Author's note: This was written in response to a challenge and it is my first response to such a thing. I write a good deal of original fiction, but I'm mostly doing this as a sort of break from the usual and a kind of short writing exercise. All feedback will be greatly appreciated. Thanks in advance.
- L.Freyja
Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean is a Disney franchise, of which I am completely uninvolved. All characters contained herein do not belong to me but to the those who first gave them life.
Words
by L. Freyja
This wasn't happening. It couldn't. This was all unreal. Just a dream. She was going to wake up in Port Royal, curled up in her favorite chair with a book in her lap. Her maid would knock softly on her bedroom door and tell her Will was waiting for her in the foyer and that her father was keeping him company. She'd blink and rub the sleep from her eyes, and then frantically search for a dressing gown to put on over her nightdress before rushing down the stairs to greet the two most important men in her life.
A loud creak of water-soaked wood brought her back to reality. This was no dream. Her father was dead and she was shaking in Will's arms. She was shaking, but no tears ran down her face. Wasn't that odd? Her father was dead and she couldn't cry.
"Elizabeth?" whispered Will. His breath was warm on her neck and she buried her face deeper into his chest. Warmth. That's what she wanted.
Will tightened his hold on her and glanced up at the rest of the crew. Most were politely looking anywhere but at the young couple, but they still didn't have any real privacy. And, at the moment, privacy was what Elizabeth needed. He lowered his head to hers once more and murmured a few words of comfort as he began to shuffle towards the stairs, Elizabeth ensconced in his arms like some precious piece of a pirate's hoard.
It took little effort to get Elizabeth to move with him and go below deck. The hardest part was trying to keep his attentions from being too divided as he guided them around obstacles and quelled his own fears that she might rashly tear herself from his arms and dive overboard. Will reached the top of the stairs leading below the deck and took one of her small hands, wondering at how rough her fingers had become. When did his bright, life-loving Elizabeth acquire such hands?
Will went down ahead of her, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the light thrown out by the single dim lantern. Shadows danced across the floor and walls as the lantern swayed with the ship's movements; he took extra care in stepping through the poorly-lit area and looked for a place to sit down. He strode purposefully towards a cluster of lashed barrels and boxes on the far side of the hold. Elizabeth, hand still in his, followed silently.
The smell of salt and unwashed bodies permeated this quiet little corner, but that was no longer something new to them and Will supposed this spot was just as good as any. He wiped a hand across the top of a box, futilely trying to clear off any grime before Elizabeth sat down. She was on the box moments after his hand was gone and he knelt before her, one hand on her knees and the other on her shoulder.
Silence reigned for a while. Elizabeth gazed down at the floor next to Will. He watched her face and waited for her to speak first. After what seemed an eternity, she sighed and began to cry. Not like she had on the deck. No. This time tears began to fall and she lifted her hands to her face, as if to hide behind them.
"Why this all happen?"
Her muffled voice sounded weak and Will leaned closer. "It was Beckett's doing. There's nothing you could have done," he said. He felt her stiffen beneath his hands and rocked back on his heels. Elizabeth moved forward with surprising speed and gripped his shirt in her fists. Alarmed at the fierce burning in her eyes, Will reached up and covered her hands with his own.
"I should have been there! I had him at gunpoint, once. I should have pulled the trigger then. I should have killed that little bastard when I had the chance!" she hissed.
"You mean Beckett?"
"I'm going to find him," she said. "And I'm going to kill him."
"No, you're not. Elizabeth, you're not going to kill a man for revenge."
The slap didn't shock Will as much as it should have. He reached for her raised hand a moment after it left his stinging cheek. "Who are you to tell me what I will and won't do?" she demanded.
Will let go of her and stood up. "I am a man who cares for you. A man who won't let you make that kind of mistake. Killing Beckett may make you feel better for a short while, but it won't bring your father back. And what will you be left with then? Another death on your hands. Only this one more cold-blooded than the last."
"I can live with that."
"Can you?" He paced for a few moments, then stopped and looked her in the eye. Her tears had cut paths down her grimy cheeks and her hair was in tangles. She looked like a pirate now more than ever, despite her sorrow, and Will knew he must look much the same. "I don't think you can. Beckett will die. I promise. But I will not let you further bloody your own hands."
Elizabeth scowled and looked away as a chill ran down her spine. She was angry. She was angry at Beckett. She was angry at Jack and Will. She was angry at herself. But most importantly, she had already begun to miss her father. Her frown faded and she began to cry once more.
Her body trembled and Will knelt down once more to comfort her. He swallowed hard and cupped her face with one hand. "Elizabeth, it's-"
Elizabeth surged forward and pressed her lips to his, cutting him off. He could feel her frustration in that kiss as she urged his mouth open. His eyes widened in surprise, but she didn't allow him to protest. Then again, he didn't want to protest. She tasted like saltwater and rum and vanilla and that undefinable taste that was just Elizabeth. She reached for him, desperately, and pulled him against her as she stood. Her small hands roamed his chest and moved around to his back. Reflexively, Will wrapped one arm around her waist and entangled his free hand in her hair and cradled the back of her head. She leaned into him and gasped for breath.
"Will..."
This harsh utterance from her lips sent him into a haze. This wasn't right. She was grieving. But, mused a devious voice, it felt right. If something felt so right, it couldn't be wrong. Right?
Will allowed Elizabeth to back him up against a supporting beam. His mouth left hers, traveled along her sharp jawline to her neck. This, at least, was familiar territory for them. So unlike the silence that had stretched between them for so long. That had been unfamiliar and unwelcome. But this... This was like those stolen moments in the garden, when Elizabeth would greet him with a kiss and he would look about when they parted, sure that they had been caught. This was like the nights when she would sneak down to the smithy to visit him, stealing in and out like a shadowless ghost. They would explore one another- coming close to but never quite crossing that invisible line. This was just like the garden and those warm nights.
Except it wasn't. There was something wrong. Elizabeth's cheeks weren't supposed to taste like tears and the floor wasn't supposed to move so much beneath their feet.
"Elizabeth."
"Shh."
Elizabeth's hands had found their way under his shirt and her nails were tracing delicate lines in his hot skin. Will forced himself to quell the stirring inside him.
"Elizabeth, we can't-" He moaned softly into her mouth as he felt her small chest press against his and one of her hands began to travel up his thigh. "Eliz- ah!"
"Shut up," she murmured as she touched him and her free hand began to fumble with his belt.
The feel of cold air on his skin shocked him back to reality. He reached up and gripped her upper arms. Gently, he pushed her back. "Elizabeth, you're hurting right now. This isn't what you want. It's not what you need."
Elizabeth blinked. The lust began to fade from her eyes and Will saw the pain in them. "Will..."
And the dam broke. She was crying for real now. She had been crying for herself before. Now she was crying for her father, for her lost wedding, all of the things that should have been but were now turned upside down. The events of the past weeks surfaced and poured out of her.
Will wrapped his protective arms against her and let her cry against him. "Shh, now." He pressed a kiss into her hair and rocked her back and forth with the sway of the ship. "It's going to be okay, Elizabeth."
"Thank you."
He wasn't sure he had heard it, but that didn't matter. "It's going to be okay."
"Will. Stay with me?"
Will smiled at the question. At any other time, that would have been a command. But that didn't matter, either. Words weren't important. What was important was how they were said and what was left unsaid.
"I'll stay with you," he said. "I will always stay with you."