Checkmate -- Norribeth fic
Title: Checkmate
Author: ash_night
Pairing: James/Elizabeth (Will/Elizabeth subtext)
Rating: PG-13
Genre: AU set during DMC, romance, dark, angst etc.
Summary: If Elizabeth had arrived at Tortuga earlier.
Disclaimer: The Mouse and so forth own everything. Me, not much.
A/N: DMC Spoilers. Feedback is greatly appreciated and welcomed and snuggled with.
---
The blue jacket and the gold brocade caught her eye. She would have recognized that trim anywhere, but she did not recognize the man at first. Untamed hair, tan skin, dark bitter eyes, a drunken swagger that would make Captain Jack Sparrow envious.
But it was the Commodore, nevertheless -- not some poor imposter dolled up in Naval uniform. She would recognize that voice anywhere -- strong, commanding and disdainful -- as he ordered another tankard.
He surveyed the room, a wry smile on his lips, and caught her staring. A quirk of the eyebrow, a tightening of the jaw. He assessed her, not fooled by the hat or her boyish dress.
"Well well, if it isn't Miss Elizabeth Swann -- pardon, Elizabeth Turner." He sat across from her, tossing his legs onto another chair. The tankard clanked against the table.
She stiffened, frowning. "It is still Miss Swann."
He seemed unaffected. "Elizabeth," he corrected. "I think I'll call you Elizabeth."
"Whatever pleases you, James." She watched him as he gulped down a mouthful. The manners were gone along with the honor of his former title.
"Whatever pleases me," he mused. His gaze raked her body. "How far would you go to please me, Elizabeth?" He gave her a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
She breathed. She needed to find Will. She had been searching for information on the Pearl's whereabouts for nearly two weeks. The former Commodore's past affection for her gave her little confidence of his help.
He pondered her silence and said, "Where is that Turner boy of yours?"
An idea, though as dark as the look in his eyes. She smiled coquettishly. "Gone."
"Is that so?" He took her answer in, appraising her like a cat on the prowl.
Another smile. She held his gaze. She felt like she was cornered in a game of chess, two turns from checkmate, two steps from the gallows.
"If you're a common whore now, I must inform you that your garments are unbecoming."
She felt like he struck her. Her temper rose, and her answer was clipped. "It is true that garments do not make a man."
He only laughed. "You always were a spirited wench." He finished his drink and stood. "I wouldn't pay you a shilling."
Although insulted, humiliated and infuriated, she caught her chance for assistance leaving. She stood as well, anger burning her blood. "I wouldn't accept any pay of yours, Commodore."
He narrowed his eyes, unconsciously thumbing the hilt of his sword. "Very well," he said. He walked away, uncaring if she followed him or not.
---
As soon as they reached an uninhabited alleyway, he grabbed her shoulder, eyes searching hers in a strip of moonlight, his voice low. "What is the meaning of this Elizabeth?"
She shrugged him off. "I do what I please."
Her words did little to pacify him. He tutted, stepping toward her. Her refusal to back down closed the distance between them, their bodies aligned.
He drew his hands from her waist down to her hips, groping the curves of her yielding body. "Is this what pleases you?"
When she didn't answer, he kissed her roughly, deeply, nipping her bottom lip, a hand holding the back of her neck, the other stroking her side. She found herself stepping backwards until there was the merciful wall, her mind blurring with thoughts and emotions.
No one ever kissed her quite like this. This was improper and rude, fierce and wrong in so many ways. This kiss was everything her Will was not. This kiss was laced with desperation and despair, punishment and cruelty. Her lips bruised beneath his, and she thought vaguely that all future kisses would pale compared to this. She held onto him, the wool of his jacket scratching her fingers.
The kiss ended too quickly. She gasped from the separation, the cool sea wind assaulting her overheated body.
He looked damningly unruffled, two steps away from her. Calm, collected, but his eyes burned with misery. She tasted a copper tang in her mouth.
"I loved you," he whispered.
She didn't understand him, didn't understand what he wanted with her. This was a man she never knew in Port Royal.
"I thought I loved you." He laughed, shaking his head. He ran a hand through his hair, a harsh smirk on his lips. His eyes scoured over her again.
She watched him warily, feeling feverish, feeling self-conscious in her breeches.
"And I thought I loved you," he repeated. He bowed extravagantly, mocking her. "Miss Elizabeth Swann, the Governor's daughter, may I have your hand in marriage?"
She tensed. "What are you talking about?"
"How many hearts have you broken today? Three, four? Or was it just mine for the second time?"
"Stop it."
He bowed again. "My apologies, dearest Elizabeth." Her name was enunciated sharply. "But I think you've found exactly where you belong." That cheerless smile again. "Welcome to Tortuga, home to the flotsam of civilization."
Damn him. She would find Will without his help. "I hate you James Norrington. You are no gentleman."
"You have never been a lady."
She slapped him so hard that the cracking sound echoed and her palm stung.
Silence, and then, "Thank you."
He looked like a beaten man as he rubbed his cheek. The brocade was filthy, the jacket caked in grime and sweat. She wouldn't have recognized him with that beard and that mane of tangled brown hair. She wouldn't have recognized the defeat in those green eyes.
But she would have recognized that voice anywhere.
"I wish you the very best of luck."
Then he turned and walked away.
---
Author: ash_night
Pairing: James/Elizabeth (Will/Elizabeth subtext)
Rating: PG-13
Genre: AU set during DMC, romance, dark, angst etc.
Summary: If Elizabeth had arrived at Tortuga earlier.
Disclaimer: The Mouse and so forth own everything. Me, not much.
A/N: DMC Spoilers. Feedback is greatly appreciated and welcomed and snuggled with.
---
The blue jacket and the gold brocade caught her eye. She would have recognized that trim anywhere, but she did not recognize the man at first. Untamed hair, tan skin, dark bitter eyes, a drunken swagger that would make Captain Jack Sparrow envious.
But it was the Commodore, nevertheless -- not some poor imposter dolled up in Naval uniform. She would recognize that voice anywhere -- strong, commanding and disdainful -- as he ordered another tankard.
He surveyed the room, a wry smile on his lips, and caught her staring. A quirk of the eyebrow, a tightening of the jaw. He assessed her, not fooled by the hat or her boyish dress.
"Well well, if it isn't Miss Elizabeth Swann -- pardon, Elizabeth Turner." He sat across from her, tossing his legs onto another chair. The tankard clanked against the table.
She stiffened, frowning. "It is still Miss Swann."
He seemed unaffected. "Elizabeth," he corrected. "I think I'll call you Elizabeth."
"Whatever pleases you, James." She watched him as he gulped down a mouthful. The manners were gone along with the honor of his former title.
"Whatever pleases me," he mused. His gaze raked her body. "How far would you go to please me, Elizabeth?" He gave her a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
She breathed. She needed to find Will. She had been searching for information on the Pearl's whereabouts for nearly two weeks. The former Commodore's past affection for her gave her little confidence of his help.
He pondered her silence and said, "Where is that Turner boy of yours?"
An idea, though as dark as the look in his eyes. She smiled coquettishly. "Gone."
"Is that so?" He took her answer in, appraising her like a cat on the prowl.
Another smile. She held his gaze. She felt like she was cornered in a game of chess, two turns from checkmate, two steps from the gallows.
"If you're a common whore now, I must inform you that your garments are unbecoming."
She felt like he struck her. Her temper rose, and her answer was clipped. "It is true that garments do not make a man."
He only laughed. "You always were a spirited wench." He finished his drink and stood. "I wouldn't pay you a shilling."
Although insulted, humiliated and infuriated, she caught her chance for assistance leaving. She stood as well, anger burning her blood. "I wouldn't accept any pay of yours, Commodore."
He narrowed his eyes, unconsciously thumbing the hilt of his sword. "Very well," he said. He walked away, uncaring if she followed him or not.
---
As soon as they reached an uninhabited alleyway, he grabbed her shoulder, eyes searching hers in a strip of moonlight, his voice low. "What is the meaning of this Elizabeth?"
She shrugged him off. "I do what I please."
Her words did little to pacify him. He tutted, stepping toward her. Her refusal to back down closed the distance between them, their bodies aligned.
He drew his hands from her waist down to her hips, groping the curves of her yielding body. "Is this what pleases you?"
When she didn't answer, he kissed her roughly, deeply, nipping her bottom lip, a hand holding the back of her neck, the other stroking her side. She found herself stepping backwards until there was the merciful wall, her mind blurring with thoughts and emotions.
No one ever kissed her quite like this. This was improper and rude, fierce and wrong in so many ways. This kiss was everything her Will was not. This kiss was laced with desperation and despair, punishment and cruelty. Her lips bruised beneath his, and she thought vaguely that all future kisses would pale compared to this. She held onto him, the wool of his jacket scratching her fingers.
The kiss ended too quickly. She gasped from the separation, the cool sea wind assaulting her overheated body.
He looked damningly unruffled, two steps away from her. Calm, collected, but his eyes burned with misery. She tasted a copper tang in her mouth.
"I loved you," he whispered.
She didn't understand him, didn't understand what he wanted with her. This was a man she never knew in Port Royal.
"I thought I loved you." He laughed, shaking his head. He ran a hand through his hair, a harsh smirk on his lips. His eyes scoured over her again.
She watched him warily, feeling feverish, feeling self-conscious in her breeches.
"And I thought I loved you," he repeated. He bowed extravagantly, mocking her. "Miss Elizabeth Swann, the Governor's daughter, may I have your hand in marriage?"
She tensed. "What are you talking about?"
"How many hearts have you broken today? Three, four? Or was it just mine for the second time?"
"Stop it."
He bowed again. "My apologies, dearest Elizabeth." Her name was enunciated sharply. "But I think you've found exactly where you belong." That cheerless smile again. "Welcome to Tortuga, home to the flotsam of civilization."
Damn him. She would find Will without his help. "I hate you James Norrington. You are no gentleman."
"You have never been a lady."
She slapped him so hard that the cracking sound echoed and her palm stung.
Silence, and then, "Thank you."
He looked like a beaten man as he rubbed his cheek. The brocade was filthy, the jacket caked in grime and sweat. She wouldn't have recognized him with that beard and that mane of tangled brown hair. She wouldn't have recognized the defeat in those green eyes.
But she would have recognized that voice anywhere.
"I wish you the very best of luck."
Then he turned and walked away.
---