fic?
My god. I actually wrote something.
This started as my inevitable PotC-Grace O'Malley fic, and it is, but it ends up in a slightly different place. Will/Elizabeth explicitly, with Jack in there if you choose to see it. Takes a minor detour from the coda scene. It has some death in it, it's only fair to say (but none of the aforementioned). Title from Death Cab for Cutie (I actually don't have this song; anybody want to share.
Where Soul Meets Body
Twilight waned and deepened, casting the great cabin of the Empress into shadow by only the faint lights of Shipwreck Cove, for the stars had yet to come out. When they did Will would marvel at the quality of their shine, so much farther away than the one to which he had become accustomed.
For the moment, he gazed out the fine stern windows without much consideration for the view. The ship was quite still, protected in the shelter of the harbor. Her crew had been ordered or badgered ashore - or what could be counted as such - when he had stepped aboard. Only Tai Huang kept a silent, faithful watch while his captain and king passed a few scant hours with her consort.
“What’s that?” Will asked, his cheek pressed to Elizabeth’s round belly.
She held out the battered little book for him to see, free hand combing through the tangles in his hair. Will squinted at the faded, spidery handwriting that crisscrossed the yellow page.
“Captain Teague gave it to me. It’s a history of Grace O’Malley, who led her kinsmen at sea nearly two hundred years ago. A pirate,” she added helpfully. “Of Queen Elizabeth’s age, like Drake and Raleigh.”
“Oh?” said Will, frowning over the arcane spelling. He laid his head back down for the baby to kick at his ear.
Elizabeth tucked the book carefully under her pillow. “She had several children, gave birth to one at sea.” Her voice was quieter, her palm warm on the nape of his neck. “And was up just hours later, sword in hand, defending her ship and her newborn son from Turkish pirates.”
“She sounds like a formidable sort,” said Will with a twist of his mouth. Elizabeth was silent. He caught her hand and kissed the tips of her fingers. Lifting his head to look up at her troubled expression, he added gently, “I hope you are not at sea when the time comes, Bess.”
Her face immediately went stormy and she crossed her arms over her bare breasts. “Is that an order, Will Turner - on my own ship, no less?”
“Of course not,” Will protested, mildly offended.
She was not mollified but only scowled deeper, refusing to meet his eyes. He thought he knew what was really bothering her, and wondered if Captain O’Malley had sailed with a husband.
“Elizabeth,” he said, shifting up in the bed and stretching his arm over her, “I want to be there, I swear it. But I’d rather you were safe on the island, with a midwife if one can be found.”
“I am safe with my men,” she snapped, jerking her chin when he tried to touch her cheek.
“From a sudden storm, or a dead calm sea with no water in the hold and no prey in sight? From English cannon or Spanish steel? From -” He stopped himself, knowing the sharpness of his tone was about to dissipate and leave his voice shaking. There was no good for either of them in conflating her fears with his own. More than ever, Will wished he could leave the dead behind when he came to her; it was far from the best omen for welcoming new life.
Brown eyes keen as ever, cutting him to the quick, she knew very well what he’d neglected to say. Drawing a deep breath, she eased onto her side and tucked her head beneath his chin.
“I shan’t be reckless with my life or the baby’s,” she murmured, her lips at the edge of the ugly scar. “I don’t want either of us to see you for that reason.”
The blunt acknowledgment of his greatest dread stung, though he didn’t think she meant it to. But it was as near a promise as he was likely to get, and there was no sense in wasting what little time they had in harsh words and harsher silences.
The ship and his duty called, shrill as gulls, in the blood that by rights should not flow through his veins. He took Elizabeth’s face in his hands and kissed her, ignoring all other things as best he could, for as long as he could.
Elizabeth woke with a start, unsure at first what had been responsible. The child slept on, in bed beside her until they could rig a cradle to replace the one that had been lost. Visitors had come and gone, pronounced them both as fit as could be expected or slunk back to Shipwreck to celebrate, respectively. The pain had grown no worse as she slumbered.
Straining her ears, she picked out the wayward sound - the heart in its locked chest beside the bunk, beats quickening even as she listened.
She was wide awake until the frantic tattoo began to ease. It was not relief so much as bone-deep exhaustion and the familiar slow, steady rhythm that lulled her back to sleep. And it was not Will’s arrival some time later than woke her again, but the baby’s drowsy fussing as he bent over them both.
“You came,” she said, her smile fading as she remembered. “To the Empress.”
Will was paler than at the moment of his death and his eyes looked nearly black in the lantern light, lifting from the small pink face to her own. “Yes. I thought - God, Elizabeth -”
“I know,” she said, voice unsteady, and tried to smile again. His shock made her own recent turmoil that much nearer. “But you see, here we are, safe and -”
She choked out a sob she hadn’t felt coming, powerless to stop the oncoming flood. Faced with his wife’s tears and his daughter’s wail, Will’s brow furrowed in a manner Elizabeth hoped to remember as comical. Sliding her hand under the baby’s fragile neck, she helped lift her into Will’s arms. Very carefully, holding the whimpering infant a bit too tightly, he slid into the generous captain’s bunk. She could see he was afraid to move too much, but he did pat her elbow as she cried into his sleeve.
“I turned back - too late,” she whispered hoarsely, clutching at his worn shirt. “We should have had two weeks more, but that’s no excuse. Jack was sailing from Shipwreck Cove to meet us, but a French corvette got there just ahead of him. It was foggy and the damned bloody bastard hit us with a broadside before we could see even see her.” The baby began to quieten, from the sound of Elizabeth’s voice or due to her interest in the finger Will poked tentatively at her clenched fist. “It was like she was hunting us - came up on our starboard side and raked us again, took out the mainmast. That was when the pains started. Finally the Pearl came out of the fog, we could see the flash of her guns, and she took out the corvette but there was - a few shots hit us below the waterline, and with the damage as it was, and Tai Haung -”
Her tears had slowed when she began the tale, but now she remembered his ashen face and bloody hands, and her eyes grew hot again. She had not risen from labor to fight like the Irish pirate queen; Tai Huang had been there to do it for her. But no more.
Will gained enough confidence to shift his grip and slip his arm over her shoulders. The baby’s feet wriggled in her face; she tucked the cloth around them.
“We got him onto the Pearl, but there was nothing…He must have died just before Grace was born.”
“No,” Will replied softly. “Just after. He heard her cry.”
“Oh.” She didn’t know why this was such a relief, since it did not make him any less dead, but it eased her heart nonetheless. She closed her eyes, still lightly holding Grace’s curled legs. “We were in the harbor by then, though it was too late for me to get off the ship. And then I knew you would be here, and I -”
“Wouldn’t be moved for all the world, I imagine,” said Will. His voice had turned as rough as hers, and his hand trembled faintly as he rubbed her arm. “Where is Jack now?”
“Downing a stiff drink or six like I told him to, if he’s any sense. He stayed for the birth without a drop of rum,” she said, and at last her lips curved more naturally. “Then he and Teague kept arguing that she should be called Grainne, the Irish form, but I like Grace.”
She gave Will a swift look, thinking suddenly that he might be jealous - when he’d said how much he wanted to be there, she knew it was the truth. His jaw was clenched as he lowered his face to the top of Grace’s soft head. He breathed in her sweet, milky scent, his breath stirring the sparse dark wisps of her hair; relaxed; and she knew it was all right, whatever else he felt.
“I like Grace, too.”
“When you miss your papa, Gracie, there’s a very simple trick t’ be done. Here.”
Grace swiped her eyes with her palms, ashamed that Uncle Jack had caught her weeping and put out that he had ignored her denials in order to ferret out the true reason. If he told Mama, she’d fret and frown and say that Papa had a very important job to do and that was why he couldn’t stay with them all the time, even though he wanted to. And Grace knew all that, that was just the trouble; she knew it but it didn’t stop her missing him.
But she didn’t think Uncle Jack would tell, he didn’t usually unless it was about something very bad that would frighten Mama and make her shout. Grace being sad wouldn’t make her shout, it would just make her sad too. And Uncle Jack didn’t like when Mama was sad, and he always said Papa wouldn’t either.
“Close your eyes,” Uncle Jack was saying. He knelt in front of her on the quarterdeck of the Pearl. The ship wasn’t her usual hiding place, because they all knew her nooks and crannies, but today there was hardly anybody onboard. She didn’t know how Uncle Jack had found her.
Gracie started to obey him, but then she looked up and saw with astonishment that he’d been crying too. She opened her mouth to ask him why, but he tutted and held out his hands like he would cover her eyes himself, so she shut them quick. He still brushed her eyelids lightly with his thumbs, curving his fingers behind her ears.
“Think about him,” he said, very low and intent. “Think how much he loves you and how much you want to see him - remember hard, Grace. Remember, and see.”
She folded her hands in her lap, thinking of them in Papa’s big hands and of his laugh and the way he smiled at Mama and winked at Uncle Jack and bowed his head before Uncle Teague. He was always so happy to see them and so sad to leave, though he didn’t want her to see that.
“He must love us very much to keep coming back,” she whispered, eyes still closed, “for it’s very far, isn’t it, the place where the dead go?”
“It’s not so far,” said Papa’s voice behind her.
Grace gasped, thinking that it had worked and she’d remembered him almost real, but when she opened her eyes and turned around he was truly there. He laughed just like she imagined when she leapt up and into his arms. He hugged her tight, saying, “There’s my Grace, there’s my girl,” and she buried her face in his neck.
“Far enough,” said Uncle Jack curtly. Grace twisted around, surprised to see his eyes narrowed and his mouth in a thin line. Uncle Jack never looked at Papa like that, like Papa ought to be afraid of him.
But Papa wasn’t afraid. He put Grace down, letting her hold to one hand while he reached the other out to Uncle Jack.
“Jack,” he said in a soft voice.
Uncle Jack knocked his hand away, his lip curled in a snarl. “Lizzie saw him t’ the end, why don’t you go coddle her?”
Grace wanted to ask what they were talking about, but Papa squeezed her hand and she knew he wanted her to be quiet. He reached for Uncle Jack again.
“There is no such thing as a goodbye come too late, Jack. Not this time.”
Uncle Jack got to his feet all on his own, fists balled like he wanted to hit Papa. Grace was thinking about what she’d do - she loved Uncle Jack, but if he hit Papa she might have to kick him in the shins - when his arm shot out, stiff but not shaped like a blow. Instead he gripped Papa’s forearm, so tight his knuckles turned white. Papa nodded and let go Grace’s hand to clasp Uncle Jack’s shoulder. They stood there for a moment, and then they turned together towards Shipwreck.
Grace didn’t quite know why, but it was Uncle Jack’s hand she took down the gangplank.
This started as my inevitable PotC-Grace O'Malley fic, and it is, but it ends up in a slightly different place. Will/Elizabeth explicitly, with Jack in there if you choose to see it. Takes a minor detour from the coda scene. It has some death in it, it's only fair to say (but none of the aforementioned). Title from Death Cab for Cutie (I actually don't have this song; anybody want to share.
Where Soul Meets Body
Twilight waned and deepened, casting the great cabin of the Empress into shadow by only the faint lights of Shipwreck Cove, for the stars had yet to come out. When they did Will would marvel at the quality of their shine, so much farther away than the one to which he had become accustomed.
For the moment, he gazed out the fine stern windows without much consideration for the view. The ship was quite still, protected in the shelter of the harbor. Her crew had been ordered or badgered ashore - or what could be counted as such - when he had stepped aboard. Only Tai Huang kept a silent, faithful watch while his captain and king passed a few scant hours with her consort.
“What’s that?” Will asked, his cheek pressed to Elizabeth’s round belly.
She held out the battered little book for him to see, free hand combing through the tangles in his hair. Will squinted at the faded, spidery handwriting that crisscrossed the yellow page.
“Captain Teague gave it to me. It’s a history of Grace O’Malley, who led her kinsmen at sea nearly two hundred years ago. A pirate,” she added helpfully. “Of Queen Elizabeth’s age, like Drake and Raleigh.”
“Oh?” said Will, frowning over the arcane spelling. He laid his head back down for the baby to kick at his ear.
Elizabeth tucked the book carefully under her pillow. “She had several children, gave birth to one at sea.” Her voice was quieter, her palm warm on the nape of his neck. “And was up just hours later, sword in hand, defending her ship and her newborn son from Turkish pirates.”
“She sounds like a formidable sort,” said Will with a twist of his mouth. Elizabeth was silent. He caught her hand and kissed the tips of her fingers. Lifting his head to look up at her troubled expression, he added gently, “I hope you are not at sea when the time comes, Bess.”
Her face immediately went stormy and she crossed her arms over her bare breasts. “Is that an order, Will Turner - on my own ship, no less?”
“Of course not,” Will protested, mildly offended.
She was not mollified but only scowled deeper, refusing to meet his eyes. He thought he knew what was really bothering her, and wondered if Captain O’Malley had sailed with a husband.
“Elizabeth,” he said, shifting up in the bed and stretching his arm over her, “I want to be there, I swear it. But I’d rather you were safe on the island, with a midwife if one can be found.”
“I am safe with my men,” she snapped, jerking her chin when he tried to touch her cheek.
“From a sudden storm, or a dead calm sea with no water in the hold and no prey in sight? From English cannon or Spanish steel? From -” He stopped himself, knowing the sharpness of his tone was about to dissipate and leave his voice shaking. There was no good for either of them in conflating her fears with his own. More than ever, Will wished he could leave the dead behind when he came to her; it was far from the best omen for welcoming new life.
Brown eyes keen as ever, cutting him to the quick, she knew very well what he’d neglected to say. Drawing a deep breath, she eased onto her side and tucked her head beneath his chin.
“I shan’t be reckless with my life or the baby’s,” she murmured, her lips at the edge of the ugly scar. “I don’t want either of us to see you for that reason.”
The blunt acknowledgment of his greatest dread stung, though he didn’t think she meant it to. But it was as near a promise as he was likely to get, and there was no sense in wasting what little time they had in harsh words and harsher silences.
The ship and his duty called, shrill as gulls, in the blood that by rights should not flow through his veins. He took Elizabeth’s face in his hands and kissed her, ignoring all other things as best he could, for as long as he could.
Elizabeth woke with a start, unsure at first what had been responsible. The child slept on, in bed beside her until they could rig a cradle to replace the one that had been lost. Visitors had come and gone, pronounced them both as fit as could be expected or slunk back to Shipwreck to celebrate, respectively. The pain had grown no worse as she slumbered.
Straining her ears, she picked out the wayward sound - the heart in its locked chest beside the bunk, beats quickening even as she listened.
She was wide awake until the frantic tattoo began to ease. It was not relief so much as bone-deep exhaustion and the familiar slow, steady rhythm that lulled her back to sleep. And it was not Will’s arrival some time later than woke her again, but the baby’s drowsy fussing as he bent over them both.
“You came,” she said, her smile fading as she remembered. “To the Empress.”
Will was paler than at the moment of his death and his eyes looked nearly black in the lantern light, lifting from the small pink face to her own. “Yes. I thought - God, Elizabeth -”
“I know,” she said, voice unsteady, and tried to smile again. His shock made her own recent turmoil that much nearer. “But you see, here we are, safe and -”
She choked out a sob she hadn’t felt coming, powerless to stop the oncoming flood. Faced with his wife’s tears and his daughter’s wail, Will’s brow furrowed in a manner Elizabeth hoped to remember as comical. Sliding her hand under the baby’s fragile neck, she helped lift her into Will’s arms. Very carefully, holding the whimpering infant a bit too tightly, he slid into the generous captain’s bunk. She could see he was afraid to move too much, but he did pat her elbow as she cried into his sleeve.
“I turned back - too late,” she whispered hoarsely, clutching at his worn shirt. “We should have had two weeks more, but that’s no excuse. Jack was sailing from Shipwreck Cove to meet us, but a French corvette got there just ahead of him. It was foggy and the damned bloody bastard hit us with a broadside before we could see even see her.” The baby began to quieten, from the sound of Elizabeth’s voice or due to her interest in the finger Will poked tentatively at her clenched fist. “It was like she was hunting us - came up on our starboard side and raked us again, took out the mainmast. That was when the pains started. Finally the Pearl came out of the fog, we could see the flash of her guns, and she took out the corvette but there was - a few shots hit us below the waterline, and with the damage as it was, and Tai Haung -”
Her tears had slowed when she began the tale, but now she remembered his ashen face and bloody hands, and her eyes grew hot again. She had not risen from labor to fight like the Irish pirate queen; Tai Huang had been there to do it for her. But no more.
Will gained enough confidence to shift his grip and slip his arm over her shoulders. The baby’s feet wriggled in her face; she tucked the cloth around them.
“We got him onto the Pearl, but there was nothing…He must have died just before Grace was born.”
“No,” Will replied softly. “Just after. He heard her cry.”
“Oh.” She didn’t know why this was such a relief, since it did not make him any less dead, but it eased her heart nonetheless. She closed her eyes, still lightly holding Grace’s curled legs. “We were in the harbor by then, though it was too late for me to get off the ship. And then I knew you would be here, and I -”
“Wouldn’t be moved for all the world, I imagine,” said Will. His voice had turned as rough as hers, and his hand trembled faintly as he rubbed her arm. “Where is Jack now?”
“Downing a stiff drink or six like I told him to, if he’s any sense. He stayed for the birth without a drop of rum,” she said, and at last her lips curved more naturally. “Then he and Teague kept arguing that she should be called Grainne, the Irish form, but I like Grace.”
She gave Will a swift look, thinking suddenly that he might be jealous - when he’d said how much he wanted to be there, she knew it was the truth. His jaw was clenched as he lowered his face to the top of Grace’s soft head. He breathed in her sweet, milky scent, his breath stirring the sparse dark wisps of her hair; relaxed; and she knew it was all right, whatever else he felt.
“I like Grace, too.”
“When you miss your papa, Gracie, there’s a very simple trick t’ be done. Here.”
Grace swiped her eyes with her palms, ashamed that Uncle Jack had caught her weeping and put out that he had ignored her denials in order to ferret out the true reason. If he told Mama, she’d fret and frown and say that Papa had a very important job to do and that was why he couldn’t stay with them all the time, even though he wanted to. And Grace knew all that, that was just the trouble; she knew it but it didn’t stop her missing him.
But she didn’t think Uncle Jack would tell, he didn’t usually unless it was about something very bad that would frighten Mama and make her shout. Grace being sad wouldn’t make her shout, it would just make her sad too. And Uncle Jack didn’t like when Mama was sad, and he always said Papa wouldn’t either.
“Close your eyes,” Uncle Jack was saying. He knelt in front of her on the quarterdeck of the Pearl. The ship wasn’t her usual hiding place, because they all knew her nooks and crannies, but today there was hardly anybody onboard. She didn’t know how Uncle Jack had found her.
Gracie started to obey him, but then she looked up and saw with astonishment that he’d been crying too. She opened her mouth to ask him why, but he tutted and held out his hands like he would cover her eyes himself, so she shut them quick. He still brushed her eyelids lightly with his thumbs, curving his fingers behind her ears.
“Think about him,” he said, very low and intent. “Think how much he loves you and how much you want to see him - remember hard, Grace. Remember, and see.”
She folded her hands in her lap, thinking of them in Papa’s big hands and of his laugh and the way he smiled at Mama and winked at Uncle Jack and bowed his head before Uncle Teague. He was always so happy to see them and so sad to leave, though he didn’t want her to see that.
“He must love us very much to keep coming back,” she whispered, eyes still closed, “for it’s very far, isn’t it, the place where the dead go?”
“It’s not so far,” said Papa’s voice behind her.
Grace gasped, thinking that it had worked and she’d remembered him almost real, but when she opened her eyes and turned around he was truly there. He laughed just like she imagined when she leapt up and into his arms. He hugged her tight, saying, “There’s my Grace, there’s my girl,” and she buried her face in his neck.
“Far enough,” said Uncle Jack curtly. Grace twisted around, surprised to see his eyes narrowed and his mouth in a thin line. Uncle Jack never looked at Papa like that, like Papa ought to be afraid of him.
But Papa wasn’t afraid. He put Grace down, letting her hold to one hand while he reached the other out to Uncle Jack.
“Jack,” he said in a soft voice.
Uncle Jack knocked his hand away, his lip curled in a snarl. “Lizzie saw him t’ the end, why don’t you go coddle her?”
Grace wanted to ask what they were talking about, but Papa squeezed her hand and she knew he wanted her to be quiet. He reached for Uncle Jack again.
“There is no such thing as a goodbye come too late, Jack. Not this time.”
Uncle Jack got to his feet all on his own, fists balled like he wanted to hit Papa. Grace was thinking about what she’d do - she loved Uncle Jack, but if he hit Papa she might have to kick him in the shins - when his arm shot out, stiff but not shaped like a blow. Instead he gripped Papa’s forearm, so tight his knuckles turned white. Papa nodded and let go Grace’s hand to clasp Uncle Jack’s shoulder. They stood there for a moment, and then they turned together towards Shipwreck.
Grace didn’t quite know why, but it was Uncle Jack’s hand she took down the gangplank.