Setting: Post-DMC. It's A/U, and was meant to take place during AWE. Written before the movie was released.
Author's Note: Reviews are loved!
Against the Cold
"Are you sorry?"
The question catches her off guard, along with his sudden presence at her side. She knows without looking that his eyes are cold and emotionless.
"Yes," she whispers, and keeps her own eyes firmly on the ocean, over the rail, watching pieces of nearby glaciers drift past.
"For what?"
She answers him with a hopeless sigh and refuses to be a willing participant in his manipulation. At least for the moment. Five words spoken to her in half a minute is a record, and she won't let him walk away in the end. He doesn't seem inclined to let it go this time, either.
"For what?" he presses again. "Killing him? Betraying me? Being caught?"
His tone frightens her; harsh, vicious, unforgiving…vulnerable. She knows what she's done to him, what witnessing that kiss has done to him. He's incapable of trust now.
"Elizabeth!"
She winces, half-expecting a slap to go along with his shout, even though he's never struck her before. She isn't surprised to find his hand raised from the corner of her eye, but he only slams his fist on the rail with a disgusted growl. She supposes it was meant to be intimidating, but…it's Will, and she isn't afraid.
She wants to apologize again, she's become quite proficient at it over the past fortnight, but the words refuse to come. They stand in silence, until at last Will moves from her line of sight.
His leather coat drops around her shoulders, and she glances back suspiciously.
"Against the cold," he breathes in her ear, echoing Tia Dalma, and for an instant his hands fall to rest on her shoulders and his lips linger at her neck. She longs to lean into him, to have his mouth on her skin instead of a half-inch away. But he's only toying with her emotions, behaving so seductively that he knows it's a punishment he's angry with her; he's done it before this.
"Will," she whispers at last, pleading, her breath rising in a cloud and warming her lips.
"Turner!"
She curses Barbossa under her breath as Will straightens up, his hands still gripping her shoulders.
"It's my watch," he tells her, even though they both already knew. She waits for the warmth of his hands to leave, but instead he gives her shoulders a gentle squeeze and it's so uncharacteristic of this Will to be tender that she spins to face him.
"Go inside, Elizabeth," he mumbles, and draws the coat tighter around her. "I'll find you."
She catches his eye and almost argues with him, almost tells him that anything they need to say to each other can be said right now, but he's first mate and she knows he meant it as an order.
"Thank you," she tells him, still in a whisper, and attempts a smile. He does as well, but it's been so long that both efforts fall a little short. Instead he raises a hand and rakes through her hair, trailing his fingers down her cheek and sending a shiver to course through her.
He leaves, and she turns back to the rail to watch the ocean, his touch still lingering against her cold skin.
"I'm sorry," she calls down to the water, perfectly capable of delivering the apology now that he's gone. She feels his eyes watching, and glances over her shoulder toward the helm; he's secured another coat, this one a captain's jacket, black with silver buttons down the front and at the cuffs. He's watching, and she can tell that she's confused him. After a moment he shakes his head, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth, and takes the wheel from Barbossa for his own four-hour shift at the helm.
Elizabeth leans against the rail to wait, because Will shouldn't have to find her. He has her, just as he always has.
Fin