Chapter Text
When the Pearl had docked in Tortuga in search of new crew, none aboard had expected anything beyond the usual ruffians and drunks. So, when a familiar figure stumbled from the shadows with Elizabeth, cloaked in grime and regret, jaws had gone slack.
No one had expected to see Commodore James Norrington. And certainly not like this.
A further shock had been to discover that he is now former Commodore James Norrington, his uniform no longer pristine and his powdered wig completely missing. His boots were scuffed, mismatched even, and what once had been a symbol of decorum and naval authority now looks like the remnants of a man long shipwrecked.
No, the once proud navy man stands broken before them. His sharp blue eyes, once hard with duty, are now dulled and shadowed by exhaustion.
Still, the crew of the Black Pearl know hardship better than most. They are all too aware of what awful turns life can bring, and how a man can be enjoying the finest things in life one moment, and living in the muck in the next. Norrington is not the first man to fall from grace, nor will he be the last. And yet, none of them had seen someone fall quite like this.
The rounded belly he cradles under one arm, however, is a great shock to all. A silence falls over the dock as its significance settles like cannon smoke.
Elizabeth does not hesitate to march up to Jack, confident steps marking her pace and a very quiet Norrington trailing behind her. Her jaw is set and her presence is commanding in that way only Elizabeth Swann can manage: queenly, furious and protective. Whatever teasing line had been forming on Jack’s tongue curls and withers like parchment in flame, dying the moment he spots that telltale swell. Then his gaze lifts to its owner and their eyes meet.
A palpable tension hangs in the air, thick and suffocating, as secret former lovers unwillingly reunite before it is finally broken by Elizabeth’s voice, her demands cutting through the silence like a knife.
“James is to board the Pearl, and there will be no arguments about it. Am I understood?”
Struck speechless, Jack is left to do little else but to allow them on board, his mouth opening and closing like a fish drawn up from the depths. His attention remains stubbornly focused on the pair as Elizabeth frets over Norrington, ushering him up the gangway.
Around them, the crew stares. They’re clearly curious and confused, but a sharp glare from Gibbs quickly has them resume their duties, loading the ship with provisions for the next long journey. The whispers will come later, inevitably. Bunch of gossips that they are, completely incapable of holding their tongues.
Rolling his eyes, Jack follows them, unable to escape hearing the barrage of questions Elizabeth is relentlessly throwing at Norrington. When had he last eaten? What had he eaten? Is he alright? Is the babe faring well? Is he in any pain? Any discomfort?
Jack’s grip on his compass tightens, his gaze glued to his boots as he walks. A dangerous part of him wants to open the damn thing and find out where it is pointing, but another, perhaps even more dangerous, part of him knows one of two things will occur. The needle will either spin aimlessly, or lead him towards something terrifying.
To someone.
Or… someones, now?
No. No, no. Absolutely not. Bloody hell. What is he even thinking?!
Another one of Elizabeth’s questions reaches his ears, cutting through his thoughts.
“How far along, James?”
Jack stops in his tracks, his route to his cabin interrupted. His hand grips the railing, knuckles white as he braces himself to hear an answer he likely already knows. He tries not to, he really does, but he can’t resist just a slight turn of the head to steal a glance at the Pearl’s newest passenger.
Norrington looks utterly ashamed to be under the attentions of an old flame, his stare locked firmly on the wooden boards beneath his feet as she insists he sit. He does, claiming one of the many crates that are strewn about the deck as his own. His waistcoat is wide open, with no hope of being buttoned up, not with the fabric of his shirt stretched tightly over the prominent curve of his stomach. It’s a gentle, yet unmistakable, roundness that, while being nowhere close to being due, is big enough to recognise it for what it is at a glance.
He’s pregnant. James Norrington is pregnant.
And worst of all? The man looks absolutely endearing, round with child, and Jack cannot stomp this thought away fast enough. There’s something heartbreakingly human about him now, in a way he had never been when wearing sword and sneer.
“...Nearly half a year,” Norrington mutters then, just loud enough for Jack to catch it. One hand seemingly moves of its own accord to settle upon that captivating swell.
Six months.
Six bloody months.
Jack feels his heart race in rising panic, its pace doubling when Norrington lifts his head and they find themselves staring at each other all over again. His alarmed expression is met with a scowl, and Jack can only blink dumbly at him, frozen for an entire moment before starting and making a hasty retreat to his cabin. Under his breath, he curses in every way he knows, furious that he’s been caught eavesdropping.
The door slams behind him, his back pressed to it just in case anyone should decide to chase him. No one does, the crew far too busy with getting the Pearl ready for departure, Elizabeth far too busy with playing nurse and Norrington far too busy being furious with him.
“Bugger. Bugger bugger bugger! ”
This is…not good. Most definitely not good. No, in fact, it is terrible. A catastrophe! Not only does Jack have enough to worry about with collecting one hundred sorry souls to save his even sorrier hide, but here is James Norrington, looking ever so fetching and vulnerable and helpless, with a child in his belly.
And it’s not just any child that’s sitting in there, is it? Oh, no, of course it isn’t.
Jack’s stomach twists into a knot of dread. He remembers their last encounter far too clearly for his own good. Precisely six months ago, it had been, and Jack knows with a sickening certainty that Norrington is a proud soul who would not have dared to engage in a tryst with another.
Not out of loyalty, for what they had shared had not been of that nature, but out of sheer stubborn pride.
That babe is his.
James’ tired gaze follows the fleeing pirate until he is no longer in sight, a feeling of dread and misery settling deep in his chest.
This reaction from Sparrow is one he had expected. Well, that isn’t being entirely honest, really, as he had never once expected to cross paths with the man again. Fate, it seems, has a cruel sense of humour. Knowing him as well as he does, however regrettable that may be, this retreat is no surprise, following perfectly in line with the pattern presented whenever any sort of responsibility was thrust upon Sparrow. If there is anything consistent about him, it is his cowardice.
Wretched thing…
The stinging in his heart is certainly unexpected, as much as James had predicted this outcome. He had not meant to care or to hope, and yet…
He tries to ignore it, for there are much more pressing matters at hand, but the feeling seems to deliberately persist.
This entire situation is ridiculous. James has to sharply remind himself that of course Sparrow had preferred to run away rather than face both him and the consequences of the nights they’d spent together. No pirate wants to be burdened with a child, whether they are of a right mind or not. James cannot truly blame him for ignoring this, when he himself might have done the same in his place. The only he hasn’t done so himself is because the babe is inescapably inside him, always with him and along for the ride wherever he goes.
There is no out for him in this mess, not when every breath is shared and his damnation squirms in his insides.
No. That is not a fair thought to have of the child. It is not their fault that he—
“...James?” Elizabeth’s voice cuts through his thoughts, pulling his attention back to her. She had left and returned, and he had been so preoccupied with that brief flicker of acknowledgement from Sparrow that he had barely noticed. “Are you alright?”
He nods, because voicing what is truly fluttering through his mind is not something he wants to do, and Elizabeth, sweet kind soul that she is, does not press.
There is a damp cloth in her hands now, which she uses to gently start wiping the dirt from his face. The grime has been sitting there for too long to be so easily removed without soap, but James appreciates the attempt to help him feel more like himself all the same.
“The state of you… How did this happen?” she asks as she carefully dabs at his cheek.
James scoffs, a long exhale easing out of his nose as he closes his eyes and angles his head, allowing her to continue her ministrations. There is no denying that the gentle touch soothes his weary heart, even if just a little. James is not keen on being pitied, but…it does feel nice to be cared for after these long months enjoying Tortuga’s strange concept of hospitality.
If one can call stale bread, leering glances and a half-rotten cot ‘hospitable’.
“You really don’t want me to answer that,” he replies, his voice low and carrying a trace of humour that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Elizabeth clicks her tongue, deciding that this trail of conversation is not one she’s going to let drop just yet.
“No, I mean if… if someone…” Her voice trails off, a hidden meaning between her words that she struggles to pronounce. She bites her lip, the questions trembling on her tongue, more worry than judgment in her gaze.
He catches what she means immediately and, surprisingly enough, is not offended by it. In fact, his expression softens a little at the concern. Elizabeth is not the first person to think so, but she is the first person he offers a kind clarification to.
“This wasn’t forced,” James explains, gesturing to his stomach. “As much as I cannot stand to admit it, this resulted from…a willing act. Not love, but…not hatred either.” His gaze lowers once more, a fresh wave of shame washing over him. “You need not fret.”
Elizabeth gives him a look that tells him she is very much fretting about the entire thing. Who wouldn’t? He is a far cry from the proud commodore he had once been, swollen with a life that he isn’t sure he’s ready for.
And yet here he is, despite it all. Breathing. Enduring. Carrying.
But that is his business. Not hers. No matter how sweet on her he’d once been.
As if knowing the conversation is orbiting their existence, a tiny little shift occurs inside him. It's nothing more than a nudge, a reminder that he is not alone in his own body, and he doesn’t think twice about placing both hands on his stomach, thumbs moving in slow circles in an attempt to soothe the growing unrest. Ever since it has become large enough to be perceived this way, the babe inside him had developed the irritating habit of mirroring his agitation, stirring as though aware of his internal turmoil.
With every day that passes it becomes more of a struggle to not think of it as endearing.
“Oh, James,” Elizabeth sighs, her pity now evident in her eyes. She has finished wiping what she can of his face, leaving behind the more persistent stains, and is now pressing the cloth into his hair, trying to remove the buildup of dirt and grease there. It is no easy task. A proper bath would be needed in order to be truly clean and presentable again, but James fails to see the point.
“Is this why you left Port Royal? You resigned your commission so suddenly and we were all so worried. Will and I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”
James grimaces, knowing full well that many had not been concerned at all with his sudden disappearance. Still, he appreciates the sentiment Elizabeth is trying to convey, even if he won’t soon forget that, despite her worrying, she had not come looking for him. Although, perhaps that is why she is fussing over him so much now. Perhaps she wants to make up for it.
“One of many reasons, yes,” he says, not wanting to delve into the deeper, darker reasons for his departure. The truth would only bring sadness, misery and shame, and he definitely is not ready to share all the darkness that lingers in his heart. The hurricane, the crash of the Dauntless, all the men that died under his command and his orders. James had not turned out to be a good commodore, which would have only made for an even worse admiral, had he been promoted.
He had failed upward for too long. It had been time for his fall.
And he would not be his father. An admiral like him is no true admiral at all.
Another shift inside him, the little one stretching their limbs once again, so small and yet so very real. James swallows around a lump in his throat. To think that he had been pregnant even before the Dauntless had smashed against the rocks, thrown around by the hurricane like a discarded toy.
He hadn’t even known about the pregnancy until he had already left Port Royal behind, his uniform donned only as a symbol of what he had once been. There had been no room to fret over the telltale symptoms. The soreness and fatigue had been attributed to his recovery from the wreck, his sickness from the dread that inevitably comes when one is threatened with a court martial.
By the time he’d realised what was happening inside him, it was too late to do anything about it besides add more holes to his belt as his stomach grew from delicate swell to a defined curve.
“Come! Let’s get some food in you, James. You look in awful need of it.”
Once again, Elizabeth brings him back to the present, grounding him. Her hands are on his arm, urging him to stand and follow her, most likely below deck to go pester the cook.
He feels most undeserving of such kindness from her, but James answers her hopeful smile with a tentative one of his own. He won’t fight her attentions, and he will do as she asks of him. If not for himself, then for the poor soul that is saddled with him as caretaker.
“Very well. Lead the way, Miss Swann.”
It’s becoming increasingly difficult for Elizabeth to pinpoint what Jack is avoiding the most. She has it narrowed down to two options, one being the view of the open sea, which puzzles her greatly, and the other being James Norrington himself.
And Elizabeth is no fool. She has noticed, over the last few hours, how both men have put in far much effort into avoiding the other’s existence whenever they are in close proximity. While she doesn’t know exactly what has transpired between them, she knows James and she knows Jack. There is hurt and fear in both of their eyes, silent shadows of a story neither of them dares to speak aloud.
It doesn’t take her long at all to guess who the other parent of James’ child is, as shocking as the revelation may be to her.
She doesn’t breathe a word about it to James, however, preferring to let the poor man eat the beef stew she had pressured the cook into providing in relative peace. Heaven knows he needs it. The poor man looks like he hasn’t eaten well for months and, considering where they had found him, he likely hasn’t. From what little she knows of pregnancy, Elizabeth supposes that whatever James had managed to survive on, had gone straight to the child, leaving him to lose an alarming amount of weight. His face is more angular than ever, noticeable despite the grime and the beard. The sharpness of his cheekbones and the hollowness beneath his eyes speak of the hardship he must have endured.
Oh, James.
He is a good man with a good heart. He does not deserve this fate, and Elizabeth wants to do all that she can to help him, even if that means appointing herself as his personal caretaker. Guilt plays a part in this decision, she supposes, for she had chosen another before him. The ridiculous thought comes that if she had married him in the end, he might not have ended up alone and pregnant. But is that really a fair thought? What would have been better? To have been doomed to a marriage with someone who would have never loved him back like he deserves to be loved? Or… this?
No. Elizabeth is not the defining factor here.
It’s one Captain Jack Sparrow.
While it is not her place to meddle in the affairs of others’ bedroom activities, she does believe herself to be James’ friend. And, as such, it is her place to help him where he cannot help himself. Someone has to look after him, after all.
At least, until she finds Will, that is.
But that is a problem for later. Right now, the moment belongs to James and his babe. And for her to take action. Elizabeth is quick to take advantage of the moment that James asks for a second helping, departing from his side once she has offered another full bowl to him.
As luck would have it, Jack has been impatiently waiting for her to leave James’ side. He prowls after her, pulling her away to the upper deck and placing that damned compass in her hands, spouting all sorts of nonsense about what the heart wants most and other bits of babble she can’t be bothered with deciphering.
He is an odd one, this man.
Still, Elizabeth indulges him, focusing her thoughts on Will and the married life that looms ahead of her. The needle spins three times before it points harshly to the horizon in front of her, apparently giving the Pearl its heading so it can stop sailing aimlessly.
Yes. Certainly an odd one.
The relief on Jack’s face is blatant, but so is the fear that stubbornly remains there, lurking in the corner of his gaze.
Elizabeth decides that it’s now or never, while she still has the pirate’s attention.
“You should talk to him, Jack,” she blurts out, returning the compass to its owner, only for it to be shoved back into her hands.
“To who? Gibbs? Ah. Quite right, Lizzie, he should know of our new heading subsequently!”
He makes to turn in an obvious attempt to scuttle away, but Elizabeth is having none of that nonsense. She is quick to stop him with a retort.
“To James. He has something of yours, doesn’t he?”
Jack answers with a very ineloquent startled noise, his hands flailing around her wildly as thought to silence her. Elizabeth rolls her eyes, but agrees to keep her voice down, if only so that Jack will not run away from the conversation until she has deemed it finished.
“Well? Doesn’t he?” she insists.
Another startled sound escapes Jack’s lips, high-pitched and definitely louder than Elizabeth had been. His eyes are wide like a cornered animal, flickering around them as if to make sure no one is listening. There’s a strange sort of desperation in his expression. It’s not fear of discovery, no… perhaps more fear of confronting what’s already known.
She’d almost find this behaviour amusing if she weren’t so worried about her friend.
“ Jack? ”
“How about you, dear Lizzie, preoccupy yerself with finding your bonny lad, and I’ll preoccupy myself with my own affairs, and the former commodore will preoccupy himself with…with…er…”
“With your child?” Elizabeth says, finishing his own sentence for him.
“Ah-ah!” Jack counters hastily. “His! N-Not mine! His !” He waggles a finger at her, dread written across his face, before turning to flee once more. This time he makes sure to escape Elizabeth’s attempt to stop him, jumping over the railing behind the wheel to the deck below.
Elizabeth sighs, shaking her head in disapproval, but she knows she isn’t getting anywhere. Jack has his mind set on avoiding James, and there is to be no swaying him from it. She can only hope that her words have planted a seed in his mind, and that he might eventually act on them.
In any case, she can only do so much. This is something that they must sort between themselves. She can assist James and lessen his troubles, but only so much. She has her own problems to contend with, and the letters of marque weighing heavily in her coat pocket.