Norrington's Darling

Work Ethic

POV: Zuri Sparrow

As much as I would have loved to stay wrapped up in James's arms, I knew there was work to be done and I was only prolonging the misery of the day for my beloved. The longer I kept him off the deck and out of Jack's sights, the more pain my brother was likely to put the fallen commodore through.

I was quick to get him back to work the moment I realized this. Of course, we'd already wasted away near two hours. I knew that meant he had two hours of sleep docked from him and two hours of work into the night added.

My heart pinged in sympathy as Jack shoved a bucket of water and a scrub brush at James. I had gotten the task of scrubbing the deck on more than one occasion during many of the fights that sprung up between me and my brother. It was tiresome, woeful work.

For his part, James took his task with a large dose of modesty. He said not a word and got to work immediately. As I cast my eyes over his form several times as I sat in the crow's nest, watching for ships both friend and foe, I saw that he did not rush his work but instead went slowly and methodically, sure not to do his work at an unsatisfactory level and anger my brother any more than he already had.

A sea breeze played with my hair and caressed my face softly, bringing a calming sense with it. I breathed it in, enjoying the peace it provided me. 

I worried for James. I worried that one wrong move would earn him nothing but trouble. I worried that Jack would push his limits. I worried that James would lose what little scraps of dignity he had left. I worried he would cease to be the James Norrington I knew.

Perhaps that was why I had been as angry as I had been when James had risen to Jack's bait the night before when we'd left Tortuga. Perhaps I was afraid that he would stop being the man I'd fallen in love with. I did not know.

My eyes searched the horizon and found nothing, so I let my gaze drift back to the deck. Jack and Gibbs both stood at the helm, Jack with one hand on the wheel, one eye on the sea, and one eye on Gibbs. The rest of the crew were focused, each taking their tasks as seriously as they did the story—the truth—of the Kraken. 

As I thought of the Kraken, I glanced to Jack and found that he did indeed have his jar of dirt at his feet. He never seemed to go very far without it.

My sights fell to James. He paused in his work for the briefest of moments, sitting back on his heels and wiping sweat from his forehead, leaving yet another dirty smudge. He turned his face to the sky, eyes closed, breathing laboriously. And then he crouched back over and was right back to work.

I knew his arms were burning with effort. I knew his back was sore. I knew his knees felt like they'd been ripped open on nails. I knew his muscles were trembling with the work. I knew because I had been in his position before and I felt the keen sting of his task just as much as he did knowing that I was the one who put him there. 

Perhaps if I had not let myself enjoy the warmth of his body for so long, if I had not given into my heart's keening, if I had not given in to guilty pleasure...maybe his task would not be one so grueling.

Never again, I promised myself, though I knew my promise was both doubtful and in vain.

And for some time, I admired my loved one's modesty and humbleness. I admired his work ethic and strength. I admired his movements and methodical motions. I admired his brushing away of a rogue lock of hair and the absent-minded blowing of it out of his face. I admired sadness that lingered in his posture and was likely in his eyes that was so intoxicating and sorrowing at the same time. 

I let myself be content to think about a day when I could call the man on the deck not just my lover but my husband.

And then I turned my eyes back to the glittering water on the horizon.