Chapter Text
It takes James the entirety of the rest of the day to decide what he’s going to do next, resisting the impulse to spend the evening folded up on a stool at the tavern drinking himself into a stupor. As much as he’d like to, at this point in his life, he had not yet established alcohol abuse as a routine pastime, and it would do his career no favors to be observed thus engaged in public. Home, then. Where he can get inordinately drunk in the privacy of his own chambers.
Later, after he’s downed half a bottle of freshly purchased whiskey, James stares out his open window at nothing in particular. It’s twilight in Port Royal, the sun just having barely slipped past the horizon, and he has long since doffed his frock and waistcoat, finding a perverse thrill in tossing them across the bed rather than rehanging them neatly on the hook.
Arm propped against the window frame, he takes another long pull and winces at the familiar burn in his throat. It tastes like an old friend. The thought makes him smirk mirthlessly. Not yet. Don’t want to rush into these things.
He’s removed the cravat as well, leaving him in only his shirt sleeves and breeches, bare feet against the smooth grain of the wood floor. The night breeze is a cool caress over his skin, a welcome reprieve after the humidity of the day. Now if only he could stop thinking.
But that’s not likely to happen, and he knows it. This is quite the predicament he’s found himself in. Utterly unprecedented. And honestly? More than a little unappreciated. Is he to be denied peace even in death? Seems remarkably unfair, really.
James sighs, shaking his head at himself. Perhaps he's being obtuse. Is this not what so many men have dreamed of throughout history? The chance to fix their mistakes? Say he decides to believe that this change is permanent; it could be the perfect opportunity to try again. To atone.
The problem is, he’s not sure he does believe it. And that’s the damnable misery of it.
Another swig from the bottle, and he sinks onto the bed, idly swiping his uniform aside so he doesn’t rumple it any more than he already has.
The real question is: does it matter what he believes? Ultimately, when it comes down to it, this is where he is now. And if it is a dream or a delusion or a particularly cruel supernatural prank, he still has nothing to lose. In fact, he has less than nothing. And possibly everything to gain.
At this point in his previous life, James remembers being excessively focused on his career. He rarely spent time at home or out with friends, not that he had any, instead choosing to while away his 'free hours' in his office, planning. Plotting. For all the good it had done him.
But it had done him good for a time, hadn’t it? He’d been one of the most decorated officers in the western fleet. He’d carved a name for himself as captain, independent from his father’s accomplishments, through years of dedicated, and often bloody, work. He’d become ‘The Scourge of Piracy,’ earning the rank of Commodore before his thirtieth birthday. All accolades to be proud of. And he had been. Oh, he had been very proud.
James huffs in bitter amusement at that. None of it ended up truly mattering to him in the end, did it? In the end, only one thing had mattered. Only one.
And today she’d asked him to have a picnic lunch with her in her father’s office, young and vibrant and bright as any summer day.
He remembers little of Elizabeth’s childhood, just snippets here and there from when he’d been invited to visit by the Governor. It wasn’t until she was on the cusp of her Debut that he’d started to pay attention. It was hard not to, the way her father had fairly peddled her to James...but...that was not the only reason. Though lovely in her youth, Elizabeth became devastatingly beautiful in her adolescence. And she was bold, fiery and stubborn, determined to scandalize her father in most every way.
She’d tried to do it to him too, James muses with an ungentlemanly snort. Always attempting to shake her chaperone when they were together. He had never told her, but he was utterly charmed by her whimsy, her fearless resolve to be nothing less than herself. And what started out as a fancy had turned to love in two short years. A love that had defined him...as much as it had ruined him.
He should have told her. He should have told her the minute the notion had popped into his mind. For by the time he had decided to seek her hand, she had long since averted her attentions. And he’d been helpless to do anything but watch her go sailing off into the arms of her blacksmith, a yawning pit opening inside him that would never be filled.
James knows that is his greatest regret. He’d never told her how he’d felt. How he still feels, damn him. But he supposes he should cut himself some slack on that front given that he’d died saving her less than twenty-four hours ago. Damn. Has it only been that long? It’s felt like an eternity.
No matter. He sets the now nearly empty bottle on his bedside table with a resounding thump. If this truly is to be his reality, if he wakes up the next morning, and he is still in this room, in this time, then…
Then he’s going to do things differently this time around.
And maybe this time, he’ll get it right.
---
It’s ten minutes to six o’clock when James finds himself trekking up the drive to the Governor’s estate. He’d opted to walk, desiring the time to clear his head and prepare mentally for what is sure to be...an unusual evening, if nothing else. Not that he recalls it having been one, but with his current state, well. It will be interesting to see if he reads as normal to his hosts. He can’t imagine he will.
As he passes through the main gates, a sound comes to him on the westerly breeze, mingled with the scent of hibiscus. Singing? He slows his advance, quieting the clack of his heels against the stone flags, and picks up a sweet soprano voice coming from the gardens. Casting a quick glance about him, James alters his course, admittedly curious.
As he rounds the precisely cut hedgerow, he recognizes the tune: an Irish folk song he’d often heard at sea. Dead lovers and all that. How felicitous. But as he approaches, he spies the singer, perched blithely in a tree, her slippered foot swinging in the open air below, a sketchbook open in her lap. Her head is cocked to one side as she considers whatever it is she is drawing.
At first, James is hesitant to announce his presence, transfixed by her happy calm, a smile bubbling up to his lips. But the Governor is expecting him, both of them really, so he clears his throat.
Elizabeth looks up at him, shocked out of her reverie, the ballad dying on her lips. But then a wide grin splits her features. ‘Hello, Captain.’
James hazards a few steps closer, nearly beneath her now. ‘Good day, Miss Swann.’ He cannot help the mirth in his tone. ‘Lovely weather we’re having.’
She wedges her book in between two branches before leaning forward, her chin braced in her palm. ‘It is, rather. Though only in the shade.’
James narrows his eyes in mock concentration before observing, ‘You’re somewhat taller than when we last met.’
This earns him another brilliant smile, her nose crinkling as she giggles. ‘Oh yes. I’ve hit a bit of a growth spurt. Father has been in stitches trying to keep me in dresses.’
Glancing back toward the front walk, James adopts a conspiratorial air. ‘Speaking of your father, I doubt he’d look favorably upon your current engagement.’
Elizabeth doesn’t miss a beat, a challenge visible in her twinkling eyes. ‘I doubt he would.’
There is silence between them for a few ticks as she holds his gaze until he finally offers up a smile of his own, weary of holding it back. Only then does she reward him with boisterous laughter and move to climb down.
He takes a half step forward, hand outstretched. ‘Do you require assistance?’
‘No, thank you,’ she responds, deftly gathering up the folds of her dress as James politely averts his gaze and clambering down til she alights on the ground before him.
‘Impressive, Miss Swann,’ he says as she shakes off her skirts. ‘I daresay in the rigging of The Dauntless you’d be well nigh uncatchable.’
She hums her approval, the idea seeming to have much appeal. ‘Don’t think I’ve not imagined it. But father would die before he let me in the rigging of a warship. Or any ship for that matter.’
James nods in agreement and then, offering his arm, inquires, ‘Would you be so kind as to accompany me to the house, Miss Swann?’
Obviously charmed by his adult manners, Elizabeth wipes her hands on her dress and then loops her own freckled arm through his. He marvels at the contrast of her fair skin against the dark blue of his frock coat.
‘I felt much the same once,’ he offers as he steers them back out of the gardens, ‘about the rigging.’
Elizabeth is piqued by this bit of information. ‘Were you very young when you joined the navy?’
‘Twelve. My father was an acclaimed admiral, so I enlisted as a midshipman.’ He pauses briefly to smile down at her. ‘Spent more than my fair share of time in the rigging with the other boys. Leaping to and fro, shrieking like monkeys.’
She scoffs up at him, disbelief plain on her face. ‘Surely not!’
He almost laughs at the melodrama of her incredulity. ‘Absolutely. Is it really so hard to believe?’
Elizabeth gives him a calculating once over, and he is privately delighted by her arch study. ‘I suppose not,’ she finally concedes just as they are mounting the portico steps. ‘It’s actually rather entertaining to imagine.’
Once they’ve reached the door, James peers down at her, noting, with amusement, a stray leaf caught in her golden curls. ‘Shall we knock?’
She slides her arm from his, and flashes a toothy grin. ‘Of course not! It’s my house, silly.’
As soon as they are ushered inside by a stiff-backed butler who takes James’ coat, Weatherby Swann sweeps down the curving staircase, frustration knitting his brow.
‘Elizabeth! Where have you been!?’
‘Just in the garden, Father. I was sketching.’
‘Miss Swann met me coming up the walk, sir,’ James cuts in as he reaches them and affects a slight bow in place of a proper greeting. ‘She graciously offered to escort me the rest of the way.’
The Governor arches an eyebrow as he appraises his daughter, who bats her lashes, the picture of civil deference. ‘That was very thoughtful of her.’ He sighs and then places a hand on her shoulder, herding her toward the steps. ‘Go upstairs and change now. Estrella has set out a fresh dress for dinner.’
Elizabeth goes up on tiptoe to kiss her father’s cheek before turning and skipping away up to her room.
After she is gone, Weatherby Swann sighs again and heads to the dining room, motioning for James to follow. ‘What am I to do with her?’ His expression is exasperated, but there is tenderness in his voice as he stops at the sideboard to pour two snifters glasses of brandy.
He passes the first to James, who readily accepts. ‘She is rather spirited, sir.’
‘Spirited!’ the Governor laughs and raises his glass to James. ‘Thank you for putting it so delicately.’
James hides his smile by taking a sip. ‘She reminds me very much of my cousin at her age.’
‘And I assume that now she is a model of society, eh?’
‘Yes, sir. At least when others are paying attention.’
At this, the Governor throws back his head in laughter before upturning the decanter to refill their drinks. ‘Indeed? Then there is hope, after all. Come.’
The dining room doors are open, and the long, polished table gleams in the lamplight. Three places have been set at the far end near the empty fireplace. James takes a seat to the Governor’s left.
‘I wanted to congratulate you once again on your promotion, Captain Norrington,’ he begins as he places a napkin in his lap. ‘Your father must be very proud.’
James tries not to shift uncomfortably in his chair. ‘My mother allows in her letters that he is, though he has yet to tell me himself.’ Then he adds with an attempted air of levity, ‘My father was never one to be very affectionate.’
‘Well,’ Swann begins politely, ‘You see what happens when a father is too affectionate.’
‘Not at all, sir,’ James counters mildly, and Swann’s chagrined smile freezes on his face.
‘Miss Swann may be exuberant, and perhaps a bit lacking in self-control, but she knows that she is safe here. She knows that you love her dearly. I’d say that’s a worthy trade-off.’
The Governor adopts a thoughtful mien before turning his gaze back to James. ‘And how does one with no family of his own gain such wisdom on the matter?’ he asks, sounding almost impressed.
James feels his neck grow hot beneath his collar and resists the urge to pluck at it. ‘Observation, mostly. I’ve the unique circumstance to learn from others’ experiences.’
‘That shall serve you well,’ Swann confides. ‘I’ve known far too many men who have the inability to learn from even their own mistakes.’
Now James does tug at his cravat, feeling a bit too confined in his own skin as a chill runs down his spine.
He certainly hopes he can. In fact, he means to.
---
The first course has already been served, and the two men are engaged in banal discourse, when Elizabeth slips into the room. She stops just inside the doorway when James abruptly stands, surprise in her wide brown eyes. Inwardly, he chastises himself. She is still a girl, and one does not usually rise for children, but the damage has already been done. Old habits die hard.
But the young Miss Swann drops into a practiced curtsy, much more graceful than the one she’d performed the previous day. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting.’
The Governor stands as well and slides out her chair as she approaches. ‘Not at all, my dear. We’d only just started.’
Elizabeth smiles to herself as the men take their seats, clearly pleased to be treated as a lady.
That lasts all of a minute.
Then she leans forward, her eyes suddenly alight. ‘I’ve just heard the most horrible thing,’ she asserts with an expression that suggests she thinks it anything but horrible. ‘Estrella told me they found the corpse of a two headed gull on the dock today, and all the sailors are saying it’s ill omen of things to come!’
‘Lord have mercy, Elizabeth!’ Undaunted by her father’s rebuke, she merely shrugs, and he mutters something about giving the maid ‘a stern talking to.’
‘Oh, please don’t, Father...she didn’t actually tell me. I overheard her talking to one of the other maids.’
The Governor fixes her with a scolding look, brows raised. ‘So you’re eavesdropping on the staff now.’
‘I can’t help it if the front hall echoes,’ she huffs. Then she turns her gaze to James. ‘What do you think it means, Captain?’
James tries his best not to smile. ‘I am not well-versed on the subject of portents, I’m afraid. But I do know sailors. They are a superstitious lot, and a great many things are observed to be omens of ill fortune.’ Elizabeth is less than moved by his answer, so he adds, ‘I suppose I’d have to see the creature myself to draw my own conclusion.’
‘Oh, could we!?’
‘Elizabeth! That’s enough!’ The Governor admonishes through clenched teeth. ‘This is hardly proper talk for the dinner table.’
Elizabeth pouts while the two men resume their previous conversation. By the main course, she’s completely lost interest, idly picking at her plate in unmasked boredom. Acutely aware of it, James tries to steer the exchange to something more to her interest. She perks up when she hears him mention his time abroad.
‘You’ve been to India?’
‘Yes, I have, Miss Swann. While I was a lieutenant, I spent a good eight months off the coast there.’
‘What was it like? Was it very beautiful?’
‘Yes, in the way that dangerous things often are.’
Elizabeth is at attention now. ‘Dangerous?’
James shoots a glance at the Governor to discern whether he finds this line of discussion suitable, and he nods, cheeks pink from drink, so James continues. ‘Oh yes. In addition to the French and Spanish, it seems the very land itself is trying to kill you. Tigers, mudslides...snakes longer than three men.’
She gasps at this, face distorting in thrilled disgust. ‘You saw one?’
‘Indeed I did. It slithered aboard our ship whilst we were taking on provisions.’
‘How utterly awful,’ remarks the Governor, his nose wrinkled in distaste. ‘I do hope it wasn’t poisonous.’
James doesn’t remember ever telling this story to anyone before and finds that he is very much enjoying regaling it. ‘I’m afraid so, sir. A king cobra. We didn’t even know it had stowed away in our hold until we were a week out at sea. It had plenty to hunt though. There’s always an influx of vermin aboard after disembarking from a port.’
Dessert is being served now, but Elizabeth scoots her custard aside, completely enraptured. ‘Did it bite anyone?’
James can feel the effects of the brandy he’s had and doesn’t stop himself from chuckling. ‘No, thank God, but it scared the wits out of one of the marines who happened upon it while inspecting the hold. He was white as a sheet as he reported to his captain and then fainted straight away.’
The Governor nearly snorts his drink. ‘I suppose I can’t blame the man. Long as three men, indeed!’
‘Did you hunt it down then?’ Elizabeth asks around her first bite of custard.
‘I did not. And I was very glad no one asked it of me. I was not keen on the idea of being killed by a giant snake.’ James sits back in his chair, crossing his legs, and stares ponderously into the middle distance before continuing. ‘It was the cook that got it in the end. Found it in the galley and just happened to have a knife in hand. Took its head clean off. Ended up serving it to Captain Bradshaw later for supper. Who said it tasted of chicken.’
Both Elizabeth and Weatherby laugh at this, and James can’t help but join in, acquiescing that in retrospect, the situation really was humorous. The Governor adds that knowing what he does of Benjamin Bradshaw, he might well consider the act to be cannibalism, which sets them all to merry laughter once again.
After she’s calmed down, Elizabeth sighs. ‘It is a shame he had to kill it. It did nothing wrong, after all. It was just trying to live.’
James considers the uncomfortable parallel to her future views on pirates, and piracy in general, before responding. ‘You’re right, Miss Swann. Perhaps if we hadn’t been so far from land we might have attempted to catch and release it.’
The clock on the mantle strikes nine, and the Governor cranes his neck to look. ‘Is it already so late?’
James pushes back from the table. ‘So it would seem. I’ve had a lovely time tonight, but I fear I prevail upon your hospitality.’
Swann assures James nothing could be further from the truth, allowing that it has been them putting the Captain out by keeping him so late. It is not long before farewells are said, Elizabeth giving a parting curtsy and waving to him all the way down the front steps, and James is en route back home, basking in the moonlight.
Now that he tries, he cannot remember how this dinner had gone the first time he’d lived through it. He certainly doesn’t recall having fun. But he also recognizes that most of the memorable events of this evening were due to the lack of his usual restraint.
That thought sobers him.
How much of his previous life had he missed out on due to formality? How many opportunities had he squandered? It isn’t as if he's going to go singing through the streets, but perhaps with a little less brevity and a little more levity, things could be the right kind of different this time around.
Or perhaps James is merely happily drunk.
He takes a moment to laugh at that since there is no one about to hear him.
Maybe he can let it be that simple. Just for tonight.
---