
"James." Victoria was looking very pale all of a sudden. Norrington hoped she wasn't going to faint. "Was that supposed to be an offer of marriage?"
"Of course. Didn't I just say so?" Actually, now that he thought about it, he hadn't. Bloody hell. "I'm sorry. I seem to have no knack at all for marriage proposals."
"I wouldn't say--"
"I rehearsed the last one for a week, and still made a complete disaster of it."
"It's really not--"
"I thought, perhaps, if I improvised this time--"
"James." Victoria rose, somewhat unsteadily, from her chair and sat on the edge of his bed instead. "There was nothing wrong with that proposal. It was quite perfect."
"Oh." He thought that over for a moment. "Was it... acceptable, then?"
And there was that smile again, the one that made his breath hitch a little when he saw it. "Perfectly acceptable."
She was sitting so close, it took no effort at all, especially for a man who knew he could blame it on a concussion later, to reach out and let her hair down. The results lived up to everything he'd dared to hope for.
The nurse who came to take away the tea tray ten minutes later received the shock of her life.
The End
Chapter 6
"I don't mean to criticize," Norrington said, "but the next time the situation arises, you might wish to consider that if you shoot a man standing at the top of a ladder, he's likely to fall down that ladder, knocking over everything in his path. Such as, say, a commodore of the Royal Navy."
"You must be feeling better," said Victoria. "You're speaking in complete sentences again."
Norrington was feeling better, in fact. He'd spent nearly twenty-four hours unconscious before awakening in the naval hospital in Fort Charles with an infernal headache and a lovely goose egg (more like an ostrich egg, from the feel of it) on the back of his skull. For two days, all he could do was lie there and moan piteously at the vaguely human-shaped blurs who kept blundering into his room with water and soup and medicine, and making far too much noise. This morning, however, he'd awakened with cleared vision and only a mild throbbing behind his temples. He was now having tea and toast served to him by Victoria, who didn't look nearly contrite enough.
"What was I supposed to do?" she demanded. "He was sneaking up -- or, rather, down -- behind you with a cutlass."
"You could've said, 'James, there's a privateer behind you with a cutlass.' I'm trained to handle such contingencies, you know."
"Humph. He could've slit your throat five times while I was getting all that out. And why are you yelling at me, anyway? You should be yelling at Captain Sawyer, for saying the ship was secure when it wasn't."
"I'm not yelling at anyone. I've been forbidden to yell. Doctor's orders."
"You should follow them, then." Victoria took the teacup from his hands, refilled it, and handed it back to him. "Really. Aside from any aversion I might have to being yelled at, I don't want you to make yourself sick again."
"I feel fine," Norrington grumbled. "I wish people would stop fussing. You're almost as bad as Lieutenant Gillette."
Victoria smiled tolerantly and took a piece of toast from his plate. "People fuss," she said, "because people are fond of you. And you have given us all a horrible scare."
"Which was entirely your fault."
"And I'm trying very hard to make amends for it. Look -- I'm buttering your toast. That's how conscience-stricken I am. I intend to fuss until you forgive me."
"In that case, I forgive you immediately."
"Wonderful! I would've hated to leave Port Royal thinking you were angry with me."
"You know perfectly well I was never angry with you." Norrington suddenly found himself unable to look anywhere except into his teacup. It offered no inspiration. After a while, he put it on the tray next to the bed and clasped his hands in his lap. "Please don't leave," he said.
There was a soft clink as Victoria put her cup down too. "I beg your pardon?"
He'd thought it would be easier, once he actually broached the subject. He'd been wrong. Already, he could feel his hands sweating, his shoulders tensing, and a remnant of his ruthlessly eradicated childhood stutter clawing its way up his throat. He hadn't felt this nervous before battle. In fact, there was only one recent occasion on which he'd felt this nervous, and that wasn't exactly a memory to inspire confidence.
"I said, don't go. Let your father hire himself a secretary, if he needs one so badly. I'll hire him one myself, if I must."
"Commodore--"
"I can't promise to take you around the world. But the Caribbean isn't the first place I've been posted, and it won't be the last. It won't be a dull life, I don't think." He ventured a smile. "Not much call for crocheted tea cozies in my household."
"James." Victoria was looking very pale all of a sudden. Norrington hoped she wasn't going to faint. "Was that supposed to be an offer of marriage?"
"Of course. Didn't I just say so?" Actually, now that he thought about it, he hadn't. Bloody hell. "I'm sorry. I seem to have no knack at all for marriage proposals."
"I wouldn't say--"
"I rehearsed the last one for a week, and still made a complete disaster of it."
"It's really not--"
"I thought, perhaps, if I improvised this time--"
"James." Victoria rose, somewhat unsteadily, from her chair and sat on the edge of his bed instead. "There was nothing wrong with that proposal. It was quite perfect."
"Oh." He thought that over for a moment. "Was it... acceptable, then?"
And there was that smile again, the one that made his breath hitch a little when he saw it. "Perfectly acceptable."
She was sitting so close, it took no effort at all, especially for a man who knew he could blame it on a concussion later, to reach out and let her hair down. The results lived up to everything he'd dared to hope for.
The nurse who came to take away the tea tray ten minutes later received the shock of her life.
The End