James Norrington Fanctions||Short Stories and Long||

Thunderstorm - [Story 8] (Norribeth) [AU] [Fluff]

Norribeth | short story | fluff | AU

A vicious pattern of rain dropped along the top floor of an old apartment roof, ran down the wooden-panel windows and reached a sudden halt as it crashed onto the window sill.

And she loved it. She, a woman sat staring from a navy blue leather chair at the transparent raindrops that danced their way down the small apartment. She, a woman with so many aspirations, and secret loves and admirations. She, a woman who was waiting for her beloved husband to return home.

and he did.

A joyful cheer of "Elizabeth!!" arose from down the hall from her, as he closed the front door behind him. A beaconing smile spread across her lips as she leaped out of the chair, her long-flowing yellow skirt barely able to keep up to her fast speed, as She ran towards him, from the living room. He stripped off his wet clothes the best he could at the sight of his wife running towards him, smile wide and her arms open. His dripping wet coat went then equally wet shoes. Admittedly, he would have tried to remove anything he could that was at all wet, as he was cautious of her ruining her clothes. He smiled too, as her legs wrapped around his waist and arms reaching for the back of his neck.

Their lips clashed together, her rose lips exploring the historic lines of a stern frown. They shadowed star-crossed lovers who had not been in each others presence for centuries. And yet, they really were childhood sweethearts, deemed husband and wife.

A sharp realization. She drew back in disgust, her legs still wrapped around him. "You're wet through!" Their eyes making immediate contact. As she looked towards her husband, she saw immediate smirks and a glint in his eye she had definitely come to understand.

That smirk, he would later argue, was automatic and he didn't even realize he had smirked at her. But as he did, and he held her so close, his strong arms holding her up onto his hips. He kept her hold dear to his heart. She argued he held her close to him to try and transfer all the rainwater onto her. Yet held her up. Upwards, to the highest point in the room, like that holy green book he had learned of on his travels. He held her higher than any books, statues of Aphrodite and other Greek goddesses. As she was his goddess. His own Aphrodite. A book within herself. One to be read and read again, as it was truly splendid.

They spent the rest of that evening in the living room snuggled up on the couch, reading and speaking about the places they've been, and the places they wish to go. Admitting how terribly they missed each other when they were away from each other. Elizabeth gave a small sigh as if she was building up courage.

He smiled against her, resting his face to her neck. Elizabeth rested her head against his, her presumably tired eyes closed. She gave one more sigh. "James". She whispered. He replied with a muffled, mumbled noise, which she imagined was a "Yes?"

"We need to speak." She said with a stern voice. Her eyes opened and looked directly ahead of her. Staring at the book self in front of her, channeling her nervousness into it. He looked up at her, moved his head away from her warm neck. He sat next to her and looked for something in her face to tell him what was wrong. She looked down and started playing with her hands. For some time silence filled the room, until James held her hands in his. "What's the matter?" He asked the concern in his voice prompted her to keep her head down. Yet she could contain it any longer. A faint smile spread across her lips and she looked up at him. "I'm pregnant."