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witticasterWritten in a very specific way for a very specific purpose, namely, in fitting with the style of writing that accompanies such announcements (when they're even made) in books like Little Women; for that reason, it probably comes off incredibly soppy, but, uh. I'm not precisely displeased with that; James/Beth is pretty much the most soppycutes ship in the world.
If, on the Dauntless's return voyage, Captain James Norrington was somewhat less...something, perhaps slightly less stern, it could at least be rationalized quite easily by those who knew him as more than an officer to answer to. "He's got a wife to look forward to," as Gillette explained it (on more than one occasion). "Three months at sea is a damn long time to be away when you sailed out a newlywed. Small wonder the whole trip hasn't been a pleasure cruise."
And, in truth, he was awaiting the ship's homecoming with less patience than he cared to admit, even only to himself. Beth's presence was with him always, in the neat, clear handwriting of her notes, the handicrafts she had worked for him in needlepoint and knitting, and the small framed photograph from their wedding day, but his personal effects were no replacement for the woman who had made all of them possible.
It was not so long as it felt before Dartmouth's harbour was sighted and he found himself on land once more, a chilly December wind whipping past him. Beth came for him within a quarter-hour of his calling her, bundled up in a heavy woolen coat that he recognized as one of his own: it fell nearly to her knees on her, and her hands were not in the least bit visible if she did not hitch the sleeves up. The sight of his wife, so thoroughly dwarfed by his clothing, coming toward him with bright eyes and cheeks made rosy by the cold, was cause for both amusement and a queer clenching in his heart.
The sudden realization that he was home and, more importantly, that he was intensely glad to be so, was further intensified by the kiss she pressed upon his lips. Her borrowed coat made for something of a lumpy embrace, and the cool weather kept them from standing there too long in the open air, but there could be no denying the comfort that came with reunion.
Beth drew back first, looking as though she had suddenly recalled something--her face clouded momentarily, only to make way for an even gladder smile--and took his hands in hers. "I have a surprise for you at home."
"Then let us make haste." He hefted his trunk up and followed her to the car.
-
Once home, she held the door for him as he carried in his things, and then closed it, leaning back against it with a delighted smile. "It is so very nice to have you home, James."
"I agree. I had not realized quite how much so until just now," he said, slipping off his shoes and coat, and held out a silent hand to take her own coat (or his own coat, only borrowed momentarily) and hang it up for her.
She did not immediately begin to take the garment off, however, and remained at the threshold of their little house. "Would you prefer your surprise now or later?"
He considered a moment, then answered with, "Whatever you think would suit best, my dear."
"Now, I think," said Beth, beginning to unbutton the overcoat. She shrugged it off and handed it to him, looking suddenly rather smaller without the stiff shoulders of the wool unnaturally broadening her appearance. "It was hard enough to keep it from you, the past two weeks, even though I knew you'd be home before a letter would reach you."
Slipping a hand in his, she led him to the settee and curled up at his side upon it, her legs tucked beneath her. James drew her close, curling an arm around her, and marveled at the pleasance of it all: he had returned to a quiet home, as always, but this was a warm silence, close and comforting, lacking any sense of the forlorn. He would happily remain just as he was at that moment forever, given the chance: tired from what had been a long day, but rewarded for his toils with the affections of a woman he loved dearly.
"And now here is your surprise," Beth murmured, sounding bashful; she had pillowed her head upon his shoulder, her face angled away from his. His free hand was drawn forth, slipped just beneath the jumper she had on, and pressed against her lower abdomen.
Some fatigue on his part could be allowed to excuse his momentary confusion, but things came clear enough when he realized the slight change in her shape: unnoticeable when looking at her, but earth-shattering when one felt the swell of her warm skin and knew without question that he would not return to so quiet a home in the future. "Truly, Beth, you are--?" he asked, allowing the question to trail off in the presence of such tactile proof.
She nodded, finally looking up at him once more with an expression of mixed hope and anxiety. "I only just found out. I hadn't thought we would--well, so soon, of course. And there were so many other things to adjust to, these past few months, I assumed my body was merely--adjusting--too." Beth paused. "Are you pleased?"
"I could not be anything but," he vowed, and leaned in to kiss her tenderly.
-
No matter what they talked of that night, the conversation seemed inevitably to circle back toward children. "You are the first person I've told, of course," she said, smiling shyly. "I thought it would be a very nice Christmas surprise to wait to tell my family, and I suppose I will let Sophie know whenever next I see her."
James could not deny himself the broad smile forming on his face at the knowledge that the joyful news had been delayed to all in deference to his absence.
"But what of your health?" he asked later, after they'd eaten some supper, and felt her tense slightly in his arms. "This will not be too--too difficult for you, will it?"
"I cannot know until I have tried," she replied, her gaze firmly directed away from him as she spoke. "The doctor seemed unworried for now, and so I am trying to be the same."
And later yet, when talk had turned to brighter subjects, and they lay together in the dark of their bedroom, she said, "And we will have to think of names, and decorate a nursery for him or her--"
"We could name it after you," he offered, feeling quite certain that he would happily have another Elizabeth in his life, if only she were quite like the one whose hair he was stroking just then.
This suggestion brought a giggle out of her, and she shook her head. "I have a niece named after me already. It seems a bit proud to name my daughter--" and she paused, as though speaking those words aloud suddenly made more real the fact that they would soon have a daughter, or perhaps a son. A moment later, she shook her head. "We could call him James, though, if you liked."
"A bit proud, I think," he repeated, and kissed the top of her head. "We have time to think on it, though, haven't we?"
"We have all the time in the world," she promised, and laid a kiss in return upon his bare chest.
If, on the Dauntless's return voyage, Captain James Norrington was somewhat less...something, perhaps slightly less stern, it could at least be rationalized quite easily by those who knew him as more than an officer to answer to. "He's got a wife to look forward to," as Gillette explained it (on more than one occasion). "Three months at sea is a damn long time to be away when you sailed out a newlywed. Small wonder the whole trip hasn't been a pleasure cruise."
And, in truth, he was awaiting the ship's homecoming with less patience than he cared to admit, even only to himself. Beth's presence was with him always, in the neat, clear handwriting of her notes, the handicrafts she had worked for him in needlepoint and knitting, and the small framed photograph from their wedding day, but his personal effects were no replacement for the woman who had made all of them possible.
It was not so long as it felt before Dartmouth's harbour was sighted and he found himself on land once more, a chilly December wind whipping past him. Beth came for him within a quarter-hour of his calling her, bundled up in a heavy woolen coat that he recognized as one of his own: it fell nearly to her knees on her, and her hands were not in the least bit visible if she did not hitch the sleeves up. The sight of his wife, so thoroughly dwarfed by his clothing, coming toward him with bright eyes and cheeks made rosy by the cold, was cause for both amusement and a queer clenching in his heart.
The sudden realization that he was home and, more importantly, that he was intensely glad to be so, was further intensified by the kiss she pressed upon his lips. Her borrowed coat made for something of a lumpy embrace, and the cool weather kept them from standing there too long in the open air, but there could be no denying the comfort that came with reunion.
Beth drew back first, looking as though she had suddenly recalled something--her face clouded momentarily, only to make way for an even gladder smile--and took his hands in hers. "I have a surprise for you at home."
"Then let us make haste." He hefted his trunk up and followed her to the car.
-
Once home, she held the door for him as he carried in his things, and then closed it, leaning back against it with a delighted smile. "It is so very nice to have you home, James."
"I agree. I had not realized quite how much so until just now," he said, slipping off his shoes and coat, and held out a silent hand to take her own coat (or his own coat, only borrowed momentarily) and hang it up for her.
She did not immediately begin to take the garment off, however, and remained at the threshold of their little house. "Would you prefer your surprise now or later?"
He considered a moment, then answered with, "Whatever you think would suit best, my dear."
"Now, I think," said Beth, beginning to unbutton the overcoat. She shrugged it off and handed it to him, looking suddenly rather smaller without the stiff shoulders of the wool unnaturally broadening her appearance. "It was hard enough to keep it from you, the past two weeks, even though I knew you'd be home before a letter would reach you."
Slipping a hand in his, she led him to the settee and curled up at his side upon it, her legs tucked beneath her. James drew her close, curling an arm around her, and marveled at the pleasance of it all: he had returned to a quiet home, as always, but this was a warm silence, close and comforting, lacking any sense of the forlorn. He would happily remain just as he was at that moment forever, given the chance: tired from what had been a long day, but rewarded for his toils with the affections of a woman he loved dearly.
"And now here is your surprise," Beth murmured, sounding bashful; she had pillowed her head upon his shoulder, her face angled away from his. His free hand was drawn forth, slipped just beneath the jumper she had on, and pressed against her lower abdomen.
Some fatigue on his part could be allowed to excuse his momentary confusion, but things came clear enough when he realized the slight change in her shape: unnoticeable when looking at her, but earth-shattering when one felt the swell of her warm skin and knew without question that he would not return to so quiet a home in the future. "Truly, Beth, you are--?" he asked, allowing the question to trail off in the presence of such tactile proof.
She nodded, finally looking up at him once more with an expression of mixed hope and anxiety. "I only just found out. I hadn't thought we would--well, so soon, of course. And there were so many other things to adjust to, these past few months, I assumed my body was merely--adjusting--too." Beth paused. "Are you pleased?"
"I could not be anything but," he vowed, and leaned in to kiss her tenderly.
-
No matter what they talked of that night, the conversation seemed inevitably to circle back toward children. "You are the first person I've told, of course," she said, smiling shyly. "I thought it would be a very nice Christmas surprise to wait to tell my family, and I suppose I will let Sophie know whenever next I see her."
James could not deny himself the broad smile forming on his face at the knowledge that the joyful news had been delayed to all in deference to his absence.
"But what of your health?" he asked later, after they'd eaten some supper, and felt her tense slightly in his arms. "This will not be too--too difficult for you, will it?"
"I cannot know until I have tried," she replied, her gaze firmly directed away from him as she spoke. "The doctor seemed unworried for now, and so I am trying to be the same."
And later yet, when talk had turned to brighter subjects, and they lay together in the dark of their bedroom, she said, "And we will have to think of names, and decorate a nursery for him or her--"
"We could name it after you," he offered, feeling quite certain that he would happily have another Elizabeth in his life, if only she were quite like the one whose hair he was stroking just then.
This suggestion brought a giggle out of her, and she shook her head. "I have a niece named after me already. It seems a bit proud to name my daughter--" and she paused, as though speaking those words aloud suddenly made more real the fact that they would soon have a daughter, or perhaps a son. A moment later, she shook her head. "We could call him James, though, if you liked."
"A bit proud, I think," he repeated, and kissed the top of her head. "We have time to think on it, though, haven't we?"
"We have all the time in the world," she promised, and laid a kiss in return upon his bare chest.
