Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean and all related characters belong to Walt Disney, Gore Verbinski and Jerry Bruckheimer.
A/N: Just a fun and odd little fic that had sprouted recently. Takes place right after Curse of the Black Pearl.
Replies: Andrea Foxx. Thank you. Gillette and Groves will appear soon, as for Jack he is the commodore of Port Royal.
Ogreatrandom. Thank you.
Sudoku. I wrote a lot of Norrington scenes in the crossover, poor Norrington he is usually neglected in crossovers.
Chapter two: Sneaking out.
-
As the minutes passed into hours it seemed less and less like a dream to Norrington. The water Turner had poured onto him had certainly been cold. He had felt it as he had felt the shaving blade glide over his jaw and chin and the pull of the hairbrush Elizabeth used once he had removed his clothes and slipped into the dress she had provided. He was thankful she also hadn’t given him a corset.
“When was the last time you washed your hair?” Elizabeth asked him as she continued to style his hair.
“The last time I bathed,” James answered through clenched teeth and tried to ignore the rough tugging of bristles sliding through another tangle.
“And when was that?” Turner dipped the blade into the small basin filled with water, and the lather and hairs he had already removed from James’s face
“For your information, Mr. Turner I happened to take a bath the night previous to-“ He didn’t finish. He had bathed the night before Sparrow’s scheduled hanging. The pirate version of himself however, he was unsure. “That is not important.”
“Some would say bathing is very important.”
Norrington glared at the boy. Turner certainly got himself into plenty of filth considering his job, but the youth made sure he was clean when he delivered the promised products to customers and attended social functions. Norrington did not want to admit he felt ashamed he was filthier than Turner.
It was another detail that told Norrington it was more than a dream. Dreams could create effective sights, sounds and emotions; the other senses were barely touched upon. He felt pain as well as smell. He could smell the foul stench coming from the donkey and the straw as well as the scent of ashes. There was also another odor he had trouble identifying till he realized it was from his own body.
His physical state seemed too real to be a dream. His mouth felt dry and there was a lingering pain in his head and a foul taste in his mouth. He grimaced at the fact he was experiencing a hangover and even could taste the faintest hint of what his pirate double had been drinking.
“It isn’t important,” Elizabeth grabbed one of the ribbons Norrington had held for her and slid it through Norrington’s hair. “What is important is helping James return to his ship.”
“It will be difficult to sneak him past everyone in his currant state,” Turner brought the shaving blade to James’s neck, ready to remove the last remains of his beard.
“I am trying to make him more presentable.”
“As a woman?” Turner raised an eyebrow.
“It would be close enough.”
Norrington tried not to enjoy the feeling of her hands sliding through his hair, grazing his scalp and the back of his neck. He had to keep telling himself she was in love with Turner, and even if for a fleeting moment she was once engaged to be his wife, her heart was not in it. The moment was fleeting, but he had savored it.
“They will know he isn’t a woman when they smell him.”
“Will,” her voice was sharp.
Turner sighed. “I’m sorry, James.”
“You do not have to apologize, Mr. Turner,” Norrington tried not to show emotion at Turner being forward with the use of his first name. He didn’t mind when Elizabeth addressed him in a familiar matter. “I should be the one apologizing for my offensive odor.”
The youth shook his head. “Why are you always this polite?”
“It is what I am,” Norrington shrugged. At least in this fractured reality he was still a respectable man.
“It just destroys the image I have of pirates,” Turner shrugged. “Of course you were the one who told me not to believe everything I have read or every story that has been passed down by word to mouth.”
“James, can I have the head dress?” Elizabeth asked
“Correct,” Norrington kept his eyes on Turner as he handed Elizabeth the last thing he held. There was a time he had come across a thirteen-year-old Turner playing a game amongst his peers. The youths were pretending to be swinging imaginary swords at each other. The other boys were playing the role as pirates and Turner was the civilian hero who was able to outsmart the pirates and save Port Royal. Norrington had told the boys that not all pirates lacked education and despite some of the stories they had heard, it was extremely rare for a mere civilian to apprehend such criminals. Before he left he offered the promise to help the boys enlist in the navy when they come of age.
“You are ready,” Elizabeth said. “Or as ready as possible, remember to keep the fan in front of your face at all times.”
“Trust me, Miss Swann,” Norrington stared at the lace-covered fan she handed to him. “Considering my present state I do not want to show my face to anyone.”
-
“Not too fast,” Elizabeth had whispered to him as they walked to the ports. “Slowly, and lady like. Try to walk like me.”
“I am thankful I do not have to wear your kind of shoes,” Norrington said as he slowed his gait and stepped in a dainty, lady like matter. He was thankful the gown was long enough to obstruct everyone’s view of his feet. He was still able to wear his boots and nobody would know the difference.
Turner walked in front of the two, acting as the role of a guardian. The youth did stare at anyone who let their eyes linger on Elizabeth and possibly even Norrington himself.
Norrington hoped the men of Port Royal did not look to closely at him. It caused him to shudder at the thought. He practically had the fan pressed so hard against his face; it was almost difficult to breathe.
“It was almost too easy,” Turner, said when they had reached the ports and the beach. “You two are careful on the sand.”
“I’ve been on the sand before,” Elizabeth proceeded to walk ahead of Turner.
“As have I,” Norrington said as he brushed passed the boy. He had seen a longboat lying on its side. “Now help me get this to the water.”
“Careful now,” Elizabeth told him. “Try not to attract too much attention.”
“Miss Swann, I can assure you, attention is the last thing I want to attract.”
“On three,” Turner said. “One,” All three of them formed a strong grip on the side of the boat. “Two.” They all inhaled. “Three.” They pulled, righting the boat and continued to pull, heading straight for the waves.
“You will be able to find your ship?” Elizabeth asked once she stepped out of the water and onto dry sand.
“I am certain. What about your dress?”
She stared down. “It will dry. You have to get out of here now.”
“Here are your things,” Turner handed him the bundle he had carried.
“Thank you, Mr. Turner.” Norrington nodded at the youth and turned to Elizabeth. “I owe you thanks as well Miss Swann.” He bowed before her.
“Try not to pull the same stunt.” Turner handed him a paddle.
“I will certainly not,” Norrington stepped into boat. “It will be quite a while before I see the two of you again.” The next time he would see Turner and Elizabeth it will be after he woke up on his sofa, where he would be clean and would just need a fresh bath before he prepared his ship to search after Sparrow.
-
Patience had always been one of Norrington’s strong suits. Calm planning, along with strategy is what he had relied on through the years, not on brash actions. It was how he was able to hunt down and arrest many pirates and climb the naval ranks. He could be patient when catching Sparrow. He could wait a little more until he removed himself from the dress.
Norrington had waited until he was halfway between Port Royal and the tall rocks that should be hiding the ship Turner had called The Dauntless Spirit before he removed his boots and slipped on his trousers underneath the gown. He still wore the dress, and hoped his theory would be right.
Looks like his odd dream was going his way. As he continued to the cliff’s he saw a ship sail out from the corner. Even in the distance he could recognize it as The Dauntless.
“At least she still looks the same,” Norrington slid off the headdress and pulled the gown over his head. He wore only a simple undershirt underneath. He paddled out several more yards before he slipped on his shirt, a few more feet before the waistcoat and even a few more feet before he slid on his belt.
She may have a different name, but she was still the same ship, from the structure of her form, to her masts and billowing sails. She had the same colors painted on her, even. It was only when Norrington came closer to the ship he noticed the differences. Her insignia was not painted on and she had a figurehead of a winged woman dressed in armor. Her hair was wild and free, and not kept underneath her ancient roman style helmet. She held out a sword, pointing it straight ahead. She was the spirit of The Dauntless indeed.
“James,” a woman called over from the side.
“Hello, Miss.” Norrington shielded his eyes as he looked up. There were several people staring down at them, one was a dark skinned woman.
“How many times have I told you to not call me Miss?” She said as a line was cast over.
“Clearly not enough,” Norrington made sure his weapons were in place and overcoat was on before he placed the women items into the sack and climbed up the line.
“Clearly it’s not,” the woman had her hands on her hips when Norrington climbed over the railing. She was dressed in man’s clothing and had tan bandana wrapped around the top of her head. Norrington did not expect her to have such comely features. The loose ends of her hair fluttered from the Caribbean breeze. Dark brown eyes burned into Norrington’s own.
Norrington sighed. He had no idea what her name was. “What would you have me call you?’
“Anamaria,” she answered. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
“Apparently not,” Norrington handed her the bag. “I do have a few things for you.”
Anamaria stared into the bag before she stared at Norrington again. “You got this from the girl?”
“From Miss Swann,” Norrington nodded and tired to stare past her. Where was Mr. Gibbs, and where was the man with the parrot? Come to think of it where was the parrot?
She pulled the gown halfway out. “We could make a shilling or two off of it.”
Norrington shrugged again. “Your gift. You may do with it as you wish.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry I don’t have any gifts for the rest of you.”
“Don’t have to apologize,” a voice near the ground said. Norrington stared down to see a miniature man holding a tricorner hat. “Here is your hat, captain.”
“Thank you,” Norrington accepted it from him. He studied the hat before he set it on his head. It was made of dark leather and trimmed in a golden feather fringe.
“Where is our heading, Captain?”
The voice froze Norrington on the spot. It was a voice he had heard every day, but not one he would expect amongst a pirate crew. He blinked. Surely he was hearing things.
“Are you well, James?”
“Gillette?”
-