(no subject)
TITLE: 11 Years Later
RATING: PG-13
PAIRING: Jack/Elizabeth, Will/Elizabeth (marriage implied)
SUMMARY: Back with the sixth part in this little series. Funny how that happens, I'd only intended to write a drabble, or two, at best. Really have to chalk the whole thing up to encouragement, and in some cases (I'm looking at you tephroliah) harassment, and threats. Also, the title is only a place holder, because I'm no good at titles, and am completely willing to take suggestions.
The previous chapters are here:
I-III & IV-V
VI.
("It would never have worked between us.")
Her words spin erratic circles in her dizzy mind, working enough to weave elaborate tapestries of dyed-black cotton, and should-have-been's. Each one comes out a flag; an unused, neatly folded jolly roger pushed into the dusty corner of a subconscious weary of being ignored. It ignites in the space between their reluctantly linked hands, as he pulls her like a rag doll toward the shoreline, moves up her arm, raising hairs, and all the wrong questions, before resting in the almost spiteful echo ringing in ears she desperately wished had not been so deaf, before. He replies in kisses, in finger-lengthed bruises resting just atop her hipbones; he answers when he stops suddenly, seemingly arrived at his destination, and looks at her expectantly, with an impish grin, and something dishonorable behind pitch-colored eyes.
("Keep telling yourself that, darling.")
Progress, indeed, time has a way of moving backward, through near a mile of open field, dropping them, eternally, at an east-facing beach, minding tide, and the imminent arrival of daylight. She adjusts herself under the scrutiny of his hard stare, and with a slight shrug, walks to the ocean, casting her shoes and dress to sand, leaving him to take a seat next to her things, and watch with affectionate bemusement when, standing in the shallows, chemise hiked above her knees, she shrieks at the cold wave breaking over her bare legs, and makes to jump out of the way. For the fifth time in as many minutes, he steals a glance at his compass, and snaps it shut before looking in her direction, again.
"Mind the current, luv, I don't fancy a rescue effort just now." He shouts through cupped hands, earning him a defiant splash, and her apprehensive return to land.
She flicks the water droplets from her fingers as she comes closer, causing him to flinch, and give a look of sideways warning when she sits next to him. "History suggests that you'd save me."
"M'not generally one for repetition."
"History also suggests I'm too attractive to fall under any category marked 'generally'." She straightens, almost posing, and elbows him playfully in the ribs.
He gives a slow nod, followed by a chuckle; his aged etched in the creases around his eyes. "Of course, Mrs. Turner, what ever you say." Somewhere to his left she gasps in mock offense, but when he does not respond she worries about thoughts she can't hear, and stolen kisses beneath her sleeping husband's window.
Now the shrinking map had caught up, and even the pirate fortress could not stand against it. The world had washed over it like a wave, sweeping away the spirit that'd lingered there, proud, and unconstrained, bringing money, and the need to earn more; bringing business deals, and honest wages. The merchants had come in, and taken her William away, lost to scheduling conflicts, and the consequence of constant exhaustion; lost to the most basic instinct of comfortable survival, and responsibility. This was her justification, a reasoning that had been perfected by simple passage of time, and the complexity of Jack's beard tickling the nape of her neck. It could not have been fathomable to leave the comfort of waking to gentle kisses on the bridge of her nose, but Will had gone intentionally into their world, and her refusal to accept it made his compliance all the more maddening.
"When did this happen?" Comes her hushed reply, and he shrugs, distant, and nonchalant.
"I believe it happened somewhere between 'I' and 'do', though I'm a bit uncertain on the details; was off saving you lot at the time, you'll recall."
"You mean, off trying to secure your own immortality for entirely selfish purposes?"
"Whichever."
She does not say that she'd not have been able to do it if he'd been on board at the time; doesn't say that his presence would have thrown the entire thing into a piercing light she'd been too smitten to acknowledge, it was understood, even implied, on occasion, and would have served no purpose.
"You know," She begins, only filling silence with an uncertain recollection of things he'd missed since his last visit, "A week ago I asked Will what he thought of going back to sea. All of us. Jack, as well."
"You miss it." He says quietly. It is not a question.
She replies with a telling sigh. "Do you know what he said?"
He makes a face, as though the answer should have been obvious, "Something rational, I expect," as though the word's lacking sense offended his delicate pirate sensibilities.
"'What about hurricanes?'"
"Git."
"'The ocean is no place for a boy.'"
"I seem to remember his own Father suffering a similar lapse in judgment."
"Hm?"
"Bootstrap was infinitely troubled by the notion of his son turning pirate."
She laughs, low, and bitter. "He needn't have been."
"S'not the point, darling," he conceals an amused smirk, "point is, William did, in fact, spent quite a lot of time at sea. His whole bloody existence was tied to it, despite Bill's best intentions. S'in the blood. You can't fight a thing like that."
"Then, how do you explain someone like me?"
"Spirit's harder to fight, even still." He glances down at the gold band adorning her finger, "Though, I'd say you're doing remarkably well with that, wouldn't you?"
RATING: PG-13
PAIRING: Jack/Elizabeth, Will/Elizabeth (marriage implied)
SUMMARY: Back with the sixth part in this little series. Funny how that happens, I'd only intended to write a drabble, or two, at best. Really have to chalk the whole thing up to encouragement, and in some cases (I'm looking at you tephroliah) harassment, and threats. Also, the title is only a place holder, because I'm no good at titles, and am completely willing to take suggestions.
The previous chapters are here:
I-III & IV-V
VI.
("It would never have worked between us.")
Her words spin erratic circles in her dizzy mind, working enough to weave elaborate tapestries of dyed-black cotton, and should-have-been's. Each one comes out a flag; an unused, neatly folded jolly roger pushed into the dusty corner of a subconscious weary of being ignored. It ignites in the space between their reluctantly linked hands, as he pulls her like a rag doll toward the shoreline, moves up her arm, raising hairs, and all the wrong questions, before resting in the almost spiteful echo ringing in ears she desperately wished had not been so deaf, before. He replies in kisses, in finger-lengthed bruises resting just atop her hipbones; he answers when he stops suddenly, seemingly arrived at his destination, and looks at her expectantly, with an impish grin, and something dishonorable behind pitch-colored eyes.
("Keep telling yourself that, darling.")
Progress, indeed, time has a way of moving backward, through near a mile of open field, dropping them, eternally, at an east-facing beach, minding tide, and the imminent arrival of daylight. She adjusts herself under the scrutiny of his hard stare, and with a slight shrug, walks to the ocean, casting her shoes and dress to sand, leaving him to take a seat next to her things, and watch with affectionate bemusement when, standing in the shallows, chemise hiked above her knees, she shrieks at the cold wave breaking over her bare legs, and makes to jump out of the way. For the fifth time in as many minutes, he steals a glance at his compass, and snaps it shut before looking in her direction, again.
"Mind the current, luv, I don't fancy a rescue effort just now." He shouts through cupped hands, earning him a defiant splash, and her apprehensive return to land.
She flicks the water droplets from her fingers as she comes closer, causing him to flinch, and give a look of sideways warning when she sits next to him. "History suggests that you'd save me."
"M'not generally one for repetition."
"History also suggests I'm too attractive to fall under any category marked 'generally'." She straightens, almost posing, and elbows him playfully in the ribs.
He gives a slow nod, followed by a chuckle; his aged etched in the creases around his eyes. "Of course, Mrs. Turner, what ever you say." Somewhere to his left she gasps in mock offense, but when he does not respond she worries about thoughts she can't hear, and stolen kisses beneath her sleeping husband's window.
Now the shrinking map had caught up, and even the pirate fortress could not stand against it. The world had washed over it like a wave, sweeping away the spirit that'd lingered there, proud, and unconstrained, bringing money, and the need to earn more; bringing business deals, and honest wages. The merchants had come in, and taken her William away, lost to scheduling conflicts, and the consequence of constant exhaustion; lost to the most basic instinct of comfortable survival, and responsibility. This was her justification, a reasoning that had been perfected by simple passage of time, and the complexity of Jack's beard tickling the nape of her neck. It could not have been fathomable to leave the comfort of waking to gentle kisses on the bridge of her nose, but Will had gone intentionally into their world, and her refusal to accept it made his compliance all the more maddening.
"When did this happen?" Comes her hushed reply, and he shrugs, distant, and nonchalant.
"I believe it happened somewhere between 'I' and 'do', though I'm a bit uncertain on the details; was off saving you lot at the time, you'll recall."
"You mean, off trying to secure your own immortality for entirely selfish purposes?"
"Whichever."
She does not say that she'd not have been able to do it if he'd been on board at the time; doesn't say that his presence would have thrown the entire thing into a piercing light she'd been too smitten to acknowledge, it was understood, even implied, on occasion, and would have served no purpose.
"You know," She begins, only filling silence with an uncertain recollection of things he'd missed since his last visit, "A week ago I asked Will what he thought of going back to sea. All of us. Jack, as well."
"You miss it." He says quietly. It is not a question.
She replies with a telling sigh. "Do you know what he said?"
He makes a face, as though the answer should have been obvious, "Something rational, I expect," as though the word's lacking sense offended his delicate pirate sensibilities.
"'What about hurricanes?'"
"Git."
"'The ocean is no place for a boy.'"
"I seem to remember his own Father suffering a similar lapse in judgment."
"Hm?"
"Bootstrap was infinitely troubled by the notion of his son turning pirate."
She laughs, low, and bitter. "He needn't have been."
"S'not the point, darling," he conceals an amused smirk, "point is, William did, in fact, spent quite a lot of time at sea. His whole bloody existence was tied to it, despite Bill's best intentions. S'in the blood. You can't fight a thing like that."
"Then, how do you explain someone like me?"
"Spirit's harder to fight, even still." He glances down at the gold band adorning her finger, "Though, I'd say you're doing remarkably well with that, wouldn't you?"