Pirates fic: it takes an ocean not to break; part four
Pairings: Will/Elizabeth, Jack/Elizabeth
Rating: PG-13
Length: 287
Status: WIP
Notes: Written for djarum99 for help_japan
it takes an ocean not to break
She wakes to the fragrant aroma of pipe smoke, tangled in silk sheets that catch on the rough pads of her fingers. She has not slept on such finery since Port Royal - only the plaintive notes of song creeping through the hazy room remind her that her old life is gone.
Teague is sprawled across a chair opposite the bed, fingers lazy on the strings of his guitar. A portrait of indolence, save for his hawk-sharp gaze, he watches her rub the sleep from her eyes and waits for her to speak. His hands still on the strings as she gathers herself, and the silence that falls is thick and heavy.
She speaks just to break it, her voice raspy, harsh with exhaustion and terror and a grief she has not yet allowed herself to examine.
“How did you know?”
His grin is wry, curving around the stem of his pipe. “Done a lot of living in my time, dear King.”
A non-answer. It should not surprise her, not when he and Jack are so obviously cut from the same cloth.
His hands find the strings again, absently coaxing another melody from the old instrument. The song is as melancholy as the first, and it makes something within her ache. She recognizes it, though from where she does not know. She leans back against the pillow and listens, watching the smoke curl lazily in the still air. The song is too full of heartache to be a lullaby, but her eyes flutter shut all the same, music bearing her back towards the shores of sleep.
“More like my Jackie than you think, Miss Swann.”
She is asleep before she can tell him that her name is Turner.
it takes an ocean not to break; part five
Rating: PG-13
Length: 287
Status: WIP
Notes: Written for djarum99 for help_japan
it takes an ocean not to break
She wakes to the fragrant aroma of pipe smoke, tangled in silk sheets that catch on the rough pads of her fingers. She has not slept on such finery since Port Royal - only the plaintive notes of song creeping through the hazy room remind her that her old life is gone.
Teague is sprawled across a chair opposite the bed, fingers lazy on the strings of his guitar. A portrait of indolence, save for his hawk-sharp gaze, he watches her rub the sleep from her eyes and waits for her to speak. His hands still on the strings as she gathers herself, and the silence that falls is thick and heavy.
She speaks just to break it, her voice raspy, harsh with exhaustion and terror and a grief she has not yet allowed herself to examine.
“How did you know?”
His grin is wry, curving around the stem of his pipe. “Done a lot of living in my time, dear King.”
A non-answer. It should not surprise her, not when he and Jack are so obviously cut from the same cloth.
His hands find the strings again, absently coaxing another melody from the old instrument. The song is as melancholy as the first, and it makes something within her ache. She recognizes it, though from where she does not know. She leans back against the pillow and listens, watching the smoke curl lazily in the still air. The song is too full of heartache to be a lullaby, but her eyes flutter shut all the same, music bearing her back towards the shores of sleep.
“More like my Jackie than you think, Miss Swann.”
She is asleep before she can tell him that her name is Turner.
it takes an ocean not to break; part five