Author's Notes: The Commodore's Wife was originally planned to be the sequel to Catch Her if You Can, and I tried to hold off as long as I could. Unfortunately, I hit a wall with that story, and on a cold day in November this first chapter was born.

I had intended this only to be posted to my Tumblr so that way it wouldn't spoil the ending of CHIYC for those following here, but now this story has started to emerge in a non-linear fashion. So I suppose it will tell it all. I may end up taking down CHIYC, I have not decided yet. I do appreciate all of you that followed/favorited/reviewed that story.

The wedding dress that Nicollette goes to retrieve actually comes from the 19th century; it is the gown that Mary of Teck wore in her ceremony to Prince George. Don't worry, she returns it afterwards.

(Revised 9/19/15) So as you have noticed from the summary, the story is in the process of being restructured. A set of chapters taking place within a particular period of time will have its own designated section; after this prologue, Part One happens, and so on. I hope this will eliminate the confusion, but I will warn you that I will still be bouncing back and forth between the past and the present, and there are even a couple of future chapters toward the end...but I don't want to give anything away so I will leave it at that. This story is not coming to me in a straightforward fashion.

The only chapters that worry me are "Gillette/Groves" and "Mother/Mourning"; I'd had most of them written before the restructuring, and they were composed to be posted together. So when you get to the end of "Gillette/Groves" and then start "Quandary," it's going to seem like there is a hunk of time missing, which there is. If I finish CHIYC, what ensues will be covered in that story. (Yep, that's what I get for jumping the gun.)

So here we go!

Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean. If so, Norrington would not have died, just sayin.

0.0 - Vow

She still didn't know how he managed to talk her into this.

Her life had ensued quite unfathomably over the past several months. She had existed as the female captain of a pirate ship for nearly ten of her twenty-eight years and knew nothing else—and when he entered her existence, with his rules, and laws, and damn—those shackles!—he single-handedly demolished the architecture of her life.

In the midst of her attempts to rebuild, she found that he was there like an emotional battle-ax—so coined by the cynical part of her that had protected her all of those perilous years. His intrusions were unwelcome, at best. She wondered how she kept from slugging him with the handle of her sword.

Later, she realized that her sense of honor prevented her from reacting in such a way. A little bit later than that, she realized that she...had feelings for him.

He counseled her through the bemusing transition between her old and new life-despite there not being much of a new life yet. In the confines of the front yard of the house she shared with her sisters, trust and affection grew.

And then one evening out of the blue, he'd ejaculated that question into the air.

She'd covered her shock with bluster. "I hardly believe someone like you could take on someone like me as your life companion."

The look that he had given her contained some parts affection, nerves, and-dare she admit-challenge. "I will be the judge of that, Captain."

The descent had been slippery ever since.

Here she was, sitting on a stool in her old bedroom (one of her sisters would inherit it now) and musing on her journey. She barely registered the gentle but competent hands fashioning flowers into her hair for the ceremony. The thin chemise that she wore to avoid complete nudity grew thinner with her growing perspiration.

The hands paused. "Hermana, are you all right?"

She inhaled. "I admit to a bit of dread for the impending event."

From the other side of the room, a svelte young woman, newly married herself, presented a goblet. The bride accepted it with a smidgen of surprise. The two locked eyes, passing mutual understanding. One of the many marvels of this life: new friends.

With a bit of her usual spunk, she turned up the goblet and downed the liquid in one gulp. There, now she felt a little less like a fish gasping on arid sand.

"It's growing late," someone said frantically. "Where is the dress?"

As if on cue, a petite, mocha-skinned young woman entered, carrying a large white box. "Lawd y'all need to be more patient," grumbled the bearer. "I said I'd be here so here I am."

"This is going to be interesting," someone remarked, to which our plucky newcomer responded with what she coined as her beatdown face. She didn't take too kindly to people who doubted her dependability.

The young woman had puzzled over the dress. She had insisted that this occasion called for something dressier than the garb she usually donned for mundane life. She promised she would make sure the end result would not cause the bride any undue embarrassment. Now as she placed the large box on the table laden with jewelry and fabric, the bride wondered if she had been overcome with temporary insanity.

The women gathered as the newcomer explained her reasoning for choosing the dress. The bride rose from her seat and went to open it, able to wait no longer. She lifted the lid on the box, aware of the heavy silence that had fallen.

And then there it was. Her dress.

Everyone marveled over its simple beauty until practicality reigned; the ceremony would ensue very soon, and still the bride was under-dressed. They quickly dressed their comrade in her marital armor, bequeathing the bouquet upon her shaking hands before dispersing to their appointed areas.

With flowers in hand, she hazarded a glance at herself in the large gilt mirror across the room. The woman who stared back at her appeared nothing like her at first look. When she peered harder at her reflection she spied the fear, the unworthiness. "Bloody hell—it's really happening," she breathed, then closed her eyes and fought for calm. When she felt steady enough to emerge, she made her descent to the backyard.

The strains of violin notes hit her first, and she had to take a deep breath to right herself against the coming tide of emotion. A part of her felt silly at the hesitation. She had traveled the Earth, grappled with the mightiest of foes, delivered herself and her crew from dangerous predicaments, and yet this..

"Into the fray, Captain," she murmured to herself.

When she raised her eyes, she found her backyard—former, now that she would be taking up new residence—covered in blooms and candlelight. Its simple splendor far outshone any of the opulence her groom had been under the misconception that she wanted. The handful of guests they had allowed to be present for the event observed her procession with awe and her gaze rested on them momentarily until—

There he was.

It took every modicum of self-control she possessed not to buckle in the middle of the aisle when she saw him, her soon-to-be husband. He wore his naval regalia minus the hat (which she deplored) but the powdered wig was present and accounted for (a reasonable concession to his rank). His green eyes alighted with an emotion she recognized: terror.

You and me both, Commodore, she thought, and relaxed fractionally. They were on the same ship—so to speak. It helped to know she wasn't alone.

When he held out his hand to help her onto the altar, her lips curved in a knowing smile. Only this once.

He corrected her silently, solemnly. No, actually. Always.

Damn him. That was when the first tear from the tempest she had been suppressing all damn day slid down her cheek. He squeezed her hand, a gesture more bolstering and less embarrassing than him wiping away her tears in front of the observers.

They turned toward the priest, an united front. Even after they recited their vows and exchanged rings, the full enormity of their new state had not made itself plain. It was only when he looked down at her amid the congratulatory clamor and remarked Good evening, Mistress Norrington did the weight register.

She gasped out a chuckle and shot back, "It's still Captain, Commodore. Me answering to that moniker remains to be seen."

The Commodore's expression was one of a man with something to prove. "We shall see about that, darling."

The Captain pressed her lips together to hide her smirk. Ah yes—this would be interesting.