23The end! Muahahaha! This is the end of this installment, although by no means the end of the story, so sit back, relax, and enjoy this chapter!
Hope everyone is also enjoying the World Cup. I was never really into sports, but I can't stay away! Pumped! WOO!
Disclaimer: Disney 1: With the wind at quarter astern, we won't catch them.
Disney 2: We don't need to catch them, just get them in range of the long nines.
Disney 1: Hands, come about! Run out the guns! We are to fire on our own franchise, sir?
Disney2: I would rather see her at the bottom of the ocean than in the hands of an obsessive fangirl.
Authoress: Muahaha...
Chapter Eleven: Swash-Swash Buckle-Buckle
The girl had fallen asleep in his arms. He thought he should wake her, but could tell how exhausted she was. Rest was the best thing for her right now, he knew. Still, a tremor of shock had gone through her just as she lost consciousness, and he couldn't get it out of his mind that something was seriously wrong. She would tell him in the morning, he knew, but he doubted if he could wait as long to hear.
The next morning found them asleep in one another's arms on the couch. Amy's mother chanced to be up early this day, having a morning wedding to play, and happened upon their positions. "What are you doing?"
James, being the light sleeper that he was, opened his eyes at her voice. "Good morn, Mistress Kensings," he greeted her warmly, softly, somewhat groggily.
"What the heck are you—?"
"If I may," he interrupted gently, politely. "Might you have a mind to keep your voice down? She is still asleep."
Louise looked no calmer, and although she did not say another word, her expression spoke volumes. She trusted her daughter's judgement, but when the age difference in friends was as great as in this case, she was suspicious.
He met her gaze, for a moment confused, before suddenly perceiving the silent accusation. He attempted to mask the arrow shot through him with a cold indifference and failed due to lack of emotional wits (he had just woken up). "If you think for a moment that I would do such a thing - I could never - as long as I live-." His indignation nearly drew his voice up to awakening levels.
"You're a lot older than any of her other friends. I know you've known each other very long, and that you've done some good things for her before. But when a mother walks in on a scene like this, she cannot keep her silence."
James met the remarks with a smouldering ice-green gaze and an unwavering Commodore-ish expression for an uncomfortable length of time. "She was a stranger when we first met," he at last broke his silence, revealing cherished memory and seeming to acknowledge the issue, and his entire demeanor changed. "She trusted me right from the start, even when she didn't know me." He attempted to shift position without moving the girl overmuch. "She's like family to me. All I have, really. The relationship we have is unique. I suppose one could say we are indeed closer than any friends might be, although the relationship you perceive cannot define it either. Perhaps it makes me think that I can get away with acting out of my own norm, and maybe those of society, because of that singularity. But with that singularity comes a fierce protectiveness that not even my profession entailed. I could never hurt her—not in any way," he declared, and his voice held the certainty of a promise. "Although I suppose even with all that said, I still owe you an explanation as to the nature of our positions. She was frightened and she came to me. It is as simple as that."
"What was she afraid of?"
"She wouldn't say."
Louise smiled wryly in spite of herself. "She's always been like that. She stays up late thinking about things and sometimes it really bothers her, but she'll never come and talk to us. If she has a nightmare in the night, we never hear about it. I guess she tries to be as independent as she can, but sometimes it's like she thinks she can't talk to us. I'm glad you can be that person for her. If she trusts you enough to come to you, even if she won't say what's on her mind, then so do I." They met each other's gazes once more, this time with a mutual respect, before Mrs. Kensings caught sight of the clock. "Oh, geez, I've gotta go. I have a wedding to play," she explained as she rushed out the door.
He could probably have carried the girl up to bed the previous night, but, not knowing how heavy or light a sleeper she was, he hadn't wanted to disturb her. However, half an hour later, when the cat crept silently into the room, she awoke. "You make a good pillow, Ellie."
"You make a decent blanket yourself."
"What time is it?"
"Ah...wee bit past zero-eight-hundred hours." Military time. Should have known.
"Getting better with digital clocks, I see."
"Not that I was ever having a problem," he reminded her. "Besides, it is just as one writes it on parchment, so you said yourself."
"True, true." She yawned, sitting up and him with her, and stretching like a cat. Said cat jumped up onto the back of the couch, then climbed down to make herself comfortable against the now-warm pillow where the Commodore's head had just been. "Well good morning, Zoë," Todd greeted the feline. "Looks like she's really warmed up to having you around."
"Is that so?" James' eyebrows rose.
"Yeah. Usually she's really shy around strangers."
"I see." He scratched the tortoiseshell behind the ears and she began to purr, eyes half-closed in contented slits. "I don't think it's her so much as it is me. I don't know. Cats have always liked me for some reason."
"Well she doesn't know any other cats, and therefore shouldn't know who other cats like, so it's all a mystery to me." She kissed her pet on the head—at which point said pet began to rub against her face—before suddenly recalling that there was something important she needed to remember. She opened her mouth excitedly to speak, and was rewarded with a mouthful of fur. "Fuff—ptoo!" she pulled away from Zoë, trying not to inhale or swallow a few clinging cat hairs. "Oh!" And she suddenly remembered what it was that she'd forgotten that she remembered she had to remember but had forgotten what it was she'd needed to remember. "James..."
He looked up, seeing sadly that her good mood had suddenly spoiled. "Yes?"
"About Jack..." There was a pause. "I need to speak with Tia Dalma again."
"You were able to reach her?"
"Yes."
"You worked yourself to sleep last night. Are you sure you can find her again?"
"I'm sure I can find her again." At least the doubt was gone. "Come with me," she said suddenly.
"What, how?"
"...Trust me..."
He hesitated, fearing for his recently-regained sanity, and of course held fast by that inherent fear of what he could only describe as magic. Then, with all the proof of his trust in her, "All right." She reached out for his mind, almost as if mentally reaching for his hand, and they connected. James' eyes widened, pupils dilating, as he heard her thoughts and saw her mental images and smelled the muffins that her more sensitive nose had detected where his hadn't. It was as though all his senses had been extended, and he was now two people.
"Don't be scared, James. I know this is really weird for you, but for me it's practically normal, ever since Jack. I never thought I'd be able to talk with anyone else besides him—we were only linked because of the fruit." He could sense that she felt this was a confirmation of the powers he had speculated.
Now that she had finally made contact with the mystic the previous night, she searched for the exact presence she had sensed, the same way she always talked to Jack, and the same way she had connected with James. A window was quickly opened. "Good mornin', chil'," a now-familiar voice greeted her.
"Ohaiou gozaimasu, Sensei," Amy greeted her with a mental bow.
"Amy..." Oh yeah.
"Right. Tia Dalma, this is James Norrington. James, meet Tia Dalma."
"It is a pleasure to finally meet you," he said politely with a sweeping bow.
"Yes, Commodore. I been waitin' ta meet you for quite some time." Amy sensed his confusion.
"Former Commodore, actually."
"No." They both mentally snapped their eyes up to meet hers. "I foresee a pardon in you future." James was surprised. "Now why didn' ya come, child?"
"Well I was actually asking Jack to tell you that right before..." Without another thought, she spilled why she couldn't be there in person.
"It is true that truest desire is needed to move from one world to the nex'. But ya have that desire."
Ames mentally raised her eyebrows. "Beg pardon?"
"You want save Jack Sparra'?"
"Yes. More than anything," she said fiercely.
"Ta save him, you must come here."
Something clicked. "Kind of like Jack's compass...One can manipulate their means of finding what they want in order to find something else."
Wise eyes gleamed in their minds. "Clever girl. Jack Sparra' did not embellish him tales o' you. Go, child. Write ya parents a note, come see me. Here, you will learn what you will need ta save ya horse. Bring de Guardian," she instructed.
"Guardian? What do you mean?"
"James...Norrington," her voice was beginning to fade. The connection broke, and she added in the void silence, "...Guardian of the Realm."
Once again in Amy's den, the two suddenly came alive, scaring the heck out of the cat, who raced away at top speed, tail fluffed to thrice its girth. Amy rushed up to her room and dug through her closet until she found her pirate gear from her last visit. She opened the hidden box in one corner and picked up her sword. It was still just as sharp as ever, and she admired it in the sunlight filtering in through the window before adding it to her belt.
The sun shone brightly outside, gleaming off the streets that had been left unplowed due to parked cars. She had an idea. "See ya, Dad, I'm going to the Caribbean," she called to her father in the next room.
"All right, make sure you're home by dinner," he replied distractedly, obviously not paying attention (and thank goodness).
She glided down the steps and found James, all of his few belongings stuffed back into his pockets, borrowed clothes folded in a neat pile under the cat. "Hey James..."
"Hmm?" he looked up from his wig, trying to decide whether to bring it or leave it.
"I think I shall be needing some practice before we go," she said, patting the hilt which rested at her hip.
He nodded his understanding and they took their things out front. "I won't be going easy on you," he said reassuringly, shedding his coat in anticipation of the heat of the battle. The wig he chucked as far as it could go (and dude, he should throw for the Eagles).
"I know. And don't expect me to go easy on you either. Still rooting for you, though, mate." He laughed. True, she had actually been practicing (as much as her tiny bedroom would allow), and she was just itching for a fight.
"This should be interesting," he purred, drawing his sabre and rocking into a fighting stance.
She drew her own cutlass and took up a similar pose. "Yeah." The snow was firm, holding either of them up, but not slippery. Perfect.
Seeing how she was in fact out of practice, she would have to sit back and wait for him to make the first move, or else risk fumbling. A bad start meant a bad whole thing. In the blink of an eye he lunged at her, and she parried readily before dodging out of range, forcing him to follow. She continued like this for nearly a circuit of the front yard before he piped up, "You know, on a ship you wouldn't have the room for such mobility."
"I know," she parried his next strike. "I'm just warming us up." Even with a lack of action, the clang of sword on sword was drawing a few people from the warmth of their homes. "We have an audience, it seems."
"Then we should entertain them." His eyes gleamed.
She struck, he parried, and they exchanged blows before she suddenly ducked and rolled, jumping to her feet to thwart his next strike. His next was much more forceful and she chose to dodge, but his momentum did not throw him off balance as it had with Will months ago, and she had to sweat to avoid a volley of hits. Their movement was bringing them near the magnolia tree, so she observed with a momentary sideward glance, (sometimes it pays to be so randomly observant) and an idea came to her. She jumped up, catching a branch as she parried again, and swung up out of reach. He backed away to assess the situation, but before he could get far, she sprang from the tree, coming at him from above, blade at the ready. He leaned back so as they wouldn't bump heads, bringing his sword up quick to block. She pushed off it with her own, flipping and landing in time to parry his next blow, albeit off balance—she had never tried a flip before, and her ankle would be aching the next day. Some of their small audience cheered—others gasped.
They exchanged blows, movements fluid like an intricate dance. She ducked his next blow, leaning far back. Were it a movie, she was sure time would have slowed and everything would have seemed very Matrix-like. He jumped over her next swing, meriting applause. He admitted it; she wasn't bad for a beginner. She was using her disadvantages and manipulating them in her favor, and made his own advantages less advantageous. ...She was still no match for him, though. Even so, she was being creative, and he was thoroughly enjoying himself. When he hid himself in the fir, she backed out of reach instead of trying to pinpoint his location. Still, her judgement was somewhat off as she wasn't entirely out of his range. His blade sliced through the branches from one side, then the other, so that she never knew quite where he was. She parried his blade, and thrust her own into the branches after him. Little did she know, he had slid out the opposite side of the tree and glided around unnoticed, remarkably light of foot for a man his size, and attacking with such force that, although she was able to block it, she was shoved backward and nearly toppled over. As she was regaining her balance, the snow suddenly collapsed beneath her, ensuring slower footwork. He rushed at her as she tried to find footing, but instead of sword meeting sword, he stopped in his tracks, snow covering his face. The cold momentarily stunned him, and he had to really get it in gear to parry a powerful strike on the girl's part. However, her footwork was no longer as steady now. With each parry or blow, she was losing more and more composure. And she knew it. Footing becoming less certain, her blows came now in endless volleys, and all James could do was parry and wait for an opportunity to present itself.
She was tiring, however, from lack of practice and conditioning, and her fighting partner seemed as fresh as when they had begun. She drew back for a powerful blow and immediately realized her mistake: she had left herself wide open. Any closer and his sabre would have been too long to catch a decent hit, but now... She brought her cutlass back as fast as she could for a parry, but his already-cast strike knocked it from her grasp, and her self to the ground. She winced as her hands scraped against the frozen soil, and when she next opened her eyes, she was staring down the gleaming blade of the match's victor, who looked down at her maliciously, as though having cornered a pirate. Then he grinned and extended a hand to help her up.
"My boy, you look dashing with the face of victory as your own," she said proudly. Proud of him though this really wasn't any match for him—and proud of herself for having lasted as long as she had against one of the most skilled fighters in all the Spanish Main and possibly even the whole Royal Navy. They shook hands and took their bows, 'audience' applauding.
"Not bad for being out of practice."
"Thanks!" They thanked the neighborhood, Amy proudly refusing the offered money (though had it been Jack instead of James, it would have been a different story; she was sure she would have passed a hat around. She was always thinking of ways to profit or benefit from any situation. ...Pirate...), and returned inside. "Well, time to go, I guess."
"Aye."
She had left the note on the dinner table where someone was bound to find it, and now they stood before the fireplace in the den, hand in hand, composing themselves. "Okay," she let out her breath in a whoosh. "Let's do this." They filled their thoughts with what they 'desired.' "Jack is my friend. I have to help him. I'll do anything. I need to go back to his world and find out what I can do, please...," she thought strongly in her own mind, and suddenly the yearning to go back filled her until she thought she would burst. She had to get back. It was more important than anything else.
"Allow me to go with her," James asked simply. Long moments passed. ...He blinked and saw a familiar twinkle of turquoise. "Amy." He nudged her gently. "Look." A sort of doorway or portal or opening that even the authoress cannot find a name for, composed of said gentle light, had appeared. Thank you for helping her, he thought to whatever it was that had allowed this.
"James?" her voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "Are you coming?"
"In a heartbeat, pet," he smiled, and together they walked through the portal. Instantly, they were surrounded by light, and then...the sensation of falling. Falling, falling, and a sudden thought struck James: how would they survive the landing? Jack had said that the lass had fallen from the sky on her first visit. She had hit the water, which should have killed her, but she had climbed aboard unscathed. Would the same happen this time? What if something went wrong? Well...there was no going back now. He would have to wait and find out. The light brightened to a blinding white and grew brighter still, until he could not see the lass, nor his own hand holding hers, nor even his nose in front of his face. Falling, falling, falling, and then...
...Everything went black...
And thus concludes Finding the Warmth of Light! The next installment will begin shortly! Please, leave your comments and reviews, even if you think you have nothing to say. Thank you for reading, and keep your eyes peeled for "Gathering the Scattered Pieces," in which we learn what happened to Jack and what must be done to help!