Fic: Thought Often Of You
Title: Thought Often Of You
Author: Lost_for_Jack
Pairing: James/Elizabeth
Rating: PG-13ish? Alcohol consumption, sexual thoughts.
Genre: Angst, Romance
Summary: It was ironic, of all the things that had happened to him, how for every good thing that he had on him or that was a part of him, the evil face of ill fortune loomed it's head close behind.
Disclaimer: Dead Man's Chest-era fic. I own nothing.
Author's Notes: Much love to classics_lover for beta-ing this for me! I'm simply horrible at titles and such so I just used the words from the icon for this post. If noirstories, minds, I'll change it. But for now, that's all I can come up with. And something is better than 'Untitled", isn't it? Feedback is appreciated!
It was ironic, of all the things that had happened to him, how for every good thing that he had on him or that was a part of him, the evil face of ill fortune loomed it's head close behind. A year ago he had been a Commodore, a high-ranking member of society with a question on his mind to which he knew for certain the answer was going to be 'yes'.
Now he was taking on a room full of drunken pirates that called themselves sailors, or were they sailors that called themselves pirates? Shaking his head at his jumbled thoughts, he tried to not concentrate on any one thing. He had drunk that bottle of rum far too fast, and shouldn't be thinking so much.
Back then he had been certain of what was coming in the future: a wife, the one that he had had his eye on for quite some time.
Now he was lying in the pigsty, and he found no reason to get out of it. He had lost his life, and in now he had nothing that could even make it barely recognizable to be called it a life. He had half a mind to just lie there for the rest of the night until his mind returned to normal, after he had rid himself of the alcohol that had consumed and clouded his thoughts.
And then something happened, a hand rested on his shoulder, pulling him face up to the air. Thinking that it was some drunken pirate or sailor, he refused the small glimmer of hope that had formed in the far corner of his mind and instead waited for the punch that he knew would be thrown at his face.
He saw the kind eyes first, and after turning slightly to get a better view, realized whom it was that had stayed behind from the crowd.
"James Norrington, what has the world done to you?"
She had come to him; perhaps she had realized her mistake? Now that he was more like her ideal: scruffy around the edges, no longer that man with a pole for his spine and more pirate than soldier she had come to confess that her mind too had left her and she was ready to rebuild both their lives? An ever-faint smile dared to grace his lips as he found himself getting lost in those eyes once again. They had always been his weak point regarding her, and even now in his drunken state, they still held their power.
But no, he had been foolish to let that spark of hope grow into something much bigger as she helped him up. Of course she wasn't here for him, she had merely passed him on her way to her true course: saving William Turner.
And yet, that spark refused to go out. His mind, in it's far corner where his small bit of hope remained, kept saying that it refused to give up until the last possible moment, when it was absolutely certain that he had no chance of anything.
Scrubbing the deck on his hands and knees, he stared ahead at his task, all the while his mind played a moving image that he had in his mind for the past year. Whenever it was dark, whenever his mind finally lay still, it would appear in front of him. The image of what he had wanted to do a year ago, upon asking Elizabeth to marry him: take her in his arms and kiss her. It was something that was frowned upon, an action that only those of no breeding whatsoever did, not men of stature. But now he was no longer a man of such high propriety was he? No, in fact he was now a deckhand, a member of a pirate crew, taking orders from the man who had started all of this. In a way, his mind whispered slightly, now he could do what he always had wanted, and who was to stop him? No one who cared about such things was about; now that the gold brocade was tarnished and the navy wool was caked with filth, now that society had all but forgotten him, he had no need to remember who and what he once was. Now he had no need to care what society thought of him and his romantic notions, she was there, a few feet away, and there stood his chance.
But then that pirate showed up, they had some conversation regarding curiosity and then she had gone to the other side of the boat, a smile on her lips and twirling her hands in what he could only call a 'girlish manner'. He could make his move, do what he had always dreamed and never dared, and yet, something about the situation made that spark of hope, that corner thought in his mind stop. It wasn't right. He could, in fact, do what he was planning but to what service? Standing and throwing his rag to the side, he walked slowly over to her side. He could reach out, take her by the arm and pull her close, never mind the dirt that still caked his uniform or the unspeakable state of his mind that had grown rather delirious at the thought of doing such a thing, and make her realize just how much he still cared for her. Some of the mud from his jacket would shift, moving from him to hers and she would break away from the kiss, notice it, and laugh, saying how she was foolish to have not noticed before, that how funny it was that he had to be in such a horrible state for her to finally see him. Her boyish hat would fall off in the process of the kiss and when they both reached down for it, their eyes would meet and then they would realize their mistake, and she would commission the kiss that followed the first one. Her hand would take his; the cloth around her right hand would fall to the ship's deck, forgotten. Every now and then the line of thoughts after this action lead to something more private, and although he doubted these scoundrels that he called his crewmates would mind witnessing such a thing, he knew that that particular part of his vision would not be happening.
Better to hope for the beginning, his mind said as he rested his elbows against the railing of the ship. Tilting his head to the left he watched as she tried to fight off the smile and fail horribly. It was then that the image in his mind that he had treasured for so long, that had consoled him on dark nights and during dark thoughts, vanished. And yet, he had to remain solid, not act as if something that had been his ever-glowing sense of purpose in life had just been ripped from him.
"There was a time when I'd have given anything for you to look like that while thinking of me. Just once."
She turned to face him and a small nudge from his mind told him to move forward, to take the action he had been dying to take but he pushed it aside, and smiled slightly to her instead. She scoffed at his assumptions that she cared for Jack and as he walked away, dropped a seed of doubt into her palm by mentioning that she had no question as to why Will was over on Davy Jones' ship in the first place. With a smile that he reserved only for her, he caught her eye once again before turning and heading back to his duties, his mind opening up again to replay his beloved image. He was just torturing himself now, but at that moment, he didn't care; he had her, if only in his mind.
Author: Lost_for_Jack
Pairing: James/Elizabeth
Rating: PG-13ish? Alcohol consumption, sexual thoughts.
Genre: Angst, Romance
Summary: It was ironic, of all the things that had happened to him, how for every good thing that he had on him or that was a part of him, the evil face of ill fortune loomed it's head close behind.
Disclaimer: Dead Man's Chest-era fic. I own nothing.
Author's Notes: Much love to classics_lover for beta-ing this for me! I'm simply horrible at titles and such so I just used the words from the icon for this post. If noirstories, minds, I'll change it. But for now, that's all I can come up with. And something is better than 'Untitled", isn't it? Feedback is appreciated!
It was ironic, of all the things that had happened to him, how for every good thing that he had on him or that was a part of him, the evil face of ill fortune loomed it's head close behind. A year ago he had been a Commodore, a high-ranking member of society with a question on his mind to which he knew for certain the answer was going to be 'yes'.
Now he was taking on a room full of drunken pirates that called themselves sailors, or were they sailors that called themselves pirates? Shaking his head at his jumbled thoughts, he tried to not concentrate on any one thing. He had drunk that bottle of rum far too fast, and shouldn't be thinking so much.
Back then he had been certain of what was coming in the future: a wife, the one that he had had his eye on for quite some time.
Now he was lying in the pigsty, and he found no reason to get out of it. He had lost his life, and in now he had nothing that could even make it barely recognizable to be called it a life. He had half a mind to just lie there for the rest of the night until his mind returned to normal, after he had rid himself of the alcohol that had consumed and clouded his thoughts.
And then something happened, a hand rested on his shoulder, pulling him face up to the air. Thinking that it was some drunken pirate or sailor, he refused the small glimmer of hope that had formed in the far corner of his mind and instead waited for the punch that he knew would be thrown at his face.
He saw the kind eyes first, and after turning slightly to get a better view, realized whom it was that had stayed behind from the crowd.
"James Norrington, what has the world done to you?"
She had come to him; perhaps she had realized her mistake? Now that he was more like her ideal: scruffy around the edges, no longer that man with a pole for his spine and more pirate than soldier she had come to confess that her mind too had left her and she was ready to rebuild both their lives? An ever-faint smile dared to grace his lips as he found himself getting lost in those eyes once again. They had always been his weak point regarding her, and even now in his drunken state, they still held their power.
But no, he had been foolish to let that spark of hope grow into something much bigger as she helped him up. Of course she wasn't here for him, she had merely passed him on her way to her true course: saving William Turner.
And yet, that spark refused to go out. His mind, in it's far corner where his small bit of hope remained, kept saying that it refused to give up until the last possible moment, when it was absolutely certain that he had no chance of anything.
Scrubbing the deck on his hands and knees, he stared ahead at his task, all the while his mind played a moving image that he had in his mind for the past year. Whenever it was dark, whenever his mind finally lay still, it would appear in front of him. The image of what he had wanted to do a year ago, upon asking Elizabeth to marry him: take her in his arms and kiss her. It was something that was frowned upon, an action that only those of no breeding whatsoever did, not men of stature. But now he was no longer a man of such high propriety was he? No, in fact he was now a deckhand, a member of a pirate crew, taking orders from the man who had started all of this. In a way, his mind whispered slightly, now he could do what he always had wanted, and who was to stop him? No one who cared about such things was about; now that the gold brocade was tarnished and the navy wool was caked with filth, now that society had all but forgotten him, he had no need to remember who and what he once was. Now he had no need to care what society thought of him and his romantic notions, she was there, a few feet away, and there stood his chance.
But then that pirate showed up, they had some conversation regarding curiosity and then she had gone to the other side of the boat, a smile on her lips and twirling her hands in what he could only call a 'girlish manner'. He could make his move, do what he had always dreamed and never dared, and yet, something about the situation made that spark of hope, that corner thought in his mind stop. It wasn't right. He could, in fact, do what he was planning but to what service? Standing and throwing his rag to the side, he walked slowly over to her side. He could reach out, take her by the arm and pull her close, never mind the dirt that still caked his uniform or the unspeakable state of his mind that had grown rather delirious at the thought of doing such a thing, and make her realize just how much he still cared for her. Some of the mud from his jacket would shift, moving from him to hers and she would break away from the kiss, notice it, and laugh, saying how she was foolish to have not noticed before, that how funny it was that he had to be in such a horrible state for her to finally see him. Her boyish hat would fall off in the process of the kiss and when they both reached down for it, their eyes would meet and then they would realize their mistake, and she would commission the kiss that followed the first one. Her hand would take his; the cloth around her right hand would fall to the ship's deck, forgotten. Every now and then the line of thoughts after this action lead to something more private, and although he doubted these scoundrels that he called his crewmates would mind witnessing such a thing, he knew that that particular part of his vision would not be happening.
Better to hope for the beginning, his mind said as he rested his elbows against the railing of the ship. Tilting his head to the left he watched as she tried to fight off the smile and fail horribly. It was then that the image in his mind that he had treasured for so long, that had consoled him on dark nights and during dark thoughts, vanished. And yet, he had to remain solid, not act as if something that had been his ever-glowing sense of purpose in life had just been ripped from him.
"There was a time when I'd have given anything for you to look like that while thinking of me. Just once."
She turned to face him and a small nudge from his mind told him to move forward, to take the action he had been dying to take but he pushed it aside, and smiled slightly to her instead. She scoffed at his assumptions that she cared for Jack and as he walked away, dropped a seed of doubt into her palm by mentioning that she had no question as to why Will was over on Davy Jones' ship in the first place. With a smile that he reserved only for her, he caught her eye once again before turning and heading back to his duties, his mind opening up again to replay his beloved image. He was just torturing himself now, but at that moment, he didn't care; he had her, if only in his mind.