Norribeth Marriage part 3
Title: Stages of a Marriage
Chapter: 3/7
Author: Naja_Nivea
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Norrington, Elizabeth
Pairing: Elizabeth/Norrington,
Genre: Romance/Angst
Warning: AU for the second and third movie. Some mention of sexual situations but nothing graphic.
Status: WIP
Word Count: 3.300 ish
Beta: None
Disclaimer: I do not own anyone you have heard of.
Summary: A series based on the premise that the two married, almost entirely from Elizabeth’s point of view
Previous parts Acceptance & Contentment
Love
Ten months after the birth, Elizabeth wasn’t sure whether she loved or hated motherhood. She loved her daughter but hated the restraint she must now show. A mother could not get away with acting as frivolous and fanciful as a new bride could. One good thing had been that as soon as the doctor pronounced her well enough, James began her fight training again telling her simply that, “now you must know how to protect two people.” She felt warm and fuzzy at the thought that he trusted her so.
James seemed to have no such compunction about being a father. He adored the new girl in his life almost as much as his ship. When she could not find her, she was usually in daddy’s office, sitting on his lap and sucking on the buttons of his waistcoat. Once she had even found her sucking on the end of one of his guns. She had not been happy until he pointed out that it was keeping her quiet. She was very much her father’s daughter because when she was fussy to the point that her mother and nurse were about to strangle her, taking her into a boat in the cove never failed to rock her to sleep.
Sadly, James didn’t have as much time to spend with her as he liked because hostilities with Spain were becoming more pronounced. Being the best battle commander in the Caribbean quickly began to work against him and his family. He was often away for months at a time and when home was cloistered with his officers, generals, admirals, and governors. Very little had changed in Port Royal though and it was a compliment to him and his men that the only disruption had been in the arrival of luxury items and the constant influx of wounded.
She was quietly lamenting the need for silk one evening, when she saw that the Vengeance had snuck into port. As she was hurrying to dress to meet her husband, a runner arrived telling her to remain at home. She gleefully ran up the stairs, yelling for Estrella to keep the baby occupied while she slipped into her easiest to remove dress. It never occurred to her anything could be wrong.
She was not so calmly waiting when she heard the carriage arrive. She shooed the man servant away and opened the door herself to come face to face with Mr. Gillette. Her heart sank into her stomach at the same time she could feel her pulse beating against her ribcage. ‘James is dead,’ was playing over and over in her now pounding head, why else would that rotten little twerp be at her door. They still hated each other, though he had begun to soften some after Mary was born but she hadn’t. Mr. Gillette looked at her and gave her an aggravated scowl. “He isn’t dead.”
“He is ok then?” She stammered, tears beginning to collect at her eyes. She was quite surprised at the strength of her reaction. It never occurred to her that she would really care one way or another if he were killed. She supposed maybe it was just the thought of loss of security but with James dead she could run away to the Pearl with nothing to stop her. Though he had promised to let her go if she wished, something told her he would be less circumspect if she attempted to take his daughter.
“No, but he isn’t dead.” Mr. Gillette helped his commanding officer and best friend from the carriage. She could see that the left arm of his coat hung limp and wondered if she could love a cripple. Luckily though, she found it was just in a sling. She also noted that he was hunched and his gait was shuffling. She stood rooted to her spot, blocking the door until she was face to face with him. He was pale and his lips were white. Even though there were many candles burning, his pupils were so large virtually no green could be seen. He squinted at her and gave her a very weak smile that quickly turned into a grimace.
“He looks terrible, what happened and why isn’t he in bed?” She demanded, still not budging. She assumed it was Mr. Gillette’s fault. She never liked the little ponce and thought James spent entirely too much time with him, regardless of the fact that he was James’s adjutant and oldest friend.
“I know he does. A canon blast tore open his neck, broke his sternum, collarbone, and some of his ribs. And because you won’t get the hell out of my way so I can take him to bed.” He snarled and nearly knocked her out of his way. She moved over and watched her husband stagger up the stairs, leaning heavily on his friend.
She trailed behind them, twisting her skirt in her hands. Halfway up the stairs, he stopped and mumbled to Gillette, “Stop, hurts.”
“No, sir, we are almost there, just a few more steps.” Gillette tried to get him moving again, but James was trying to sit down. She was at a loss as to what to do. He looked so awful she wanted to tell that horrid, sarcastic man to let him sit down and rest. But she also realized that they had to get him to bed.
“Sick,” he slurred as Gillette wrapped his arm around him to stop him from falling. He then retched on the front of Gillette’s uniform. It ended with a groan and a rather unmanly whimper. His assistant was unfazed. “Sorry.”
“It’s ok, Jamie, I’ve done worse to you. I know laudanum always makes you nauseous. And I know you are tired and dizzy and want to lie down so just a few more steps and you can sleep and it won’t hurt anymore. I promise. Just trust me.” He spoke soothingly to his friend, rubbing his hand up and down James’s injured arm and Elizabeth seethed that he was the one to comfort her husband. But it got him moving again, even if he was less steady then before. She didn’t miss the look of complete love and trust James gave his friend, one he had never given her. It was just another piece of wood added to the fire of her hatred for Mr. Gillette.
Gillette finally got him into his bed and divested of most of his clothing. He then ran a cool cloth over his commander’s sweaty forehead. “Stupid room is spinning.” James groaned. Gillette smiled and chuckled.
“You may go now, Mr. Gillette.” She cut in, feeling nervous and unhappy but most of all useless.
“Thank you for your leave but I think I shall stay.”
“Leave!”
“No. He needs someone to take care of him and you would probably let him die if it inconvenienced you to help him.” He snapped.
“How dare you. He is my husband and I,”
“You what, love him? You don’t even know the meaning of the word.” He never took his eyes off of his friend’s fluttering eyelashes.
“I suppose I haven’t loved him as long or from a far like you?” She sneered, regardless of the fact that he was married with his own family.
“Listen to me, you highhanded, little trollop,” he began.
“Will both of you shut the hell up and get out!” It was odd that James bothered to interrupt them. He had learned long, long ago just to ignore them when they started going at it. He never chose a side and neither of them ever tried to make him.
“But,” they both stammered.
“Gillette, go home. Elizabeth, go away. And for god’s sake do it quietly and let me sleep.” Stunned they both scurried out. She had forgotten what an intolerably pissy bastard he turned into when he was sick.
She didn’t bother to show Mr. Gillette to the door, assuming he would be back the next day, and headed for her rarely used room. She sat on the untouched sheets, realizing she hadn’t spent a night in the room since the first month of their marriage. She left and went to the nursery. She shooed off Estrella and held her daughter. She stared into her jade green eyes and began to weep. Up until then, she never realized how fond of James she actually was even as she tried to convince herself it was just fear of being widowed. After her cry she went back to their room and sat on the bed beside him. She took his hand, and even drugged, injured, and asleep, he held her hand right back.
Within two days he was up and about if rather slowly and stiffly, against doctor’s advice, and within the week duty called him back to his ship, against Elizabeth and Gillette’s orders. And for the next year, the war raged but he always managed to walk into his home on his own, but that wasn’t to say that he was unharmed. He was home one evening, and Elizabeth had tried to tempt him away from his work with food and drink. He only picked at it from his desk, where he poured over maps and charts. She looked in and often saw him pacing and drawing chalk outlines on the slate board or moving multi coloured pins around on his maps.
Around midnight she grew tired of waiting for him and simply walked in without knocking. He looked up at her from the map of some cove or other he was studying. She noticed he had barely touched his now congealed super and that she didn’t think she had ever seen him look so exhausted. She ran her hand through locks of hair that had worked their way out of his queue, flopping into his eyes and he leaned forward resting his head against her stomach. “Come to bed, James.” She continued to pet his hair.
“Bed?” He intoned as if it were a foreign concept but from the look of him and knowing how much action they had seen lately she guessed it might well be.
“Sleep. Remember, lie down, close your eyes, stop worrying.” She joked, hoping to lighten the somber mood.
He turned his head sideways so his cheek was resting against her, “sleep is good,” he mumbled, his eyes closed.
“Then get up and let’s go to bed and get some sleep.” She tugged on his waistcoat to get him up. Once up he took her hand and let her lead him up to bed.
She had been hoping for sex but realized that he was far too tired for it so contented herself to cuddle next him and enjoy that he was home and at least physically fine. She slept soundly for a few hours until she felt him trembling in his sleep. Annoyed, she set about waking him when he sat bolt upright on his own, a wild and frantic look in his eyes. He was taking great heaving breaths and shot out of bed onto the balcony, oblivious to the fact it was pouring rain.
She watched him for a moment, unsure what to do. He had had nightmares ever since they were married or if she thought about it ever since they had met on the crossing and she had mostly ignored them but something about this one made her worry. Maybe it was just that he looked so tired. She slipped on her robe and a pair of slippers and took him a coat. She startled him and she saw him reach to his side to a gun or sword that wasn’t there. She took a step back, not quite frightened but close, and retreated inside and crawled back into bed. She saw him come back in about half and hour later and head down the hall, curious she followed him to Mary’s room. His hands were white knuckled on the door frame as he watched her sleep, a pool of water collecting off his dripping clothes.
“She’s fine, just sleeping.” Elizabeth warned him of her arrival this time.
“I know.” He croaked, his usually strong voice sounded hollow and broken, matching the look in his eyes. She turned away, not wanting to see it.
“Come back to bed.” She told him.
He shook his head, “I have too much work to do but it is still early, you should go back to sleep.” The smile he gave her was brittle and scared her. He wasn’t allowed to be anything other than strong and supportive. She needed him; he wasn’t allowed to need her too. She didn’t think Will would never be so weak.
She turned away to return to bed but stopped, “are you alright?” He felt her heart constrict in fear of his answer.
“I’ll be fine,” he told her as he went back to his study. She supposed he didn’t lie; eventually he would be ok again.
The next day he was gone before she even woke again. She took Mary and went to meet him at the fort for their midday meal. She had to wait nearly an hour before he could see her. He had been shocked yet delighted she had come to visit him but only had 15 minutes before her father showed up for another meeting. She had only seen him eat half a sandwich before he had to rush off to talk the Governor. She left in a huff and snagged Gillette on her way out. For once they agreed. Saturday afternoon he would have no meetings and would not be going to the fort.
Saturday came and she dragged James into town to search for her father’s birthday present. She knew he didn’t care for shopping but left to his own devices he would be in his study trying to find a way to warp Spain’s 3 to 1 ship advantage. She left the cloth merchant, pleased that she had found exactly the right silk damask for her father’s new suit, when she saw that James had been surrounded by an admiral, a general, and three officers. Mr. Gillette was doing his best to try and shoo them away but they were ignoring him. Not willing to lose her husband for the rest of the day, she marched over, holding her hat against the wind.
“Gentlemen,” she smiled sweetly and James immediately looked nervous. He was bright enough to have figured out what that smile meant.
“Mrs. Norrington, how nice to see you.” Admiral Prichard greeted her, reaching for her hand.
“I trust you are not trying to lure my husband away on his day off, are you?” She kept her tone light and joking.
“Well there has been,” was as far as Prichard’s adjutant got before she rounded on him.
“I don’t really care. You are doing your best to either kill him in action or from exhaustion, the very least you could do is let me have one last afternoon with him.” She snapped, enjoying their stunned looks. “Now, if you excuse us, we are leaving and you can have him back tomorrow, good day gentlemen.” She pulled James’s hand down from where it was covering his eyes and began to walk off. She then began to describe the cloth she had purchased for her father, waiting to see if he would get angry at her.
He took her hand in his as they walked, fingers intertwined with hers. For some reason she found it utterly romantic, when he held her hand in public. Politeness dictated that they walk with her hand neatly tucked against his arm but he preferred to hold her hand, fingers interlaced together. His hands were always warm even if they were callous from swords and sailing.
The stiff wind began to turn into rain pummeling them and they ducked under an overhang and had to be very close together to fit and she rested her hand and cheek against his chest. It was warm and hard, his heart beating in time with her own.
A particularly strong gust blew in and he took his hat off to shield their faces. She looked up at him and smiled even as he bent down to kiss her. She tilted her parasol down so she could lean even closer and return the kiss. She broke away, racking her brain to come up with a way to get him home. “People could be staring,” she smiled coyly. It would matter little that they blocked their faces, he was the tallest captain in Port Royal and she was known for her yellow dresses.
“Let them stare,” he breathed and locked his eyes on hers. She felt heat flush her entire body from that look.
“We should go home.” She mumbled.
“Come on then.” He told her as he stepped out into the rain and held his hand out for her.
“You are getting all wet,” she laughed.
“I’m a sailor, I spend three quarters of my life sopping wet. If this is my last afternoon with you before I expire from battle or exhaustion, I want to make it count.” She took his hand and they headed home. There was something ridiculously wonderful about always having a hand reaching back to make sure you were sill there.
When they reached the drive, he picked her up so she didn’t get stuck in the mud and carried her into the house. Estrella met them at the door, “Good lord, sir, what were you thinking? You are both dripping wet. Come, ma’am, let me help you off with that gown.”
“Don’t worry, Estrella, I’ll help her off with it.” He grinned and carried her up the stairs, leaving a water trail behind them. She had already taken his hat and tossed his wig on the foyer floor and was intent on unwrapping his cravat and silk stock to get to his long elegant throat. She was dainty and gentle as she undressed him and he pulled out a knife and slit the bindings on her dress. She couldn’t seem to stop smiling over that. It always made her weak in the knees when he was very passionate towards her.
Some hours later, she stood in front of his mirror, wearing nothing but her hair. She looked at the skin that still sagged on her belly from child birth. She missed her premarriage figure. James came up behind her mostly dressed, he never stayed without his shirt to cover his numerous scars for very long, and hugged her.
“Do you think I’m fat?” She asked him as she sucked in her stomach.
“No, not even close, why?”
“This.” She pointed to the slight pooch just below her waist. “It is an imperfection.”
“No one is perfect.”
“How long did it take you to admit that?” She smiled at him in the mirror as he nibbled on her neck. She knew he pushed himself in an insane attempt to be perfect.
“About 30 years. Besides, I adore you and think you are perfect, imperfections and all.” She felt her heart flutter in her chest at his words and she turned around to him and hugged him, feeling like the luckiest woman alive. What wife didn’t want to hear that her husband loved her despite sagging skin and other beauty blights? “You know I have to leave tomorrow, don’t you?”
“I know.” She held him tighter.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You wouldn’t be the man I married if you sat around the house and let other men fight for you.”
“I love you.” He breathed into her hair.
“I love you too.” His smile nearly broke her heart. She kissed him, and realized almost guiltily it was the first time she had ever said that to him but she thought she meant it. She realized that she was in love with her husband, his weaknesses and imperfections and all but it would have been so much deeper with Will.