Chapter Text
~*~
Out here on the water wide (Row, my lady, row)
Shadows dance and strange birds cry (Go, my lady, go)
Cotton fields are growing high (Row, my lady row)
Hands reach up to touch the sky (Go my lady, go)
~*~
Everything Commodore James Norrington remembered was the storm that had hit the Dauntless after a particularly bad run in with a crew of notorious pirates. Her tattered sails almost ripped from the mast, his orders to the crew lost in the howling of the wind, a wave crashing over him, slamming his body into that of another person and then into the sea. The ice cold water had pressed the air from his lungs, the current playing with his body until he couldn’t tell up from down, nor left from right.
When he woke up now the sand beneath him was cold but dry. Was this what the afterlife felt like? No, if this was the afterlife his body was supposed to have healed from all wounds inflicted upon him in his lifetime, yet he felt weary and cold.
“Bless god, you’re finally awake, Commodore.” It was hard opening his eyes, but he’d recognize that voice everywhere. Midshipman Thomas Bayne had joined the crew of the MSH Dauntless only weeks prior to the capture of Jack Sparrow and the resulting fights with the undead pirates of the Black Pearl. It must have been him, Norrington had stumbled against, leading to both falling overboard. Only a few years younger than Norrington himself, Thomas Bayne was the only son and heir of one Admiral Charles Bayne, the main reason the Commodore and his men had kept a keen eye on the crew’s newest addition. Many of his men were looking for any misstep, waiting for him to reveal himself as a spoiled kid, who relied on his father’s good name and title instead of honest work to rise through the ranks. Most of them being ordinary sailors, they couldn’t fathom that people like Thomas Bayne had to work twice as hard as them and seize every opportunity.
When he finally found the strength to open his eyes, the first thing he saw was the clear night sky above him, stars and moon shining down on them, the waves crashing on the shore. The heat of a fire warmed his skin and as he sat up, he could see the flames dancing and fish frying upon them. Not too far away was the hunched over form of Midshipmen Bayne, his black hair still wet from the sea water falling over his shoulder and almost hiding his face. Yet, he could see the ghost of a smile on the boy’s pale lips. “How do you feel, Sir? I almost feared you’d never wake up. You got a splinter in your leg, was pretty hard to get the bleeding to stop, Sir.” Not for the first time did Norrington realise that the boy, though being raised a prim and proper English gentleman, had a manner of speaking more fitting for ordinary sailors, rather than an admiral’s son.
“I feel fine,” he answered, only now becoming aware of the pain in his leg and the pressure where Bayne had applied a makeshift bandage.
“That’s good to hear, Commodore. It seems we were the only two being washed up on this shore. I kept watch on the horizon while you were asleep, but haven’t seen even the ghost of a ship.” One of Bayne’s sleeves was torn from his shirt, most likely used as a bandage, only now did he realise his own state of almost undress. His wig and coat were gone, part of his breeches torn so Bayne could examine the severity of his wound.
Slowly did he sit up, Bayne remaining on his side of the fire, watching his superior’s every move. Only when their eyes met did he see the reason for the distance his Midshipman was eager to keep. The still wet shirt clung close to the boy’s skin, revealing the slim waist and curves no man should possess.
“You are-” A mix of shame and anger bubbled up in him, warming his cold body from the inside. Just for a moment there was fear in Bayne’s eyes, fear that was exchanged for defiance and a certain smugness within a heartbeat.
“A woman? Yes.” Midshipman, no, Miss Bayne held his gaze, flames reflecting in her blue eyes. Had she stolen the name of the Admiral’s real son? Why would a woman join the navy? He had heard of female pirates, as the likes of Anne Bonny or Mary Read who had found their demise years prior to his own arrival in the Caribbean, but never of female soldiers.
“If Admiral Bayne hears about this…” He couldn’t even fathom what his father’s own comrade would do if he ever learned that his son’s name had been used by a woman to join the Royal Navy. Miss Bayne, or whoever this woman was, fell silent then burst out laughing as if he had told a particularly good joke.
“Oh, the Admiral already knows about this, or do you think something could happen within the navy he would not hear about? Especially if the good name of his family is involved?” It was highly unlikely, which would mean that… no, he didn’t even want to think about it. “Who do you think thought up this whole scheme, Sir?” The woman looked at him, her shoulders relaxed as if she thought him not a threat. Seeing that she was the one with the cutlass by her side, not a wound on her body, while he was still dizzy from the loss of blood and the cold, she was most probably right. Not that he’d ever admit it.
“Why should the Admiral allow a woman to carry his son’s name?” The anger was still in his voice, but he no longer felt it as sharp as before, the fatigue slowly taking over again.
“Because I am, in fact, his son. At least he raised me as such from the very day I was born.”
“Why should I believe you?” When everyday she had lived upon his ship and with his men, she had lived a lie and played the part of the boy so well he had never expected a deception if he had not seen her figure.
“What would I gain from lying to you, Sir?” She tilted her head ever so slightly. “No matter if I am telling the truth or not, you will most likely drag me before the Admiralty should we ever see England again and I would be put on trial. There’s no use in lying to protect myself from that, the only way to avoid such consequences to my, and extendedly my father’s actions, would be to kill you and it was more than enough trouble to save your life, just to end it now.” When he looked at it this way, the woman was right, there was no use in lying to him but being suspicious of ulterior motives in others had served him well and had kept him alive the past years. Now this woman, Miss Bayne for all he knew, smiled at him and told him a highly decorated Admiral had deceived the whole Royal Navy to place his daughter in their ranks, which didn’t sound like the law abiding man he knew from his father’s tales.
“What would the Admiral gain from having his daughter dress up as a man?” Why did he even have this conversation with her? The less he knew about the Admiral’s motives, the less he could say if the Admiralty would question him about this mess.
“The Bayne family legacy ending with a son married to the sea and the Royal Navy instead of a daughter putting an end to it with a political marriage only the other side would gain from.” This on the other hand sounded exactly like his father’s old comrade. It seemed like men from their generation were so keen on protecting their legacy that nothing was below them, not even dressing their daughters in breeches and shirts and calling them by a boy’s name… nor preferring them to drown, rather than being saved by a pirate. “The family name is the one thing most important to him, and what else could I do than obey him?” There was a sudden sadness in her voice, but also remorse and a tint of well hidden anger. As if to busy herself she nestled with the sticks holding the fish in place, checking upon her catch before nodding to herself and handing one of them to him, still keeping her distance. Only when he took it, did she dare to move closer, waterskin in one, cutlass in the other hand. There were scars on her sleeveless arm, shining in the firelight. She must have patched them up herself, he realised from the stitching on a remarkably deep scar, the threat of being discovered by the ship's doctor too great to call upon his assistance.
“Eat and drink, Sir, you need to regain your strength if we want to find a way back home.” This time he did not argue with her, but rather did as she said. They ate in silence, sharing their water, and soon enough he felt himself overwhelmed with fatigue, sleep reclaiming him without his notice or consent.
~*~
When he woke the next time, the sun was shining down upon them, the sand around him already warm and the fire extinguished. Miss Bayne still sat beside him, her dried shirt masking her female appearance once again, her black hair a mess of unruly curls. She leaned against the trunk of a tree, gaze fixed upon the horizon, dark circles under her eyes speaking of a whole night spent on watch. When she noticed him moving, she looked at him, a small smile tucking on her lips.
“Good morning, Sir, you have just missed the sunrise.” Only now did he realise that she had not let down the titles, still referring to him as Sir, even though now with her real gender revealed he could no longer call himself her commanding officer. A woman had no rank within the Royal Navy, anything beyond the formalities between a man and a woman. “I hope you did rest well enough.”
“I did, Miss Bayne.” He sat up, the pain in his leg only a dull ache by now, still it would hinder his mobility for the foreseeable future and the wound would most certainly leave a nasty scar.
“Glad to hear that,” her smile was twisted ever since he had addressed her and he had to agree that it left a sour taste in his mouth to address the betrayal openly. “I figured we should try to move further inland in hopes of finding better shelter, or even settlements, the outline of this beach seems most likely to be used by smugglers or pirates to make port.” Curiously he looked around and he had to admit that she was right. The beach was more a lagoon than anything else, with high cliffs to both sides, it posed as a perfect hiding place for the small ships of pirates and other scum of the seas.
“Sounds about right, Miss Bayne.” She got up and held out a hand to help him on his feet. He ignored the gesture, as well as the pain jolting through his leg, while Miss Bayne grimaced at the affront. A cutlass was fastened on her belt while he was left without a weapon, a detail she seemed to take great pleasure from the moment his eyes fell onto the sword.
“I think it’s a good thing you’ve lost your coat and that wig, Sir,” she suddenly said, the smile returning to her lips, “from what I gathered from the Dauntless’ last position, we might as well be in enemy territory, Spanish at worst.” Once again he had to agree with her, the Dauntless had met the pirate ship a few days away from Jamaica, having to head far east to evade them and the storm had dragged them even further. In a worst case scenario they were in Spanish territory now, somewhere on a shore of Hispaniola, at best they just happened to have landed on the French part of the island in the west. Either way, travelling more inwards towards west was their best opportunity of finding a harbour and shelter from the sun and the occasional storms, which loved to taunt the Caribbean from July until late in November. And if they should find a harbour, he’d rather not have them recognized as members of the British Royal Navy and taken prisoners.
“You think you can walk, Sir?”
“Without a doubt.” She nodded firmly, then let him take the lead. Norrington had to admit that he did not feel quite comfortable knowing a woman with a weapon and a possible grudge against him right behind him, but after a few moments he found Miss Bayne walking right beside him, to cover his weak side. Even though she was a woman, she was still Thomas Bayne, his loyal Midshipman and skilled swordsman, and the knowledge that she would rather use her weapon and skill to defend them both than to stab his back was more reassuring than he’d like to admit.
They took their first real break only when they found a clear stream of water and his leg screamed for at least a minute of rest. The wound was pulsing and he let out a relieved sigh once he settled against the trunk of a tree. Miss Bayne filled their waterskin at the stream before joining him. Handing the flask to Norrington, she inspected the injury once more, carefully tearing away the makeshift bandage and washing out the dried blood in the stream. He heard the tearing of fabric, realising her shirt was missing part of the second sleeve now, as she crouched down next to him again, cleaning the wound with the fabric before wrapping the cleaned bandage around it again.
“It would probably need some stitching, but I don’t carry a sewing kit around,” she told him, obviously trying to lighten the mood at least a little. It was almost scary, how easy it was to fall into some kind of camaraderie with the woman. The lines between them were somehow blurred, she did still behave like Thomas Bayne and not at all like the fairer sex, not even fierce Miss Swann had been that bold, at least not before she had been kidnapped by pirates and for a short time taken command over the Black Pearl with young Will Turner. But Thomas Bayne had been his employee, their relationship being based on mutual respect of British Gentleman and different naval ranks. Now the Commodore didn’t know how to act with that woman who behaved like a sailor and spoke like the man he had worked alongside for almost a year.
He remembered Thomas Banye on the Dauntless fighting against undead pirates just as fierce and unafraid as the rest of the crew, his cutlass piercing through their decaying bodies, separating heads from torsos and kicking them overboard so they may not get close to Governor Swann or take over the ship. Had someone told him that a woman hid underneath this uniform, he would have called them a liar and punished them for slander. Even now it was easy to forget that Miss Bayne was not Thomas, with her wild hair and weather darkened skin unseen on British Ladies even in Jamaica, where they spent their days inside or underneath umbrellas to keep their skin as light as possible. Miss Bayne missed the slender arms and tiny hands of a Lady, instead having gained muscles from working on the Dauntless and calloused skin on her fingers from ropes and training with swords.
“How did you manage to fool all of the Royal Navy and everyone else?” He asked the question before he could think about it, it had burned on the back of his mind ever since he had learned of the deceit. People had to know that Admiral Bayne’s wife had given birth to a girl instead of a boy, at least the midwife or the servants, and from his own experience none of those could be trusted with such delicate information, especially if the price was right. Miss Bayne fell silent, shoulders slumping for a moment, as she drew in a breath and suddenly he felt like trespassing an invisible boundary.
“It was easier than you’d think,” she admitted, “as I told you, I was raised a boy since I was born. If you grow up a boy, no one questions whether you really are one.”
“But somehow must have known that the Admiral’s child was a girl.” Probably he should stop prying, it was her personal business and one did not pry on a Lady’s history. But as he had already admitted, it was hard to see the line where Thomas Bayne ended and Miss Bayne began.
“Yes, everyone knew he had a daughter, but everyone also knew that his daughter sadly died at birth, while the other child, a strong boy and formidable heir, lived,” she looked up at him, a sad smile on her face, her eyes deep as the ocean, “you see, Thomas Bayne did exist, he was my brother and we shared this earth for one precious hour before he died. But it was not Thomas who was laid to rest, but his sister, Angelica. She had to die so her brother could live, because the death of a daughter may be tragic, but the death of a son is a tragedy too grand for a man to bear.” He was left speechless by her words and by the pain they carried. He did not want to imagine the burden of carrying her dead brother’s name, knowing her own engraved on a stone somewhere in a cold English graveyard. Had she ever been called by her name? Angelica, the name had a certain irony to it, being chosen for a child moments away from death. The family must have known the kid would die soon, for the christening had to happen in a hurry for the child to be buried in consecrated ground. This had to be when the ruse had started, the priest hurrying to baptise the baby not realising it had been a boy and not a girl.
Miss Bayne, no Angelica, he could at least do her the favour and call her by her name in his mind, had averted her gaze the moment she finished speaking. There was something fragile about this moment, something that did fit neither Thomas Bayne, nor the picture he had of Angelica.
“I am sorry for your loss.” The loss of her brother with whom she shared the womb for nine months but the world for only an hour, the loss of her own name, life and voice, and also the loss of her lie and her identity with it. Angelica looked up again, the smile returning to her face.
“Thank you, Sir.” She didn’t specify her thanks either and they fell once more into comfortable silence. For the first time his thoughts wandered to the Dauntless and its crew and he internally chastised himself for not thinking of them sooner. They should have been his first thought upon waking up on stranger shores, but he had been rightfully distracted by the revelations around Angelica. He had to trust Gillette to safely navigate her to port, what he could not expect was that anyone in the navy would embark on a mission to find their possibly dead Commodore and a young Midshipman. Not if Admiral Bayne had to worry his deceit would come to light if they ever found Norrington and Angelica alive.
Minutes passed in which they just listened to their surroundings and the pain slowly subdued to a dull ache again. He couldn’t tell how long they had rested, the sun hiding behind the full cover of thick branches. This time he didn’t ignore Angelica’s outstretched hand, allowing himself the short sign of weakness in letting her help him up. Just for a moment he leaned on her shoulder, realising that she was taller than most women he had met, another reason why no one had ever questioned Thomas Bayne. He had been as tall as the average 20-something British lad, with such a sure air around himself that made him appear to even tower over some of the other sailors. Now in this proximity to Angelica, he had to admit that she almost saw eye to eye with him. Miss Swann, as well as every other British Lady he had encountered until now, would look petite next to her.
“You okay, Sir?” He stood up right again, still not putting his full weight onto his injured leg, but not needing to lean on her shoulder for assistance any longer.
“Yes.” He should just really stop comparing Angelica Bayne to an English flower, when she rather was some ridiculously stubborn weed or something entirely made of thorns. She smiled as if she had read his thoughts, or this cheeky smile was just as much part of her as the blue of her eyes and the black of her hair.