PotC fic: Crushing (Will/Elizabeth, G, double drabble)
Title: Crushing
Author: shyaway
Rating: G
Pairing: Will/Elizabeth
Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean and its characters are owned by Disney.
Will had often pitied Norrington in the months since Jack’s aborted hanging, even before the commodore had ceased to be the commodore. Elizabeth had rejected him and Will couldn’t imagine anything worse than that.
He had never thought to find himself standing in Norrington’s shoes.
In the midst of death and destruction wreaked by Davy Jones, and as ever before, Elizabeth had been his promise of life, brave and vivid and his as he was hers. Promises of love and life, promises that - suddenly - were not for him alone. What had passed between her and Jack on the deck of that sinking ship - or ever?
He looked at her, catching her eye for a moment before she quickly averted her face. In just that way she had withdrawn her gaze many times in their childhood; in church, sitting next to Mr Brown when that man still attended, he would watch her ringleted head; sometimes he glanced up from the hymnbook to see her looking back over her shoulder at him, only for her to look forwards at the altar again as soon as their eyes met.
He had never known how to interpret that retreat. No more did he now.
Author: shyaway
Rating: G
Pairing: Will/Elizabeth
Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean and its characters are owned by Disney.
Will had often pitied Norrington in the months since Jack’s aborted hanging, even before the commodore had ceased to be the commodore. Elizabeth had rejected him and Will couldn’t imagine anything worse than that.
He had never thought to find himself standing in Norrington’s shoes.
In the midst of death and destruction wreaked by Davy Jones, and as ever before, Elizabeth had been his promise of life, brave and vivid and his as he was hers. Promises of love and life, promises that - suddenly - were not for him alone. What had passed between her and Jack on the deck of that sinking ship - or ever?
He looked at her, catching her eye for a moment before she quickly averted her face. In just that way she had withdrawn her gaze many times in their childhood; in church, sitting next to Mr Brown when that man still attended, he would watch her ringleted head; sometimes he glanced up from the hymnbook to see her looking back over her shoulder at him, only for her to look forwards at the altar again as soon as their eyes met.
He had never known how to interpret that retreat. No more did he now.