| Overall rating: R Genre: slash, hint of het Pairings: Norrington/Gillette, Norrington/Elizabeth Other characters: Norrington, Gillette (heh!) Warnings: a wee bit of angst, sap Feedback: very welcome. Good or bad. Author's notes: there was really a Mr. Gillett serving on HMS Victory during the Battle of Trafalgar. A comment regarding this fact by Dauntless gave me the idea for this story. Cheers! Summary: "And all the King's Horses, and all the King's Men, couldn't put Jamie together again..." "What a tragedy. Parents shouldn't live to see their children's funerals." James Norrington was well in the mood for running his sword through the next phrasemonger pestering him with that statement. There had been nothing left of Jamie that could have been buried. All he had to remind him of his son was Jamie's lieutenant's patent and a lock of hair, fine like silk, cut off by the hand of his mother when he had been just a toddler. One shot from a French gun, and the young man had been gone. Norrington had been spared details, but he had fought in enough battles to know that they had probably used a bucket and a shovel to prepare Jamie for his funeral at sea. "And all the King's Horses, and all the King's Men, couldn't put Jamie together again..." Norrington murmured to himself, which earned him an odd look from his first lieutenant, Frank Jenkins. "Sir, with all due respect, wouldn't you rather continue this tomorrow? You must be tired." "Mr. Jenkins, mind your own business. How many are left?" Lt. Jenkins sighed and consulted the list. "Let me see... 4 that could be him, 3 that might be him, and one who's a wild guess." Norrington's frown deepened. Looking for Gillette at the naval hospital was like searching for a needle in a haystack. The lists with the names of the injured wasn't complete, and many names had been misspelled by some idiot at the admiralty. His search had become even more frustrating when he learned that some of the wounded had been placed in the care of good-natured townsfolk. Then there was the possibility that Gillette wasn't here at all, that "missing" meant "gone forever". Norrington simply refused to consider that option. Lt. Jenkins had no doubt that Thomas Gillette was dead. But he had served long enough under Captain Norrington to know that the man wouldn't believe in the death of his former first lieutenant until somebody would come forward and present Gillette's body to him. "Who's closest?" Norrington asked, leaning heavily on his cane. "One could-be-him, two might-be-him and the wild guess." "What are you waiting for then? Lead the way." Jenkins obeyed, careful not to leave his captain behind. He cursed that bloody Lt. Groves who had felt duty-bound to inform Norrington that Gillette had very likely died during the Battle of Trafalgar. Unfortunate, no doubt, and regrettable, but really no reason for Norrington to drag his loyal 1st lieutenant through the naval hospital of Gibraltar day after day! Norrington and Gillette hadn't exchanged a single word within the last twenty years. Rumours were afloat that there had been a terrible row between the two men right after the announcement of James Norrington's engagement to Miss Elizabeth Swann, and while most of it was hearsay, there must have been some truth to the claim that Gillette had committed the outrageous act of aiming his sword at his captain. Norrington had brushed this off as yarn, but how else could one explain that Gillette, no doubt a very capable officer, had never made it past lieutenant, while Norrington was well on his way to admiral? Thanks God the repairs on HMS Buckthorn would soon be finished, and being in charge of his ship again would hopefully bring Norrington to his senses. Their search hadn't produced a single sign of that blasted Gillette. Jenkins couldn't remember in how many faces they had looked; who would have thought that there were so many red-heads in the Royal Navy? Jenkins approached a guard and showed him the list. The man scratched his head and pointed at a scrawny man of about fifty years of age. Jenkins looked over to Norrington, but the captain shook his head. This procedure was repeated two more times in different areas of the hospital. Norrington was tired and in pain, that was obvious from his ashen face. "Shouldn't we return, Sir?" "You forget the wild guess, Mr. Jenkins." "As you wish, Sir. Over there, please." The wild guess huddled under a coat that was at least three sizes too large for him. One foot was bandaged. The hands were hidden in long sleeves, and all that could be seen of his head was a shock of red hair. "Jenkins, that's a lad." "So it seems." "How likely is it then that he served as my first lieutenant on the Dauntless?" "Not very likely, Sir." The coat moved, and a pair of brown eyes became visible under a pale forehead. "Captain Norrington?" Norrington made one step forward and squinted his eyes. "You know me?" The coat nodded. "Yes, Sir." "What is your name?" "Midshipman Thomas Gillette, Sir." Norrington felt a lump in his throat. "Good grief. That's not possible." Thomas sat up, the coat still wrapped tightly around him. "My father often spoke of you." Norrington tried to ignore that the lad had used the past form. "I trust he is well?" A shadow fell on Thomas' face. "I was with him on the poop deck when we were attacked. Everything blew up, I don't know what happened to him." He was brave, Norrington had to give him credit for that. He obviously thought his father was dead, an opinion Norrington yet refused to share. "Does your family know that you're here, Thomas?" "Nobody to write to, Sir." "What about your mother?" Thomas looked embarrassed, and Norrington decided to delay further inquiries for the moment. "Sir, what are we going to do now?" Jenkins asked, not affected by the same memories and emotions as Norrington and eager to get out of the hospital. Norrington looked at Thomas thoughtfully. "We came here to find Thomas Gillette, we have been successful, we can leave now. Please follow me, Mr. Gillette." "But Sir, you can't do that!" Jenkins protested. Norrington straightened up and glared at Jenkins. "Are you trying to tell me what to do, lieutenant?" "No, Sir, of course not, my apologies, it's just that we can't take somebody with us and..." "Now you don't say... I can't wait to see who would try and stop me, Mr. Jenkins. Mr. Gillette here will accompany us; we can possibly not leave him here. Take off that coat, Mr. Gillette; it might have slipped your attention, but it's a French one." Thomas obeyed, revealing a skinny figure that reminded Norrington painfully of the gangly youth Gillette had been when their paths had first crossed. "How old are you?" "Eighteen, Sir. Almost. Next - winter." "Sixteen then." Norrington took off his own coat and handed it over to the youth. Thomas hesitated to take it, especially after seeing the disapproving expression on Lt. Jenkins' face. "Make haste, we don't have all day. It's just a coat. Can you stand up? Yes? Good, lean on Mr. Jenkins here for support." Jenkins paled upon seeing the captain's coat on Gillette. That was taking charity a little too far in his eyes. "Pardon me, Sir, but..." "Not if you continue to refuse following my orders. Mr. Gillette is injured, help him." "But Sir..." Jenkins tried to protest. "Mr. Jenkins, you are really testing my patience today. Would you rather serve somewhere else? In the Caribbean, maybe? I heard the dying rate is down to 18% within the first three months of service now." "No, Sir, of course not," Jenkins hurried to reply. "Come, lad, let me help you." "Thank you, Sir," Thomas politely replied, but there was also a fine, smug smile on his lips, and Norrington noticed with great pleasure that young Thomas was a true chip off the old block. * * * The journey back to London had been swift and without any complications. Thomas had been in the Royal Navy since his 12th year, and he had felt odd sailing on a ship as a mere passenger. Captain Norrington had offered him to be a guest at his house until he had made a full recovery, and Thomas had gladly accepted. If only his father could have been here as well. Thomas looked out of the coach that transported him and the captain to the Norrington's home, the one his father had once or twice referred to as a "magnificent cage for two monkeys". Thomas didn't think it looked too bad, just - big. One could probably get lost in there without problems! It was better than the hospital in any case, where the cries of the injured had kept him awake all night. The coach came to a halt, and James Norrington frowned when he saw the family's doctor leaving the house. As quick as he could he stepped off the coach. "Doctor Harrow! You here? Good grief, has anything happened to my wife?" The man wiped the sweat off his forehead. "Captain Norrington! No, everything is fine with the lady of the house, almost too fine, if I may say so. Please calm her down, the excitement is not good for her. I have very good news for you, though!" Thomas, who had followed Norrington, stood behind him, not quite sure what to do now. Again the doctor beamed at Norrington. "A miracle, Captain! Nothing short of a miracle!" "What? For the love of God, speak!" "It's Jamie, Captain! He's alive!" Norrington could feel how his heart skipped a beat. He trembled, his tongue licking his lips nervously. "If that's supposed to be a joke, I have to kill you, Sir." "God forbid I would ever joke about such a matter, Sir! It is true, Jamie is alive and here! A bit worse for the wear, and it will take some time for him to recover, but I swear by all that is dear to me: he is up there in his bedroom, by now possibly hugged to death by his mother!" "Oh my God..." Norrington murmured. He could hear Elizabeth's laughter, answered by a cough and some muffled words that could only come from one person. Without paying any further notice to the doctor or Thomas, he limped into the house, ignoring the pain in his leg. "Who is Jamie?" Thomas asked. Doctor Harrow looked at the young man over the rim of his glasses. "Why, James Norrington, the son of the house, of course! Thought to be killed while serving on the Temeraire. Quite alive, though!" "The Temeraire? But..." "I have to leave, I'm already very late. Please give my compliments to Mrs. Norrington, I will return to look after Jamie in the evening." The doctor nodded and left a very confused Thomas behind. Should he stay here and wait? Or knock on the door? Or just go in there? The Gillettes had never distinguished themselves by shyness, and so Thomas decided to enter the house. He could still leave if he was asked to. He stepped through the open front-door and sat down in a chair, waiting for the things to come. * * * Norrington stood in the door of his son's bedroom, hand clasped firmly over his mouth, or he would have screamed. Yes, it was Jamie - pale, gaunt and his arm in a sling, but it was his son. Alive. Elizabeth sat next to him on the bed, holding his uninjured hand, crying and ruffling his hair from time to time. "Father!" Jamie cried out, and tried to sit up. Alas, he winced and sank back in the cushions. "Ouch. That bloody splinter! Will take me weeks to sit on my arse again." "James, the language!" Elizabeth said disapprovingly and out of habit, only to break out in tears again. Norrington crossed the room. Elizabeth stood up and threw her arms around his neck. "He's back, James! Our boy is back!" He returned the hug, then patted Elizabeth's shoulder and let go of her, sitting down on a chair next to his son's bed. "Jamie - is it really you? But we were told..." Now this was difficult. He wanted to hug Jamie, but he feared he could cause him pain. So he just took his hand and pressed it. He had to touch him, to be sure that he was really alive. "I don't know who was blown apart, but it wasn't me, father! Maybe Collins, I really can't tell. There were fire and noise, and something hit me. Next thing I knew I was in the water and..." He broke off and turned his head to the other side, not wanting his father to see his tears. "It's alright, Jamie. You don't have to tell us now." It would probably have been appropriate to break out in song and dance about the return of his son, and cry and laugh, but that was just not the way James Norrington was. Elizabeth would probably call him cold-hearted later on, but he knew his son would understand. Jamie gave him a grateful smile. "But I have to tell you how I was rescued, father." "Jamie, you must be very tired, and..." "... but listen, it was..." "James, not now. You need to rest," Norrington said firmly. "You just can't stop ordering people around, can you." Norrington almost fell off his chair, and Jamie nodded. "You're right, lieutenant. He never lets me finish a sentence!" Slowly, very slowly Norrington turned his head towards the door. There were now strands of grey in the red hair, wrinkles around the eyes, and the lines in his face had deepened, but that aside, Thomas Gillette was still the same sarcastic bastard he had been twenty years ago. "Would have never made it out of there alive without him," Jamie explained. "Took us a while to get here, though, and then we learned that you all thought I was dead!" "Gillette?" Norrington croaked. "Yes, Captain Norrington. Sir." Elizabeth took Gillette's hand and held it. "I don't know how we can ever thank you, Mr. Gillette! I promise you my husband will do whatever he can to repay your kindness." "Or you could get rid of Jenkins that git, and have Lt. Gillette as your 1st, father!" Gillette snorted. "A simple 'thank you' will do, Jamie." "I - thank you," Norrington said, tongue-tied all of a sudden. "Oh, nothing to thank me for, Sir. It's been my pleasure." Norrington shook his head, hoping that his brain would start working again. It helped a little, and he suddenly remembered that he had brought a visitor with him. "I will be forever in your debt. The first instalment of the repayment is waiting for you outside the house. As for the rest - we will see." "I don't understand..." Norrington arched his eyebrows. "Of course you don't. You haven't changed a bit, Thomas." * * * next chapter |
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| LOST AND FOUND 1/3 by Molly Joyful |