PotC Fic: A Reason to be Happy
Title: A Reason to be Happy
Author: corrielle
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean, 1st movie canon only
Pairing: Groves/Elizabeth
Word Count: 1653
Rating: PG
Summary: Elizabeth is sad at her father's Christmas ball. Theo has rum.
When Will Turner went to sea on the Pearl to search for his father, his young bride held her head high while all of Port Royal whispered behind their hands that this was what came of marrying someone so far below her station. And when Jack Sparrow sailed into port two months later carrying news of Will's death, Elizabeth insisted her father grant Sparrow clemency one more time. She and the pirate were sequestered for any number of hours, to hear the gossips tell it, and after the pirate made his exit out the back door of the governor's mansion, the next time anyone saw Elizabeth Turner, she was in widow's black.
"She is too young to mourn for long," they said, but when she put off her black for purple after just six months, they said, "You see? She did not really love him."
At the Governor's Christmas ball, many looked askance at her as she stood at her father's side welcoming guests as they came in out of the rain.
Commodore Norrington, though, gave her every courtesy due her as her father's hostess, and she was glad of it, even though his smile was distant, for where the Commodore led, others followed. Even Gillette, Norrington's sour-tempered second in command, greeted her with genuine good cheer.
As always, Lieutenant Groves followed on the heels of his two friends.
"A Merry Christmas to you, Mrs. Turner," he said as he took her hand. There had always been a sincerity about the man that she admired. For some reason, even though half the people who came through the door said the same thing, she believed he truly wished her to be happy.
"And to you, Lieutenant," she replied, and then he was gone, lost in the swirl of guests as he hurried to catch up with his shipmates.
The night carried on, and Elizabeth stayed at her father's side when the dancing began. Some who spoke to her offered her kind words, others were obviously angling for some choice bit of news about the governor's young, widowed daughter. To the first, she gave her honest thanks, and to the second, she gave an icy politeness. If it was not exactly hospitable, at least they could not fault her for it.
Late in the evening, her father having gone to drink brandy and smoke cigars with his friends, Elizabeth stood against the wall, a glass of weak punch in one hand, watching young girls in festive dresses dance with ships' officers and planters' sons. Only two years ago, she had been one of those girls, dizzy with the heady combination of light, drink, and dancing. Only a year ago, she had been a young wife, and Will a willing, if slightly awkward dance partner. She took a long drink of punch and willed her sadness away. She had cried enough, and she would not be seen weeping at her father's party.
"Do you mean to tell me that you, of all people, couldn't find a dance partner?" a voice beside her said. She turned to see Groves leaning against the wall, almost at her elbow. "I don't remember you being terribly clumsy. All the times we danced, I came away with my toes intact…"
She had to smile. Groves was a good dancer, if her memory served, and she knew there was more than one young lady who sighed over him for that quality alone.
"Widows don't dance, Lieutenant. Not when their husbands are less than a year dead. You know that. I'm causing enough of a scandal being here at all. I'd rather not be more of an item of conversation in the morning than I surely will be already."
"Ah. Prudent of you," he said.
"And you?" she asked. "Why aren't you partnering some lucky young lady?"
Groves coughed and glanced at the guests closest to them before saying, in a lowered voice, "One of the lucky young ladies I partnered earlier in the evening is forming an entirely inappropriate attachment to me. I heard her tell her mother that my intentions must be serious as I had danced with her twice."
"And are they? Serious?" Elizabeth asked.
"She's fifteen, Mrs. Turner. I think this may be her first ball."
"So, it is a kindness for you to remove yourself from her vicinity," she said.
Groves set his own glass of punch on a nearby table and reached into the pocket of his dress coat.
"A kindness? Perhaps, but one for me as well. You should have seen her mother. I could see her measuring me up for a coat for the wedding already." He shook his head and winced as he produced a small silver flask and unscrewed the lid.
Elizabeth watched as he poured what smelled like a rather strong dose of rum into his punch.
"Mister Groves… did you bring rum to my father's party?" she asked. She made a half hearted attempt at an indignant expression, but she couldn't keep herself from smiling.
"I did. Would you like some?" he asked. "Not to insult your father, but I like my Christmas punch a bit stronger."
"Please," Elizabeth said, handing him her glass.
With both of them suitably fortified, Groves offered her his arm. "Will you walk with me? As we will not be dancing, it will surely not be occasion for comment."
"I believe I will," she said, and placed her free hand on the arm he offered.
"It's good to see you smile again," he said. "I believe this is the first time I've seen you happy in a long while."
"I've had little reason to be happy," she told him, and he went quiet, as if embarrassed for speaking out of turn. "What I meant to say," Elizabeth said quickly, "is that I'm starting to feel like my old self again, though I hope it is an older, wiser self."
"A loss such as yours does tend to make one see the world differently," Groves said, suddenly pensive. Elizabeth was struck by how little she knew about the Commodore's old friend. Had he buried a sweetheart as well?
"You sound as if you speak from experience," she said.
"I didn't ask you to walk with me so I could burden you with my old grief," he said.
"Well, I don't consider it a burden." She sipped at her punch and eyed him expectantly over the rim of her glass.
"It was both my parents. I was nine." He drank the rest of his punch at once.
"I'm sorry," Elizabeth said. Many things suddenly made sense. She knew the Commodore had parents and siblings in London, and when Gillette was in a friendly mood, she'd heard him talk about his sisters and their children, but on the subject of family, Groves had always been oddly silent.
"You needn't be. It was a long time ago," he said. "But, thank you, all the same."
"I believe that I will still miss my husband many years from now," Elizabeth said, "though the pain may be less sharp."
He seemed to relax at that, as if they had come to some sort of unspoken agreement.
"But you'll live your life," he said. "I can't help but think Turner would have wanted that."
"I believe you're right," Elizabeth said, "and I plan to. Starting tonight. With this ball. And your very excellent rum. Where did you get this?" She hadn't meant to say that last bit, but Groves laughed.
"Let's just say that pirates aren't the only ones who appreciate a finely crafted rum. Pity there's no more where this came from. We shut down the distillery last year. Rum runners, you know."
"Pity indeed," Elizabeth said, draining her glass as well.
"More?" Groves asked.
"You'd share the last of your stash with me?" she said.
"It's what one does for friends," he said.
Without the punch to cut it, the rum burned a little going down, but Elizabeth didn't cough. Instead, she waited for the pleasant warmth that followed. Groves matched her, drink for drink, and it was not long until the two of them had completely drained his flask. Flushed from the drink and the warmth of the ballroom, they sought some fresh air. The nearest door that opened out onto the gardens was only open a little, as it was still raining, but it was enough for them to feel the wind on their faces.
It was Groves who noticed the mistletoe first. Some industrious servant had put it over every doorway in the room, and they had stopped right under it. He said nothing, and Elizabeth only looked up because he was so obviously trying not to. When she saw the dull green leaves and white berries, her breath caught in her throat.
"Of all the places we could have stopped…" Groves said, laughing, and offered her arm as if to guide her away from the little bunch of leaves hanging above them that had caused the first real awkwardness of the night between them. She put her hand on his arm, but when he went to move, she held him there.
"You're wondering if it would be proper for you to kiss me, as I am a widow, and the governor's daughter, and I've known you since I was a girl."
Groves didn't blush or stammer or try to deny it, but his face was suddenly wary.
"The answer, of course, is that it wouldn't be proper at all," she continued. Again, but for a momentary lowering of his eyes, his expression stayed schooled and calm. Hastily, she added, "But I very much hope you will kiss me anyway."
He smelled of wet wool and wig powder, and his kiss was perhaps too thorough for a friendly first kiss under the mistletoe at a Christmas ball. Also, he tasted like rum, but then again… so did she.