(no subject)
James was caught between being the man he was and being the man he wanted to be. The man he was would hunt down those pirates and not rest until every single one had been sent to his maker. The man he was would exact retribution fitting the crime when it came to Mr. Turner, who had lied. The lie had nearly been fatal for Elizabeth since he had come close to leaving Sparrow on the island and may well have not sent the lifeboat for him. And he would never admit to Mr. Turner or anyone else how close he had come to doing himself a harm last night.
But the man he wanted to be may make different decisions. He knew he was able and he knew what he was capable of. He had always done his duty, but he wasn’t sure he had always been moral. He was quite capable of taking life and not blinking an eye. Elizabeth deserved a better man. But something in him would not choose to simply be thankful he had the woman he loved back, and would not simply sail back to Port Royal. Something in him demanded the pirates be caught and receive the punishment they so richly deserved.
But there was something else…he knew Elizabeth wanted Will rescued and he knew she would find his assertation that Will had lied to be a difficult pill to swallow. She would be far more likely to believe it had all been a misunderstanding. But his reasons ran even deeper and darker than that. Her acceptance of him had been so quick, so unexpected, a part of him still expected her to change her mind at any moment. A part of him would be waiting for the day his wife came to her senses and left him for her first love. She would have to know Will had truly lied. And even then…James gripped the railing of the Dauntless until his fingers were white. Was he capable of killing Turner so the man’s shadow did not stand between them forever? If Will was alive, would it always feel like there were three people in his bed, an option he would not tolerate? Mr. Turner had committed no true crime - he had stolen the Interceptor and destroyed a very expensive ship that was not his to destroy, but he had done it to save Elizabeth. He had lied blatantly, but he had done it to keep Elizabeth. James understood. He would do anything to keep Elizabeth. And at that moment, he had answered his own question.
He hoped he and Mr. Turner could come to an understanding of sorts. But if the man was going to forever be a thorn in his side, if he intended to take her back…Will Turner was a dead man.
Elizabeth recovered quickly. She slept for two whole days, then ate a meal that would surpass the appetite of a 300 lb. bosun, but she was well soon.
Though it was terribly improper and he really should stop her, he looked forward to the moment she would creep out on deck in the evening when most of his men had retired, and wrap her arms around him from behind. A warm smile would always cross his face and he would pat her arm as one of her hands always ended up pressed against his stomach and the other against his heart, where her fingers kept time with the steady beat.
He was proud of the fact that she felt so safe with him, and unmanly as it may be, he felt safe in her arms as well. When she planted a delicate kiss on the skin near the back of his ear, he would secretly blush and feel a strange combination of shyness and lust. He was unaccustomed to such physical affection, but having felt it, found himself quickly addicted.
He was no cabin boy, wet behind the ears, and he had known women. But being unwilling to sully even a milkmaid’s reputation, he generally sought out those women of the night who plied their trade with expert precision, both clinically and efficiently. He had always known he was no more than a gold coin and another man would travel the same well-worn path as he in a matter of minutes.
But Elizabeth was untried in the ways of love and seemed to have no idea the effect her innocent kisses had on him. He wanted to take her there on the deck. But he knew his infinite patience with Elizabeth would have to continue his entire life. He would not take her like a butcher’s wife. Or a blacksmith’s. When he thought of that man’s dirty, calloused fingers touching her, he wanted to scream, he wanted to lock her in his cabin forever. He wanted the man gone, wiped from the face of the earth with no trace of him. But the decision had always been Elizabeth’s and must always be.
How he had managed to be the “chosen one” was beyond him, but he decided to simply enjoy it and leaned back into her. He immediately stopped as he felt her breasts pressed against his back and he immediately became hard. She turned him around and he didn’t stop her despite the fact that being pressed so closely against her, it was no longer a mystery how attracted he was to her.
“I love you”, she whispered hotly in his ear.
“I love you too”, he said, “But you shall wear white on your wedding day.” She giggled. He would need to douse himself in cold water tonight, and wondered how his men would react if they caught him administering to himself in such a way.
“Thank you for going after Will”, she said, “I know you didn’t want to.” Well that had done it, no water required.
“You um, that is, you think of him often? You worry about him?” he asked with a stutter. Her heart melted as she cupped his face.
“I do worry about him”, she said.
“But not about me?” he asked, damning himself for every question.
“Of course I don’t worry about you!” she said. His dark eyebrows snapped together.
“I have no need to worry about you. You can take of yourself. And me and everyone else besides. I worry about other men, but there is no need to worry about my Commodore”, she answered. He liked that answer quite a bit and kissed her slowly.
“Off to bed with you”, he said, “Before I carry you there myself.”
He had given her his cabin, while he slept below with his men, spending half the night tossing and turning in frustration. His men knew the cause and tried to keep their amusement to themselves.
He saw an island rising up in the dark distance, beyond the next horizon. He knew he was two men. The one here with Elizabeth, who melted like a candle in the sun every time he saw her face. And the one who carried out his duty without a moment’s hesitation, the man who handled a cutlass with fatal precision and often returned from battle covered in blood. When she witnessed that other man, could she continue to love him?
“Good-night, my love”, she said, then patted his bottom as she headed off.
He gave a quick and quite unmanly gasp, as he listened to her sweet laughter fading away as she went.
He would do anything to keep her.