PotC fic - Epilogue (musefic)
Title: Epilogue (bearing in mind that this fic is not the epilogue to anything).
Author:
order_of_chaos
Pairings: Jack-muse/James-muse, implied Sparrington.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Muse-fic. The Jack-muse convinces the James-muse to finish the story.
AN: Happy (late) birthday
jedipirate! Hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: The muses are at least half mine; PotC and the characters thereof aren't at all.
***
Look. Listen.
“James! Jamie-love - you forgot the epilogue.” That’s the Jack-muse, tugging frantically on the sleeve of the Commodore’s uniform. The Commodore doesn’t slow, doesn’t alter his pace in the slightest.
“Screw the epilogue,” he says tonelessly. “I’m not going back there.”
The Jack-muse takes a few steps at a run so as to keep up with him. “But… how not, love? Isn’t it your duty and all?”
That does get a reaction, albeit not the one Jack was expecting. The James-muse stops, spins and slams him against the nearest conveniently located tree. “I don’t care if it’s my duty, Sparrow,” he snarls. “You’re dead - your character - I killed you. And I can’t go back there. I won’t.” He breathes in shakily, loosens his grip just enough to allow the Jack-muse to do the same. “Savvy?”
“I… I… oh hell.” Jack pulls restlessly at the Commodore’s wrists, coaxing him to let go. “I do understand, James,” he promises. “I do.” He slides his hands up the James-muse’s arms and hugs him - a disorderly, piratical hug that makes James shake with a cross between a laugh and a sob and slump to the ground with the Jack-muse on top of him. “He never hated you, you know,” the pirate murmurs, his breath tickling at the borderline between wig and skin. “Loved you, James - even as you hung him. Hoped it wouldn’t break you too badly.”
“I know,” James says bitterly. “It’s… I almost wish he hated me. I hate me.”
“Don’t.” The Jack-muse occupies himself in teasing dark strands of the James-muse’s hair out from under his wig with one hand, keeping the other just curled at the nape of James’ neck in an attempt to provide what comfort his can. “It’s his right to hate you, not yours. Not what he’d want.” They stay like that a long while - the James-muse leaning against the base of the tree; the Jack-muse in his lap studying him with the utmost gentle concern and sympathy. “You have to go back, love,” Jack says eventually. He touches a finger to James’ lips, forestalling the objections. “No,” he says to the unspoken words. “You need the closure, James, or it will keep haunting you like this. Trust me.” The James-muse feels like a stone Commodore-statue in his arms, holding himself utterly still for long moments before nodding almost imperceptibly. “It hurts,” Jack tells him. “I know it hurts. Go now - I’ll be waiting for you when you get back.”
The James-muse nods again, silently, and slips back into the story.
***
He was standing on the wall of Fort Charles, looking out over the ocean, a crumpled piece of paper in his hand. His summons back to England and civilisation, he discovered, smoothing it out to read; a reward for the capture and execution of his last pirate. To a heart that had grown to love the Caribbean almost as deeply as the Sparrow, it had come as something like the last straw, yet not… not exactly. James smiled, letting the heartbreak show in his expression, setting free every part of himself he had kept hidden in order to function effectively as the Commodore. This was what Jack had wanted, he knew - James’ freedom. Even if it was too late, he would give it to him. Eyes clear, he shredded his orders into tiny squares of white and watched them blow away on the wind. Then he turned away - his tears cooling with the breeze and his smile still bright - to seek out those few who were loyal to him alone, who would help him commandeer the Interceptor’s pretty replacement and sail her to the horizon.
***
The Jack-muse catches him the moment he re-appears, wrapping his arms around the once-Commodore’s neck and beaming. “You were beautiful, James-love,” he carols. “You really were.”
“I know I was.” The James-muse smirks, amusement dancing in his eyes. He bows as deeply as he can without dislodging Jack. “I am, after all, Captain James Norrington.”
“Pirate,” Jack accuses.
It’s met with a grin. “Oh yes.”
The Jack-muse laughs. “I missed you.”
“Of course you did.” Then the James-muse settles his hands more securely at Jack’s waist and smirks again, somehow making the expression an invitation to all kinds of interesting depravity. “I think you should kiss me now, Jack.”
“Should I now, James-love?” The Jack-muse all but purrs the question. “Since when do I ever do as I should?”
Unfairly distracted by the sweet, demanding pressure of Jack’s lips against his own, the James-muse doesn’t answer.
Author:
order_of_chaos
Pairings: Jack-muse/James-muse, implied Sparrington.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Muse-fic. The Jack-muse convinces the James-muse to finish the story.
AN: Happy (late) birthday
jedipirate! Hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: The muses are at least half mine; PotC and the characters thereof aren't at all.
***
Look. Listen.
“James! Jamie-love - you forgot the epilogue.” That’s the Jack-muse, tugging frantically on the sleeve of the Commodore’s uniform. The Commodore doesn’t slow, doesn’t alter his pace in the slightest.
“Screw the epilogue,” he says tonelessly. “I’m not going back there.”
The Jack-muse takes a few steps at a run so as to keep up with him. “But… how not, love? Isn’t it your duty and all?”
That does get a reaction, albeit not the one Jack was expecting. The James-muse stops, spins and slams him against the nearest conveniently located tree. “I don’t care if it’s my duty, Sparrow,” he snarls. “You’re dead - your character - I killed you. And I can’t go back there. I won’t.” He breathes in shakily, loosens his grip just enough to allow the Jack-muse to do the same. “Savvy?”
“I… I… oh hell.” Jack pulls restlessly at the Commodore’s wrists, coaxing him to let go. “I do understand, James,” he promises. “I do.” He slides his hands up the James-muse’s arms and hugs him - a disorderly, piratical hug that makes James shake with a cross between a laugh and a sob and slump to the ground with the Jack-muse on top of him. “He never hated you, you know,” the pirate murmurs, his breath tickling at the borderline between wig and skin. “Loved you, James - even as you hung him. Hoped it wouldn’t break you too badly.”
“I know,” James says bitterly. “It’s… I almost wish he hated me. I hate me.”
“Don’t.” The Jack-muse occupies himself in teasing dark strands of the James-muse’s hair out from under his wig with one hand, keeping the other just curled at the nape of James’ neck in an attempt to provide what comfort his can. “It’s his right to hate you, not yours. Not what he’d want.” They stay like that a long while - the James-muse leaning against the base of the tree; the Jack-muse in his lap studying him with the utmost gentle concern and sympathy. “You have to go back, love,” Jack says eventually. He touches a finger to James’ lips, forestalling the objections. “No,” he says to the unspoken words. “You need the closure, James, or it will keep haunting you like this. Trust me.” The James-muse feels like a stone Commodore-statue in his arms, holding himself utterly still for long moments before nodding almost imperceptibly. “It hurts,” Jack tells him. “I know it hurts. Go now - I’ll be waiting for you when you get back.”
The James-muse nods again, silently, and slips back into the story.
***
He was standing on the wall of Fort Charles, looking out over the ocean, a crumpled piece of paper in his hand. His summons back to England and civilisation, he discovered, smoothing it out to read; a reward for the capture and execution of his last pirate. To a heart that had grown to love the Caribbean almost as deeply as the Sparrow, it had come as something like the last straw, yet not… not exactly. James smiled, letting the heartbreak show in his expression, setting free every part of himself he had kept hidden in order to function effectively as the Commodore. This was what Jack had wanted, he knew - James’ freedom. Even if it was too late, he would give it to him. Eyes clear, he shredded his orders into tiny squares of white and watched them blow away on the wind. Then he turned away - his tears cooling with the breeze and his smile still bright - to seek out those few who were loyal to him alone, who would help him commandeer the Interceptor’s pretty replacement and sail her to the horizon.
***
The Jack-muse catches him the moment he re-appears, wrapping his arms around the once-Commodore’s neck and beaming. “You were beautiful, James-love,” he carols. “You really were.”
“I know I was.” The James-muse smirks, amusement dancing in his eyes. He bows as deeply as he can without dislodging Jack. “I am, after all, Captain James Norrington.”
“Pirate,” Jack accuses.
It’s met with a grin. “Oh yes.”
The Jack-muse laughs. “I missed you.”
“Of course you did.” Then the James-muse settles his hands more securely at Jack’s waist and smirks again, somehow making the expression an invitation to all kinds of interesting depravity. “I think you should kiss me now, Jack.”
“Should I now, James-love?” The Jack-muse all but purrs the question. “Since when do I ever do as I should?”
Unfairly distracted by the sweet, demanding pressure of Jack’s lips against his own, the James-muse doesn’t answer.