I'm not dead!
This has been in the works for a while now and would have taken much longer had it not been for one of my best friends on this site. Her reminders made me get off my lazy behind and finish this, so this fic is for her (She knows who she is...):)
I hope you enjoy~
It might be hard to be lovers
But it's harder to be friends
Baby, pull down the covers
It's time you let me in
She felt like she was drowning. Caught in a current that offered no hope of escape.
Her eyes darted around the room, searching for something, anything to keep them from straying where they should not go.
Where they wanted to go.
They managed to scan the scantily clad room, straying to the floor, the ceiling, the paint-peeling walls that were in desperate need of repair, the meager dresser that sat in the far side, and finally down to where her hands lay neatly folded in her lap, as any proper lady should have them placed.
She bit back a bitter laugh. Was that who she was now?
Apparently, it was. According to her husband, she had 'reformed' wonderfully and now played the part of a proper English wife to perfection.
And how exactly did a proper English wife end up in a single room in a run-down inn with a man who was most certainly not her husband?
It wasn't that she was afraid; he was certainly no stranger, although after all this time, it seemed as though he was. He had known her in another time, when things hadn't seemed so blasted black and white.
Against her better judgment, she allowed her eyes to rise of their own accord and settle on the person she had been avoiding since the innkeeper's wife had shown them to the room.
He was leaning nonchalantly against the opposite wall, acting as if he did this every day. She knew he was avoiding her gaze as well, for the same reasons. What could they possibly have to say to each other? They had walked the same path once; it was not simply meant to be continued down together. He brought his crystal blue eyes to hers and she quickly looked away.
She would not-could not- let him think he still affected her. It had been, what, nearly half a decade since they had been alone together? There was too much history between them.
Too much to risk.
She snuck another glance at him, noting the way that his golden hair fell across his face. Though his expression was set in stone, lips stretched in a thin line, eyes staring out the window, she couldn't help but wonder if a tempest was raging within him.
Just as there was one raging within her.
A howl sounded in the distance, whether from the storm outside or an animal in the distance, she would never know. Whatever the source, the sound caused her to visibly flinch, an action that caused his eyes to fall upon her once more. For a moment it seemed as though he would speak, but the words never came, only the movement of his eyes over her. She quickly looked away and gave an inaudible sigh of relief when he did the same.
A small part of her longed to here his voice again, but the majority that was ruled by common sense of thankful for the silence. To hear him speak again, the sound of his deep timbre caressing her name, that was just not something she cared to endure.
Not something she even dared to think of.
Bringing her gaze back to the window, she let her eyes take in the iridescent water droplets that clung to the glass panes. To open the door of conversation would only complicate things further. There was enough history between them to last a lifetime. They didn't need anymore.
These were the last thoughts to enter her mind before the room went pitch black.
Maybe light a couple candles
And I'll just go ahead
And lock the door
Her startled gasp was the first thing he heard as a stray breeze from the window snuffed out the sole source of light in the room.
Always be prepared. That his been his motto since the first time he had set foot on a ship. It had served him well in the past; nothing seemed to take him by surprise anymore.
Until tonight.
It had been nigh to a year since their last encounter; what should have been their final encounter.
Left with a million possibilities and a broken heart, he had done his best to forget her existence. He lost himself in his work, exploring new lands and finding new treasures. He had heard bits and piece of her story on his impromptu trips to London for supplies. He had heard she had married; converted to the state religion, even taken a Christian name. People said she had come miles in her transformation, finally found her place, they said.
It was all he could do not to scoff at him. That wasn't who she was. Only he knew who she really was.
He was the one who knew her hopes, her dreams, her desires.
Or at least he had at one time.
As the light from the candle he had just lit filled the room in a soft glow, his eyes were once again drawn to her huddled frame. Sitting in an upright chair, her fine violet dress covering much more of her slender frame than he would ever think she could find comfortable. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, her eyes staring out into the black night. She played the façade of an English noblewoman with perfection, that was clear.
Was she really happy?
She had seemed so at first. He had come to the inn to avoid the storm, like so many others. Imagine his surprise when he saw her husband conversing with the innkeeper. His first instinct was to bolt. He knew his heart couldn't take the torture of seeing her again. How could he look at her as another man's wife? How could be stand to be so close to her and not have the right to touch her, to hold her. How could he bear to see her happy with him when she should have been his?
He couldn't.
But before he had the chance to leave, the innkeeper's wife had recognized him and immediately poured him a drink. Not wanting to offend an old friend, he had swallowed the lump in his throat, called himself a fool for his cowardice, and taken a seat at the bar.
That was when he had seen her.
Seated across the room, looking very much as she did now. Hands calmly folded in her lap, head bowed in quiet submission as she waited for her husband. He continued to watch her, perfectly content to admire from a distance, when he had seen her husband return to her side. They conversed for a few moments, she nodded slightly, he pressing a fleeting kiss to her cheek before replacing the hat on his head and proceeding to walk out of the inn.
His fist had clenched around his glass. How could her husband leave her alone in a place like this? While it was far from a rough house, no self-respecting man left his wife alone in a strange place. She was clearly uncomfortable. Her hands were bringing to fist nervously in the folds of her skirt and her gaze darted anxiously around the congested room.
It might have been foolish, but he couldn't help himself.
He had gone to her.
The expression on her face was one he would remember as long as he lived.
Apprehension and excitement. Joy and sorrow.
He had barely been able to greet her before this whole misunderstanding had occurred.
As he watched her now, he was tempted to call out to her. What hurt could a conversation do?
Before he could stop himself, his voice came. "Pocahontas."
Her head shot up and her words shook him to the core.
"That is not who I am."
If you'll just talk to me, baby
Till we ain't strangers anymore
Lay your hand on my pillow
I'll sit beside you on the bed
Don't you think it's time we said
Some things we haven't said
He had called her 'Pocahontas'
Another name from another time.
She knew her words had cut him; she could tell by the pained expression that crossed his face as she had spoken them. He turned away then and she did the same. Better to avoid confrontation than to risk stirring up things that shouldn't be bothered.
Why is that even a concern. You've claimed he means nothing to you. If that holds true, then why the fear of talking to him?
Promptly telling her conscience to leave well enough alone, she opened her mouth to take her own advice and speak to him, but his rich baritone cut her off.
"You don't have to do this, you know."
"Do what?"
He turned to face her then. "Pretend that this is who you are."
She immediately bristled. "I don't know what you mean."
A humorless laugh escaped his lips. "Like hell you don't. Come, Pocahontas. You can't fool me."
"My name is Rebecca."
'Is that what he calls you?" John turned to her then. "Tell me, Pocahontas do you always do as he tells you? Are you always such a perfect wife in every sense?"
She didn't look up, but could feel the weight of his eyes on her. "You are welcome to leave at any time."
He scoffed. "Have you seen it outside? I'm not going anywhere. It is no fault of mine that the innkeeper mistook me for your husband. You just as much opportunity as I to speak up, but you didn't."
"Why didn't you?" The question hung between them, a thousand inquires in one.
John swallowed hard and looked her straight in the eye. "Because I couldn't"
It ain't too late to get back to that place
Back to what we thought it was before
"I don't understand." She did, of course, but she found that playing the naive ingénue had its advantages.
He saw right through her; he always had been able too. "Of course you do. You're just afraid to admit it to yourself."
How did he do it? "I don't know what you mean."
He chuckled in disbelief. "Fine. If you choose not to see it, then it is no concern of mine. Go on. Pretend you're happy. Pretend you enjoy this ridiculous façade of propriety and nobility. I, for one, can't, but if you can…" he shrugged. "The more power to you."
He turned away form her then, and she felt her heart sink even deeper into her chest. The years had changed him. Gone was the warm, caring man she had fallen in love with all those years ago. In his place stood a cynical, sharp, stranger that questioned her every move.
Can you really blame him after the hurt you've caused him? He is this way because of you.
But he had a choice. A choice to accept what was and move on.
The truth came with aching clarity. You didn't give him a choice.
Before she could stop herself, she called out to him. "John"
Brilliant blue met midnight black and everything stood still.
Why don't you look at me
Till we ain't strangers anymore
Sometimes it's hard to love me
Sometimes it's hard to love you too
I know it's hard believing
That love can pull us through
All he could do was watch her.
She was standing now, coming toward him with one tentative step after another. He watched as she moved closer, until she was standing in front of his. He tired to ignore the spark of electric energy that shot through him at the contact of her hand on his or the way his heart spend up at her nervous smile.
She glanced down at their joined hands before looking up at him again. "I never meant to hurt you," she whispered.
His heart immediately sank and he tore his hand from her grasp. "The sympathy monologue," he stated as he shook his head. "Of course."
Rebecca, no Pocahontas-She would always be Pocahontas to him,-stared after him with an incredulous expression gracing her features. "How dare you."
"How dare I what?" He stormed towards her, his large frame towering over her. "State the truth? Tell me, how many other men have you said that too? Certainly I'm not the first. No doubt you would have told Kokoum the same thing had he lived."
Her expression clearly conveyed that she had forgotten that she had shared the information about her arranged marriage to him. Her eyes widened, then narrowed. "What give you the right to speak to me like this?"
"I have every right." He advanced on her, slightly hurt when she flinched as he came closer. "I refuse to stand her and be patronized by you, Pocahontas. I would have given my life for you, you know that." He stopped, suddenly tired and sighed. "But that wasn't enough for you, was it?"
Tears were beginning to form in her eyes. "John, don't be like this, please."
He ignored her. "Act like what? Like I'm fine and dandy? Like nothing ever happened between us? I'm sorry, Pocahontas. I can't do that."
She reached out to him again. "John…"
He shook his head again. "What did happen to us?" He turned to face her once more. "Why did we fall apart?"
"It just wasn't meant to be…"
"Do you honestly believe that?" he came to her then and grasped her by the shoulder. "Can you honestly stand there and tell me that we were not meant to be together? After everything we've been through, everything that's happened. After all the steps we've taken to stay apart and we end up here together like this. Can you honestly tell me that you still believe that we were not meant to walk the same path?"
The use of her words against her clearly unnerved her. "I don't know…"
"Yes you do." His eyes burned into hers. "Tell me, Pocahontas. Why did you give up on us so easily."
He could see the battle raging in her eyes whether to confide in him or not. The battle to open herself up to him, the man she had worked so hard to forget. Finally, through a chocked out sob, the answer came. "I was afraid."
It would be so easy
To live your life
With one foot out the door
He had been right all along.
John sighed as he dropped his hands from her shoulders. "Just as I thought."
Pocahontas watched him, tears still staining her copper cheeks. ""What is that supposed to mean?"
Another strained laugh. "You were afraid of what might happen if you dared to love me again. That's the truth isn't it?" When she didn't answer, he continued. "I'm disappointed in you, Pocahontas. I thought you were stronger than that."
"And what if I lost you again? I knew I wouldn't have been able to bear that."
"So the only other solution was to break my heart by publicly crushing the dream that we had made together?"
"That was your dream. Not mine."
"But you know I would have given it up in a second had you asked."
Her gaze snapped to his. "I never would have asked that of you."
He came to her then, enveloping her in his arms before she had the chance to protest. "Oh, Pocahontas, can't you see?" he rasped into her hair. "A life with you would have outweighed any dream of ships or treasure ever conjured."
Just hold me, baby
Till we ain't strangers anymore
It's hard to find forgiveness
When we just turn out the lights
She was lost in his arms.
Any coherent thought or conscience notion that stood a chance at succession was lost in the pure joy of being in his embrace again. She clung to him as if he were a final lifeline, her tears running down her face, onto his skin through the collar of his shirt. Everything within her screamed that this was right, that this was how it should have been.
How it should always be.
But how could they move forward from here? Was it even possible? She was a married woman, promised and bound to another before God and man. He was the one she had loved a lifetime ago; the one she never stopped loving. She had shut him out of her life; out of her heart with no intent to ever go back. She had gone lengths to forget about him, only to find herself thinking of him nearly every waking moment.
She pulled back to look into his eyes, no longer hard and uncaring, but alive with passion just waiting to be released.
How could he ever forgive her for what she had done to him?
It's hard to say you're sorry
When you can't tell wrong from right
She felt like heaven in his arms.
He knew this was wrong. She wasn't his to hold or his to love.
Oh, how he wished she could be.
He had long forgiven her for hurting him as she did. She had just done what she felt was right, a moment of weakness; he had experienced many of them himself.
The question was, where did they go from here?
It would be so easy
To spend your whole damn life
Just keeping score .
It was with a sigh that he released her.
True he had forgiven her, but the hurt was still there.
"John?" She called out to him. "I meant what I said before. I never meant to hurt you."
He said nothing, only placed a finger against her lips. "I don't want your apologies, Pocahontas. I just want the truth."
"The truth?" She narrowed her eyes.
He nodded. "A simple question. Don't try to fluff it off or make excuses. I just want a straight answer. Can you do that for me?"
She sighed, but nodded. "I promise."
John released a long breath and met her gaze. Bracing himself for her answer, he asked the question that had been looming over them all night. "Do you still love me?"
So let's get down to it, baby
There ain't no need to lie
He could see her attempting to formulate a response. "Don't think. Answer the question, Pocahontas. Tell me honestly."
Her eyes moved to the floor, but she answered. "I can't"
"That's not an answer."
She looked at him once more. "It is the only answer I can give to you."
"Why?"
'Because I am not the person I once was. No matter how much I desire to be."
Tell me who you think you see
When you look into my eyes
He studied her momentarily. "I don't believe you."
She shrugged, causing her dress to fall around her shoulders. "Believe what you like. I've changed, as have you. There is nothing that can be done about that."
"I don't believe you've changed as much as you would like to think." His words were laced with amusement.
Another shrug. "How not? Too much time has past, John. We can never be what we once were."
"I beg to differ."
Infuriating man! "Then do so, but do no waste you're time trying to tell me otherwise."
"Alright, I won't tell you." And then he kissed her.
Let's put our two hearts back together
The drowned feeling had returned, but not in a way that was horrific. In fact, she welcomed it. Suddenly she was alive again, a far cry from the solemn woman who had sat in the corner earlier in the evening.
In John's arms, the years seemed to melt away and she was once again in the forest on that fateful night. The night she had given her heart away and never fully got it back.
Her mind screamed at her to pull away, it reminded her that she belonged to another who was currently away looking for a business contact, seeing fit to leave her here alone and afraid.
Until she had seen him again
The other part of her immediately silenced the rational and she tightened her arms around the captain's neck. His mouth had moved from her lips to press kisses to her cheeks, her nose, her forehead.
Reason seemed to grasp him and he finally pulled away. "Tell me you didn't feel anything."
And leave the broken pieces on the floor
She said nothing, only pulled his head down to kiss him again, more urgently this time. The unspoken question hung between them, both too afraid to ask, yet eager to answer.
Before they knew what was happening, they were as close as they could be save for their clothing. The buttons on the back of her gown seemed to loosed of their own accord, causing the neckline to fall further down, allowing him easy access her shoulder and collarbone. His shirt was the first to hit the floor and she took the full opportunity to feel him skin on skin.
Everything seemed to be happening within a haze and suddenly there were no thoughts, simply emotions
Warmth, anger, hurt, joy, desire, passion, fire. So much fire.
Later, they collapsed together, completely spent and utterly happy. As John pulled her into the curve of his body, she couldn't help but smile. Neither knew what the morning would bring. Neither particularly cared. But in that moment, as Pocahontas snuggled down within his arms, as John carelessly whispered, "I love you", as they came together to steal a final kiss before closing their eyes, they knew.
Nothing would ever be the same.
Make love with me, baby
Till we ain't strangers anymore