Hate
By Emmy
Disclaimer: I don't own PotC. I just own this idea.
A/N: wow, its really odd what I think up in the shower…
Elizabeth was beyond anger. She was passed fury. She was passed wrath. Her resentment was so complete that she felt nothing at all. Her body was numb, but for a tingling desire to hurt someone that condensed in her temples. For all the rumors' charms, for all the stories she wished to have participated in, it seemed so unfair that the freedom she had gained could be stolen so suddenly.
They had locked her in his room. James Norrington, the man that held every girl in Port Royal's eye. She, his betrothed, locked in the very room he ate in, indeed, lying on the very same bed he slept in.
When they'd reached the Dauntless all with various jewels stashed in their pockets (Jack had insisted, though Elizabeth reserved the right to suspect that Will and herself had only received half of what was on the Captain's person. She also reserved the right to keep the two rings she'd found on the floor.) she'd seen for the first time the true horrors of battle. In the adrenaline rushes of her involvement the thought that people were dying hadn't really impacted her.
Not that time, though; the buzz of excitement in her head had long receded, leaving her in the dreary realization that everything hadn't worked out. The Black Pearl had left. She wasn't engaged to the man she loved. Her hero was destined to die at her fiancé's hand. There was no such thing as a happy ending.
The stories were all lies.
And what made things worse, was the fact that, instead of arriving and being engulfed in her father's flustered concern, she'd seen men with faces frozen, eyes widened against the unavoidable horror of death. Blood darkening their coats. Sons and fathers and husbands that would never return to their families.
She'd frozen then, and something from within her had ripped through her throat. She wanted nothing more then to rid herself of those faces but they had swollen, filling her vision with lives that she had indirectly taken for selfish lust. The guards that had been ordered to detain Jack had watched on in surprise as she fell apart in front of everyone.
And then two warm arms had circled her, fluttering briefly over her face to wipe away tears she hadn't realized existed. It wasn't her father, not the familiar scent of cigar smoke and wig powder, nor was it James, propriety that thinly veiled his warmth and vulnerability but was enough to restrain such an act. It wasn't William Turner, all warm brown eyes and smithy smoke. No, too much held them back, too many promises and laws.
It was a man that held no value in propriety. Deep brown eyes that were masked by kohl, dark hair that was so twisted and turned that a red bandana could barely restrain it, strangely symbolic of a certain personality. Salt and rum and sweat had stung at her nostrils. Nobody moved for an instant as the Captain cradled her head insisting that he'd never seen someone hit an undead pirate using a golden scepter with such relish before. In that moment she had hated him for being so infantile.
Surely he had realized that this was no time to talk about such things. She was no better then Barbossa, yet Sparrow was comforting her. She hated him for being innocent, she hated him because he didn't hate her. Yet the moment one of the men pulled them apart she realized that she hadn't hated him. Not ever.
So she lay on James' bed and hated herself. She'd given up pacing, the nauseous exhaustion had grown too much, yet she could not bring herself to sleep, the faces of the dead and undead still haunted her mind. She was certain that they would haunt her for a very long time yet.
The knock on the door surprised her enough to blearily focus on it, to see that it was Captain, no it was Commodore now, Norrington entering. She didn't think she'd given him permission to enter, but she supposed that it was possible that she'd done so subconsciously. He walked with the air of someone resigned to a painful future, the same slow pace as the criminals being marched to their hangings (a distorted image of Jack passed through her mind, frightening in its clarity, though Elizabeth supposed that her imagination was too tired to supply her with anything but the future) his wig had come askew and he removed it with an irritated sigh, running a frustrated hand through his hair.
He told that he was sorry. So sorry. He told her that he wished she didn't have to see what she'd seen, that she didn't deserve what had been no doubt imprinted in her mind.
She told him that she was sorry she'd left.
She hated the way his face had softened at her words. She hated the way he looked so much younger when he smiled that small grin that seemed to shine from somewhere within. She hated that a navy commodore could smile with an innocence that she'd lost the day she lost her mother. She hated that Will briefly left her mind under the weight of this man's presence.
He said that he forgave her, that she was safe and that was what mattered most.
It was quiet then, he shuffled the papers about at his desk for a little while before turning his sea green eyes on her. He whispered that he knew how to save Will, that he could pull the strings that needed to be pulled.
Something inside her twisted painfully, because she knew that James told her this because he knew that Will's safety was what mattered most to her. That this man that could have any woman he chose, wanted her enough to save the one she loved, knowing that he would gain nothing but her gratitude. She hated him for loving her that much. She hated him for making her feel so guilty.
Then he whispered that he couldn't save Jack. He whispered that he couldn't pull any strings, that the law was the law, that it could not be broken on his behalf.
Elizabeth hated the Law. She hated the Law because it could not be broken. She hated the Law because it said that the man that had saved all their lives would die because his crew weren't loyal enough to wait for him. She hated the Law because it would kill her hero.
And she hated James because he looked so vulnerable standing before her, asking for forgiveness, asking for the impossible, asking for something he couldn't bestow himself.
So she hugged him. Hugged him because he hated himself more then she ever could. Hugged him because she realized that she'd never hated him. Hugged him because she realized that sometimes you had to work for your happy endings. Hugged him because she believed him. Hugged him because she understood that she could never love him more then she did at that moment.
Hugged him because she loved Will enough to work for her happy ending, no matter the consequences.
Hugged him because the stories were all true.
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