WITHOUT THE WIG

Author: Ebony
Rating: PG
Pairing: You/Norrington
Categories: General, romance.

Disclaimer: Norrington is not mine. He's Ellie's. ;D

Summary: You wish James Norrington would speak to you as the man instead of the Commodore.

Author's Note: Dedicated to Ellie. *smooch*

* * * * *

Furiously, you worked the delicate fan in your hand, the cool air wafting blissfully along your neck and face under the sweltering Caribbean sun. Stifling a sigh, you straightened your frame and nodded slightly with a courteous smile to the passing elderly couple like the well brought-up young lady that you are. You managed the polite exchange with practised ease, but your smile never quite reached your eyes.

And you knew the reason for that well enough. In fact, your mirthless eyes were curiously drawn to the cause, your fanning hand slowing down as you sighted the familiar, blue uniform and the man wearing it so immaculately across the crowd of people. James Norrington, the renowned Commodore of the Royal Navy. You pressed your lips tighter together to curb another sigh from escaping them, unwilling to make known the influence he had on you. An abrupt pang of frustration shot through you despite your best efforts to remain unaffected. Why did it had to be this way, why did he had to be this way? Could he not see your admiration for him, could he not tell?

For numerous months already, the Commodore had had the habit of engaging you in conversation whenever the opportunity only arose, and with time, you found yourself appreciating him increasingly with each exchange. He was an intelligent and kind man, very handsome as well. The fleeting glimpses of wry humour he had shown every now and then intrigued you more so than you ever would’ve guessed. After some time, you had begun puzzling over his interest, but certainly did not spurn it. In fact, recently you had started clinging onto the hope that he would show even some sign of an interest of another kind towards you, not just mere polite chitchat. But he never strayed beyond the precious boundaries of propriety. Not even when you secretly wished he would. It was as if there were two Norrington’s in him; there was the wig-wearing Commodore Norrington, and hidden beneath him was the rarely seen James Norrington, the man you wished to see and hear more of.

The fan in your hand fluttered swiftly again, matching the speed in which the myriad of thoughts was flying through your head. Surely he had to know of your feelings, surely at least a hint would be reflected in your gaze; you knew you could hide it so poorly when around him. But so far, he’d kept his careful distance. And it saddened and annoyed you more than you thought possible. With a small frown, you wondered if perhaps he was wary of initiating anything because of what happened with his engagement to the beautiful Governor’s daughter. Her heart had, in all likeliness, already belonged to another when he had asked for her hand in marriage. It angered you to think how callous Miss Swann had been to the Commodore’s feelings had she indeed agreed to his proposal only to treat it as means to an end, the end being the rescue of her beloved – you were not entirely aware about the truth of things revolving about the spectacle nearly a year ago that included the known pirate Sparrow, one who escaped Port Royal and was never to be seen again in the city since then.

They frustrated you endlessly, these confusing and tiring court games. Nevertheless, your parents had not raised an audacious brat with a feeble grasp of good manners, and therefore you tolerated those silly games and curbed your temper – even though your patience was starting to wear dangerously thin. Snapping the fan shut with a sharp snap, you curled your fingers tightly about it to control the said temper. It was hard, but by no means impossible thanks to years of practise.

You calmly slid the fan open again as the merciless heat of the sun bore down on you, wearing a mask of serenity on your face as you stood still, watching the masses of people gathered to celebrate the engagement of Elizabeth Swann and William Turner. The fan picked up its pace as you realized, belatedly, that the Commodore was heading your way, his eyes fixed upon your face.

“Miss Rowley,” James greeted you kindly as he reached you, pausing a respectable distance away.

“Commodore,” you nodded back, your tone polite and almost misleadingly tranquil.

He seemed to hesitate for a brief moment before asking, “Might I have a word with you? Perhaps somewhere out of the sun?”

You gazed at him in silence, wondering if you should indeed comply. Would he offer another stint of well-mannered small talk, as always, or would things finally change this time? You doubted it, but the thought of moving to somewhere cooler appealed to you immensely. And so, you gave the Commodore just the smallest of smiles, replying calmly, “Somewhere a little shadier would be agreeable, yes.”

A bittersweet twinge nipped at your heart at the small, pleased smile he gave you in return, offering his arm. Accepting, you rested your palm against the crisp fabric of the uniform, thinking you could nearly feel the warmth of his skin under your hand. You strolled slowly with him, neither of your saying a word. He led you away from the courtyard of the fort, up the stone stairs leading towards one of the parapets, until you reached a short, shaded archway.

“You look beautiful. As always,” he complimented as you gradually halted your steps, and the softly spoken words persuaded a real smile from your lips. Still, you gave no reply aside from that.

Undaunted by your silence, he enquired courteously, “I trust that you have been well since our last meeting?”

You fought the urge to laugh out loud, a knowing, bitter laugh void of any mirth. It seemed that you were about to walk around in circles yet again. How long would this go on? Would he ever truly speak to you instead of making polite enquiries that didn’t even scratch the surface? You were beginning to have your doubts.

“Well enough, thank you,” you got out, managing just barely to keep the bitterness off your voice.

“Good,” he smiled, even if it had a slight hesitancy to it. “That is good.”

The awkward silence stretched on as the two of you gazed out to the blue horizon, broken only by the continuous flow of the soft violin music played in the courtyard. At last, James turned to regard you and spoke, a small frown creasing his brow. “Miss Rowley, I must ask... have I offended you in some way?” he asked directly, tone puzzled. “You seem rather aloof.”

“You have not, Commodore,” you answered after a moment with a small sigh. “Indeed, you have been nothing but polite. Which might just be the problem, exactly.”

James blinked, his frown deepening faintly. “Surely you wouldn’t wish for me to be impolite.”

“Of course I would not!” you retorted, frustration spurring your irritable words. The restlessness within you kept growing and you found it impossible to stand still. The fan in your hand fluttered again rapidly in anxiety as you started walking ahead toward the battlement, stepping into the sun.

“What would you, then?” he insisted as he caught up with you in few quick paces, an edge of subtle exasperation in his voice. “I cannot very well read your thoughts, I’m afraid.”

“Are you always like this?” you asked coolly with a sideways glance, your tolerance for beating about the bush finally spent. “Or are you different without the wig?”

“I do beg your pardon?” he questioned frostily, coming to quick halt.

“I’m certain you heard me,” you answered calmly, stopping and turning around to look at him straight in the eyes. “That is all I ever see of you when we talk, the wig-wearing Commodore Norrington, polite to the bone!”

James clenched his jaw slightly. “That wig-wearing Commodore is who I am, miss Rowley,” he explained, starting to run out of patience himself as well. “And I must say I still have no comprehension as to what it is you’re after with this topic!”

“I wish that you would speak to me plainly!” you cried out in frustration, instantly shocked by your impetuous exclamation. Drawing in a calming breath, you met his astounded eyes again and spoke steadily, “And you are wrong, there is so much more to you than just that. I wish that you would talk to me as James the man instead of James the Commodore.” You glanced at the white headpiece that peeked under his hat, abhorring the way it hid his own brown hair – just like the Commodore Norrington hid James Norrington from view. “I wish you would talk to me without that wig!”

Some strange emotion flashed in James’s blue eyes, but it was gone soon after. He started at you in silence, and you started to wonder if perhaps that impulsively blurted simile went too far and you only succeeded to insult him.

“Without the wig,” James finally repeated flatly, nodding his head slightly as in confirming something to himself. “Very well, then. If that is truly what you wish.”

Before you got the chance to wonder about the touch of humour in his tone and the smallest curl of his lip, James took off this hat with one hand and promptly snatched the white wig with another, drawing it away and proceeding to fling it straight off the high battlement.

You could feel your jaw drop in astonishment and shock over his actions and nearly dropped your fan, staring over the battlement where the wig had disappeared mere second ago before turning your head to look at James. His brown hair was ruffled, and was smiling at your utterly flabbergasted expression, more warmly than he’d ever smiled at you before. He could not have looked any more perfect to you.

“You…” you stammered breathlessly. “You just threw your wig into the ocean.”

“Yes, I did.” James agreed, placing the hat back on his head. “You wanted me to talk to you without the wig, did you not? I do hope you’re satisfied now.”

Blinking, you took in the lone dark wisp of hair that peeked under the hat, no longer restrained by the headpiece. You took in the subtle, humorous glint in his eyes, and smiled widely yourself. This was finally James the man, not the Commodore. “I am,” you reply softly, smiling still. “Thank you kindly.”

James spoke your first name softly, questioningly. It was the first time he’d ever spoken it aloud, and you loved the way it sounded like coming from his mouth. “I was wondering if you’d allow me the honour of a dance back down there?”

The smile seemed etched on your lips as you placed your hand over the arm he offered you. “I would love to, James.”

THE END