Norrington's Darling

Zuri's Summons

POV: James Norrington

I hadn't slept.

Since Theodore and Fletcher had gone to Singapore, I hadn't stopped moving, barking out orders and pacing in front of my desk, worrying myself to death. On many occasions, it felt as though I would lose my sanity if I didn't hear word from Theodore on what had happened in Singapore.

Weeks passed and fear gripped me in its terrifyingly tight vice. I found myself staring at her belongings and more than once Beckett walked into the house to see if I had news, only to find me with my head in my hands or quietly crying or worrying with the box her engagement ring had been in.

I hadn't even gotten to put it on her finger myself. I'd pressed the ring into her hand and she'd slipped it on as Barbossa called for her to hurry up. For some reason, I felt like that cheapened our engagement.

Standing on the balcony and staring at nothing but the dark sea as the sky darkened, my thoughts disappeared, spiraling down, down, down into a vast well of memories with my beloved Zuri.

Zuri could be very persuasive when she wanted to be. Persuasive or insistent wasn't something that first came to mind when I thought of her, but she could be very much so.

After a good twenty minutes' worth of arguing, I gave up and sat down on the stool. She squealed and grinned and ran off, coming back with a good-sized canvas and a mouthful of brushes. She organized her brushes and paints and positioned me. 

I reveled in the feeling of her hands roaming over my body—slipping beneath my thighs to prop my legs up, pushing my shoulders back, tilting my chin up, repositioning my uniform, twisting me by my waist, positioning my sword just right. She ended with two fingers pushing my head to the right angle. I looked up at her and pursed my lips for a kiss, which she provided before sitting before the easel holding her canvas.

I don't know how long I sat there for. I grew stiff and my joints ached when Zuri finally gave me permission to move. She had me move closer and keep the same expression so she could paint my face with immaculate detail, still not letting me see the painting.

"Done!" Zuri finally declared, examining her work. She beckoned me up, giving me a moment to stretch my stiff joints which cracked when I stood and then pulled me in front of her. My eyes widened at the sight and I stepped closer to see the detail—particularly in my eyes. It was my eyes she had crafted with such beauty and gentleness.

"Oh, Zuri," I whispered, pulling her to my side. 

"You like it?" she asked.

"It's perfect," I whispered. "It—it's beyond anything I could have ever imagined."

She smiled at me. "All for my James."

I grinned at her and held her close to me, staying that way for some time in the abandoned warehouse she had made her studio.

I snapped from my memories. That studio. Had it survived the years? Was it still standing?

Without thinking, I grabbed my coat and threw it over my shoulders. I made the trek to the edge of the town, just inside the jungled forest, and found it easily. The path, though overgrown, was still starkly clear. How many times had Zuri grabbed me by the hand or coat and shirt or cravat and dragged me down this path to watch her paint or read to her as she did or look at her paintings?

Too many to count.

I shoved the door open with my shoulder and blinked dust from my eyes. 

And laughed.