James Norrington

"Somehow... I highly doubt that, young lady. "

"Even if true, the fact you've not the decency to clean up your work establishment shows a starkly obvious lack of discipline or pride in ones work or suroundings"

Ashley smiles and huffs a small laugh, “I’m very lucky that I have her to filter most of it out.”

She leans back against her desk, sitting on the edge and giving him a kind look. She knows that camaraderie isn’t a very common thing for James.

“But, refreshments and a chat sounds lovely, James. I agree, I- we are probably one of the few people capable of understanding the tiring business of hearing far too much and far too little all at once.”

She gets almost a sheepish look, arms crossing a bit, “I never ever admitted to this if someone asks but no one wants to be friends with the boss so friends are… difficult to find. Someone to confide in sounds nice.”

“Then it is settled.” His hands folded lightly behind his back. “Homelander has a photoshoot tomorrow at one,” he continued. “He will be occupied in the photography studio for a few hours and due to my micromanaging when it comes to him, well, lets just say I'm no longer permitted in the room during.” A chuckle followed by a small, almost knowing glance toward her.

“We can take lunch during that window. ”

Then Ashley's confession settled between them. No one wants to be friends with the boss. And James' expression became strangely understanding.

“Ah.” The single syllable carried recognition. “Yes. I know that particular affliction rather well.”

His gaze drifted briefly toward the windows overlooking the city.

“When one occupies a position of authority, every conversation becomes suspect. Every kindness acquires an ulterior motive. Every compliment invites the question of what is being sought in return.”

A faint breath escaped him he doesn't need.

“People become very comfortable working for you. Depending upon you. Fearing you, occasionally.”

His eyes returned to hers.

“But friendship is another matter entirely.”

There was no bitterness in his voice. Only experience.

“One eventually discovers that very few people are willing to speak honestly to someone they perceive as being above them. Fewer still are willing to disagree. And those who can do both without fear or ambition are exceedingly rare.”

The corner of his mouth lifted.

“So no, Ashley. I do not find that admission embarrassing in the slightest. I find it understandable.” James sounded less like Homelander's assistant and more like a man speaking from personal experience.

“Everyone needs at least one person they needn't perform for.”

Yet he allowed James to take the reins, to talk to Ryan. Because he knew what to say, knew how to put it best that it wouldn’t come across as rude or patronising. But totally understanding.

John was honestly shocked to know Ryan cared. He hadn’t ever expected it after their history, never assumed he’d get that kind of treatment. James, perhaps. But not him. He stood there silent, processing what happened, watching as James took over to soothe the situation and to offer comfort. He always knew how to handle things best. Always knew what to say, what to do.

Eventually, John spoke. “After our history, I never assumed you’d care. Never thought you would. I’ve never expected it. If anything, I expected you to care about James and form a bond with him, but I didn’t expect that to extend to me.” He admitted honestly. “I suppose I have myself to blame for that. It’s what I deserve. Just know, I’ll always be there regardless. The fierce way I am protecting James? I’d be the exact same with you. Because I finally have this sense of family, a real family, that Vought hadn’t manipulated and twisted for their own gain. One that I found, one that grew and developed on its own. And I would give my life to protect it and every single member.”

John stayed put, wanting James to be that comfort, to get that hug. He was content stating his peace so Ryan knew where he stood when it came to John and those he cared for.

"...I do care," the voice was tiny, so quiet that if all three of them didn't possess supernatural hearing, nobody would have heard it, "I really do care,"

He tries not to sob as he holds James tighter. He didn't wanna seem weak or childish.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, "I didn't mean... just because..." he groans, "I'm terrible at this,"

When John speaks, Ryan slowly looks at him from James's embrace before reaching out and grabbing his arm, tugging.

Come here.

When John moves closer, Ryan holds on, "I'm sorry," he whispers, more to John now.

"Just because I love my fathers, or my siblings, doesn't mean I don't love you," he whispers after a few beats of silence, "Just because I love Grandpa doesn't mean I don't love you. I wish we could all be one big happy family, but I know we can't,"

He hides away a bit more, "I don't wanna hurt Grandpa, but I don't want him to hurt either of you. I wish I had solutions, I wish I had the power to stop him or calm him down...but I don't,"

Ryan sniffs, "I hate that I have to always choose! I don't wanna choose! It sucks, and someone always ends up hurt! I don't wanna hurt anyone!!"

Ryan sniffs again, "....I don't wanna hurt anyone..."

James wrapped his arms around Ryan the moment the boy stepped into them, holding him firmly as one hand moved in slow circles across his back. At the tiny, trembling admission that he did care, James pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Ryan's head and let out the faintest sigh. "Shh, it's alright, there there dear Ryan. "

Lifting his gaze briefly to John, James offered a small, understanding smile. "It seems the apple doesn't fall far from the tree after all. John assumed you could never care for him because of your history. Ryan assumed we somehow knew he cared despite doing everything possible to hide it. None of us bothered to verify what the others were actually feeling."

His attention returned fully to Ryan as he continued rubbing his back. "You needn't apologize for loving your grandfather," he said quietly. "Nor for caring about your father... or.... me for that matter. Those things are not mutually exclusive." His expression softened further. "No one is asking you to choose between your family. No one is asking you to stop loving one person in order to love another. And no one is asking you to hurt anyone... at least we're not" James had definitely tone down Homelander after being with him so long. At that, his eyes flicked deliberately toward John before returning to Ryan, making certain the point was understood by everyone present.

"You don't have to fight if you don't want to," James continued. "Nor do you have to carry responsibility for solving this alone, either. Your grandfather's choices are his own, just as ours are ours." He gave Ryan's shoulders a gentle squeeze. "What matters is that you care—and despite your best efforts to conceal it, that much is finally obvious. So stop worrying about choosing sides for a moment and simply let yourself be our son. We can face the rest together, as a family."

He wraps an arm around Homelander too now, when Ryan pulled him in to the embrace and it was a three person hug. Which if Soldier boy was there would absolutely make fun of them for. ( Maybe Mirrorlander too )

Even as an immortal, blood sucking vampire, Hughie still managed to get babied in one way or another. James smiled softly, unperturbed; in Hughie's anger and frustration, it almost came across as insultingly amused.

“Do you truly believe this is easier on me?” he asked.

There was amusement in his voice, but not mockery.

“Hughie, you have been glaring at me for the better part of ten minutes. You are not making a compelling argument for changing my mind, I'm afraid.” Another faint chuckle. “In fact, you are demonstrating precisely why someone ought to keep an eye on you.”

The crimson ribbons in the wash basin swirl and dissolve, but the mirror above it does not remain empty.

As James shakes the water from his scrubbed hands, a shape emerges in the glass. It is not the hollow man that currently inhabits his flesh, but what seems to be an image drawn from the well of his own memory.

Standing within the frame is Commodore James Norrington.

The reflection wears the immaculate blue and white of the Royal Navy, every gold button polished to a blinding sheen, the powdered wig perfectly set, and the sword hilt resting righteously at his hip. There is no blood on this man's hands, or, at least, none that is visible. He is the very picture of James' past, save for one thing: his eyes are heavy with a profound disappointment.

The vampire's mouth twitched, though whether it was amusement or disgust was impossible to tell. “Spare me the lecture, Commodore.” His voice came out low and dry “I have survived. Which is more than can be said for you or the lot you once left behind.”

A faint, ugly scoff followed. The vampire turned from the basin, as though he refused the soul the dignity of watching him too closely.

“You wear that old rank as though it still means something,” he went on, one brow lifting in cool disdain. “Fine buttons, polished brass, all that sanctimonious little pageantry. Tell me, does it keep you so warm in whatever miserable corner of the netherworld you haunt that you had thought it prudent to judge me from your gilded perch?”

He looked back at the mirror at last, pale and tired from the suns growing pull and unimpressed.

“I did not claw my way through centuries just to be scolded for messes like some fledgling.”

He stood straighter, hands clasped behind his back as he listened while James explained. Eyes rolled at the mention of Soldier Boy, a deep sigh left that strong chest, yet Homelander remained silent, hooked on each little detail.

“Fort Harmony.” Homelander repeated, brows furrowed slightly. “Vought always found ways of giving places or things ironic names. I highly doubt there’s much harmony where we’re going.” He quipped with a raised brow. “Here’s hoping the old man is right. I’ll give you one thing, James, you’re brave for even glimpsing inside that head. I can’t even begin to imagine what you saw. Though, now I’m curious: is it worse than mine?” He asked, capturing and holding James’s gaze. He’d heard jokes many a time throughout his life of those claiming they’d have nightmares if they saw inside Homelander’s mind. Yet James was still here, and their bond was a fantastic facilitator.

James’ mouth tilted faintly, the sort of expression that suggested he had no intention of surrendering his smugness anytime soon. He let Homelander have his little observation about ironic names, though the comment earned a quiet hum of approval all the same.

“Quite right,” he said, voice smooth with dry amusement, though at the mention of Soldier Boy, his gaze slid toward Homelander with a trace of disbelief, though it never quite became offense.

“No,” he said at last. “Yours is louder emotionally, perhaps. More intense.” His eyes moved slowly over Homelander’s face as he spoke. “But yours has shape to it. Meaning. Even at your worst, there is still…intent behind what you feel.”

His voice lowered slightly.

“Though I will admit, there were one or two thoughts in there that would have offended a dockworker.”

He let that sit just long enough to be annoying before returning to the matter at hand.

“As for the serum’s location, no, not precisely. I caught the name, the place, and enough of the mental static around it to know why it matters. Which is better than nothing.” James folded his arms loosely, considering. “Then by all means, have analytics give us coordinates, routes, ownership records, any old transport logs that Vought forgot to bury. I would rather approach with intelligence than bare enthusiasm.”

Then Homelander’s last question drew a faint, warmer shift in his expression. James looked at him for a beat longer than necessary, the answer obvious in the softened line of his mouth.

“What a silly question. You know I rather enjoy being in your arms while the world falls away beneath us,” he admitted. “The night air, the height, the ridiculous confidence of it all. You always look positively magnificent when you have the sky to yourself. So yes, you may carry me if you like. I’ll even pretend not to notice how pleased that makes you.”

“Heh. Well, you survived exploring my mind. I’m sure anyone else’s would be a piece of cake.” He replied with a snicker and shake of his head. “Regardless, you got a lead. That’s something. Now we have next steps before you get to enjoy your flight. So, let’s get to it.” Homelander replied with just as much smug confidence.

He led the way to the analytics floor and explained the situation, as well as had James give over all the information he had. Homelander insisted on staying until they got answers, which only motivated analytics further. The quicker they gave Homelander what he wanted, the quicker he was gone and not their problem. He stood tall and still, hands behind his back as always. Eyes scanned the room, employee to employee, each and every one falling under his gaze.

Until eventually, there was a hit.

They all scurried like frightened mice, gathering all the information, printing it and compiling it into physical files for them to look at. No digital bullshit. They knew Homelander and James both hated technology. A frightened intern rushed over carrying a bundle of thick files, holding them out to Homelander and James.

“H-Here you go. A…All the information on Fort Harmony, including a full background as well as location and internal map as well.” She said with a shaky smile.

Homelander just gave a nod toward James for the files to be passed to him. The intern got the hint and gave James a warm smile. “I uh…feel I should mention to proceed with caution. While Fort Harmony hasn’t been used in decades, there is still left over equipment from the experiments conducted there. …I-In particular, a chamber. A radiation chamber. While not lethal to the likes of you both, it would slow you down and cause harm. So…please be careful.” She explained before rushing off.

The Analytics department moved the moment Homelander’s attention settled on them, and it was almost beautiful in its simplicity. No shouting, no spectacle... only his presence. Desks filled with sudden motion as researchers scrambled to comply, printers erupting into frantic bursts of paper, stacks forming with almost religious urgency. People avoided looking at him directly, yet could not seem to stop themselves from reacting to him either. James watched it all with a faint, knowing amusement and there was something undeniably captivating about the way the world reorganized itself around Homelander without him needing to ask twice. James swooned a bit, flustered as he gazed up at his beloved.

The intern arrived shortly after with her arms straining under the weight of thick, hastily compiled files. She offered them forward with a trembling smile that suggested she was one wrong breath away from collapse. Homelander’s subtle nod sent her toward James instead, and the relief that washed over her was immediate. James accepted the folders with effortless grace, his expression softening almost imperceptibly as he watched her retreat. "Thank you, Ms Harper." Her little heart beat quickened he said her name! stumbling out an answer before making herself scarce.

So James flipped the first file open while Homelander’s impatience began to sharpen the air again. So, what’s the location? Homelander asked, already turning toward the lift. James didn’t look up as he followed, turning a page with calm precision. “I know darling” he replied dryly, voice smooth as ever. “Reading is a terrible burden for you, is it?” he teased playfully with a fangy smile. Another page, another scan of schematics and outdated Vought annotations as they stepped into the lift together, the hum of machinery enclosing them. He clears his throat and gets to the task at hand... reading.

“Fort Harmony is located in western Pennsylvania,” James continued after a moment, tone shifting into something more focused as the files revealed their shape. “Mountain region. Isolated. Roughly three hundred miles from here.” His eyes tracked across a reinforced blueprint, lingering slightly longer than usual. “The main structure is the remains of a decommissioned WWII Army hospital. Above ground is just a shell now. Everything important was driven downward into three sub-levels—labs, storage, containment.” A faint pause followed as he turned another page, something in the margins catching his attention.

“Coordinates are 41.15° North, 79.65° West.” His finger tapped the page once as if confirming it against history itself. “And judging by the construction reports…” his voice lowered a fraction, “Vought didn’t reinforce that section for simple preservation. They reinforced it like they were either protecting something irreplaceable—or sealing something in.”

"Ms. Swann was the Governor’s daughter and the woman to whom I proposed marriage some three hundred years ago; I practically gave my life for her, you dolt. If you are attempting to research me, do better—try checking under Lieutenant, Commodore, or Admiral James Norrington, as that is, has always been, and will always be my name; the ranks changed throughout my extensive naval career, but the man did not."

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