pirates of the caribbean ficlet: given time she may find something better [jack/elizabeth, pg]
given time she may find something better. pirates of the caribbean, pg, 696 words.
Elizabeth stumbles out of the sea, half dragging Jack, half letting the swell of the waves push him along with her.
Elizabeth stumbles out of the sea, half dragging Jack, half letting the swell of the waves push him along with her. He is pale but mostly conscious; she collapses onto the beach, hauling his face up out of the water before she lets her own cheek drop against the sand, closing her eyes to breathe in unsteadily. She is cold and so, so tired.
After what feels like an eternity, Jack mumbles something she cannot hear over the still-shrieking wind.
Elizabeth opens one eye.
"M' hat," he says a little more distinctly.
"Oh, for the love of - "
Elizabeth, thinking this act of charity must surely win her a place among the angels, pulls herself back down to the waterline to snatch Jack's battered tricorne before the waves steal it back. She tries to stand to walk back and mostly remains upright; behind her, Jack begins to retch up seawater.
She falls to her knees beside him. "Up, Jack," she says, and with a groan he rolls over and pushes himself upright. "Come on."
His teeth are chattering but he stays seated, hunched over against the cold. After several long dazed heartbeats, Elizabeth notices spots of blood blossoming new and red on his shirt beneath his waistcoat.
"Jack, you're hurt," she says sharply.
"It's nothing," he says.
"Jack, hold still," she says.
"No," he says.
She is lucky that he is still weak as a kitten; she easily brushes aside his protests, frozen fingers peeling apart the damp layers of his clothes, but when he touches her shoulder with a weary hand she sinks back onto her heels, confused.
"Leave it be," he says. "It's nothing that'll kill me, I promise you."
"Oh, God," she says in sudden sick realisation, drawing away. "It's him, isn't it?"
"Yes, well, it may have slipped your frightfully keen powers of perception, Lizzie," Jack says, filthy hands curling into the sand for balance, "but there are any number of dead sailors out there on the surf just ripe for the plucking, and as your husband is Death's appointed ferryman for the aforementioned dead sailors and may in fact find himself in the vicinity at any moment, I find myself reluctant to put myself in any kind of position that could possibly be conceived as involving the plucking of his wife."
Elizabeth's face wrinkles. "There's no need to be so crude about it, Jack."
"I wasn't the one trying to strip me naked, love," Jack says.
"You would if you thought you could get away with it," Elizabeth says.
"Entirely beside the point," Jack says smoothly.
"Let me have a look, at least," she says.
"Look, then - " Jack impatiently pulls his shirt down away from his chest. It's a nasty cut, one still oozing blood, but shallow and short. "I won't die from this, I think. Stop harping on it."
Elizabeth sits on her hands and they lapse into silence.
"You know he can't come on land," Elizabeth says finally, tiredly. "You needn't worry on that count."
"Ah, but does this particular spit of sand truly count as land?" Jack says. The effort of irritating her seems to rouse him a bit, or perhaps just the fact that he is so successful at it. "More importantly, does he have a bucket? Questions that for the moment are purely academic, but ones I am loath put to the test."
Elizabeth wraps her arms around her shins, resting her chin on her knees. "He won't come," she says.
Jack is blessedly silent for a moment. Then, quite flatly, he says, "Why not?"
"Because I'm here," she says.
Her salty ropes of sodden hair drip steadily into her eyes.
"Bess," he says. "Lizzie. Elizabeth."
"What?" she says, and then she realises that she is weeping.
Jack's dirty ringed fingers lift her chin, smooth her hair away from her face. Her lips part, and he sees it; his eyelids flutter half-closed and he leans in and kisses her wet cheeks, her lips, her freezing-cold hands. "Come here, Elizabeth," he says, and he lifts his arm and she leans her head against his chest and for the time being they can forget about Will entirely.
Elizabeth stumbles out of the sea, half dragging Jack, half letting the swell of the waves push him along with her.
Elizabeth stumbles out of the sea, half dragging Jack, half letting the swell of the waves push him along with her. He is pale but mostly conscious; she collapses onto the beach, hauling his face up out of the water before she lets her own cheek drop against the sand, closing her eyes to breathe in unsteadily. She is cold and so, so tired.
After what feels like an eternity, Jack mumbles something she cannot hear over the still-shrieking wind.
Elizabeth opens one eye.
"M' hat," he says a little more distinctly.
"Oh, for the love of - "
Elizabeth, thinking this act of charity must surely win her a place among the angels, pulls herself back down to the waterline to snatch Jack's battered tricorne before the waves steal it back. She tries to stand to walk back and mostly remains upright; behind her, Jack begins to retch up seawater.
She falls to her knees beside him. "Up, Jack," she says, and with a groan he rolls over and pushes himself upright. "Come on."
His teeth are chattering but he stays seated, hunched over against the cold. After several long dazed heartbeats, Elizabeth notices spots of blood blossoming new and red on his shirt beneath his waistcoat.
"Jack, you're hurt," she says sharply.
"It's nothing," he says.
"Jack, hold still," she says.
"No," he says.
She is lucky that he is still weak as a kitten; she easily brushes aside his protests, frozen fingers peeling apart the damp layers of his clothes, but when he touches her shoulder with a weary hand she sinks back onto her heels, confused.
"Leave it be," he says. "It's nothing that'll kill me, I promise you."
"Oh, God," she says in sudden sick realisation, drawing away. "It's him, isn't it?"
"Yes, well, it may have slipped your frightfully keen powers of perception, Lizzie," Jack says, filthy hands curling into the sand for balance, "but there are any number of dead sailors out there on the surf just ripe for the plucking, and as your husband is Death's appointed ferryman for the aforementioned dead sailors and may in fact find himself in the vicinity at any moment, I find myself reluctant to put myself in any kind of position that could possibly be conceived as involving the plucking of his wife."
Elizabeth's face wrinkles. "There's no need to be so crude about it, Jack."
"I wasn't the one trying to strip me naked, love," Jack says.
"You would if you thought you could get away with it," Elizabeth says.
"Entirely beside the point," Jack says smoothly.
"Let me have a look, at least," she says.
"Look, then - " Jack impatiently pulls his shirt down away from his chest. It's a nasty cut, one still oozing blood, but shallow and short. "I won't die from this, I think. Stop harping on it."
Elizabeth sits on her hands and they lapse into silence.
"You know he can't come on land," Elizabeth says finally, tiredly. "You needn't worry on that count."
"Ah, but does this particular spit of sand truly count as land?" Jack says. The effort of irritating her seems to rouse him a bit, or perhaps just the fact that he is so successful at it. "More importantly, does he have a bucket? Questions that for the moment are purely academic, but ones I am loath put to the test."
Elizabeth wraps her arms around her shins, resting her chin on her knees. "He won't come," she says.
Jack is blessedly silent for a moment. Then, quite flatly, he says, "Why not?"
"Because I'm here," she says.
Her salty ropes of sodden hair drip steadily into her eyes.
"Bess," he says. "Lizzie. Elizabeth."
"What?" she says, and then she realises that she is weeping.
Jack's dirty ringed fingers lift her chin, smooth her hair away from her face. Her lips part, and he sees it; his eyelids flutter half-closed and he leans in and kisses her wet cheeks, her lips, her freezing-cold hands. "Come here, Elizabeth," he says, and he lifts his arm and she leans her head against his chest and for the time being they can forget about Will entirely.