Black Polished Chrome

Author: boot-stealer

Summary: Jack takes Will out clubbing in London. Will's night is turned upside down by substances, and righted again by the company of a woman. AU Modern Willabeth

Disclaimer: By my knowledge, none of the clubs actually exist in London. I do not own Jack, Will, or Elizabeth, but I do own this plot and I own any new characters that may grace the story.


It was another one of those days.

One of those days where you do absolutely nothing and it makes you more restless than you would have been if you were busy.

One of those days in which I would end up drinking the night away.

Weatherby Swann was at a meeting.

And when he returned home, he would bring with him some roses, or a flower, or something nice and shiny, maybe a diamond necklace. It signified his love for his daughter. Me.

His love, or maybe his blindness.

Yes, he was blind. Not in the literal sense, of course. He could see just fine. Except when it came to his one and only daughter, his angel. Yes, I was my father's angel. I am my father's angel.

Yet, almost every night, my twenty-four year old self disappeared into London for a good time. A good time my father never knew about. If he did know, he turned a blind eye, and went on seeing me as his innocent baby girl.

I hadn't moved from this spot all day, the wind blowing against my skin through the window, the soft sound of the leaves in the tree swishing against each other with every gust.

Daddy doesn't care. He loves me. He always says I'm his princess, his angel that he was blessed with when mum passed away.

But he couldn't possibly begin to know the truth. He didn't care about the truth, because for as long as I lived, he would pay my way through life, get me out of trouble, and things would go back to normal. I'm his angel. Prison time, drug use, alcoholism…none of it deters from the vision he has of Daddy's little girl.

Of course, I've never made it to prison, nor can I really be deemed an alcoholic. I'm far too controlling to become dependent on something like fucking alcohol.

This whole vision of Daddy's little girl…I never wanted this vision. I am Daddy's little girl, but I'm not so innocent anymore. I have no reason to be.

I lay on the window seat with the window wide open out into the garden of my father's large English estate. It wasn't far out of the way to go into London, for I usually used his driver. And the drive into the city where Mods was took maybe fifteen minutes, depending on traffic.

The long, mesh curtain blew with the breeze and fluttered down around my face, shrouding me in its whiteness. I breathed in and shut my eyes, suddenly feeling the need to have a cigarette. Or something.

I do nothing to move the curtain from my face, because it reminds me of those nights out with Bill, and Mary, and Gertie, Steve, Jackie.

It reminds me of the distorted view of a dark room, my mind and vision clouded by the numerous hits I took of that powerful shit Robbie found.

The curtain is tickling my bare belly but I like it. I want my mother here. I want her to hit Daddy across the face. I want her to curse at him and put him down. I want her to yell that I'm not an angel, that I'm a spoiled twenty-four year old brat who needs a hit across the mouth.

And I want Daddy to realize that Mum is gone. That I'm gone. But he won't. Because that curtain has long since fluttered over his own eyes, but unlike me, he can no longer push it away from his face and back to the window. He will forever be shrouded in blindness.

Because I am his princess, his gem, his beautiful angel.

What I wouldn't give for a good joint right now. Not only because being stoned blocked the crap out of my life, but because I could picture the burning, red hot end of the joint "accidentally" touching the curtain. It would catch the white material on fire, enshrouding me in flames. I would be too slow to move, and my father would come in to find his angel, his innocent daughter, burned from the waist up. Dead.

I stood from where I was perched, brushing the stupid curtain from my face. Wow, I'm such an emo today.

In reality, I hated thinking suicidal thoughts about death, burning…dying…

Because I loved the way I could give my father one look and have him chalking up whatever amount of money I wanted. I loved that I went to four years of Uni, studied English, and did nothing with it. And that I was able to do that.

But then I would get those moments where I would start to think about my life. Like now, for instance. I pushed my way into my large room, my toes curling against the tan carpet beneath them, and pulled my hair up, letting a few wisps of hair fall from the loose bun.

I lightly applied my make up.

Where to tonight?

All I knew was that I would end up at Mods. Because it was where I always ended up. When everywhere else failed, there was always some bloke to lose myself in, some drink
I could pour down my throat.

Freedom is mine and I know how I feel.

And God, I'm feeling good, to quote Nina Simone.

I pull my little black cocktail dress on, in the complete backwards order, knowing I risked getting make-up on it, or perhaps mussing my hair. But I don't give a shit as I admire myself in the little thing.

Whatever.

I spray myself with some nice rose-smelling perfume, letting it sink into my skin. Is this really what I want to do tonight? Go out and get high, drink martinis, watch people amble about who think they live in the 1960s?

What else could I do?

Pulling on my black three inch heels, I clicked out of the hallway, my purse in hand.

"Dimitri! The car!" I called down the stairs as I carefully made my way down the spiral staircase. A good-looking middle aged man came from the kitchen.

"Miss Swann." He nodded at me with a smile, leading me out to his limousine. "Where are we going tonight, then?"

"Oh, I don't know yet. Out somewhere."

He sighed and got in the car, pulling out of the roundabout driveway and moving towards London, where I would find what I needed.

I always did.


"Take a hit, babe."

I shook my head. "I've had enough, Rob."

Ignoring me, he went back to his joint.

Yeah, I ended up at Mods, as I predicted. And more than likely, I would end up in Rob's bed tonight. His little shit hole apartment. He seemed awfully possessive of me tonight, but maybe I could get him wasted and stoned enough that he would pass out. And then I could sneak off into the night.

I suddenly felt the desire to return home. To my father.

To where I could be myself, curl up next to the only real man in my life as he read his newspaper, his glasses pushed up to the bridge of his nose. And I would put my head on his shoulder and remember a time when my mother would be there with us.

I peered up and saw a dark-haired man grinning lopsidedly at me as he sat in one of the bean bags. He held Robbie's joint in his hand and took a deep breath, setting it to his lips and letting the purple smoke leak out of his lips. It was kind of sexy in that moment, his strangely crooked way of sitting and the odd way he represented himself.

Major macho-man complex. That was for sure.

"Will!" He shot up from his chair clumsily and almost tipped over, stumbling to some guy who had seemingly materialized from behind the smoke. I stopped breathing. God, this guy had never come to Mods before. That was for damn sure.

I certainly would have noticed, but in my hazy state of mind, I wasn't too positive. I took a sip from my martini, swishing it around, before I looked up to find the strange dark haired guy pulled his hot friend closer.

I got a good look at him now as he towered over me. Robbie squeezed my shoulder before standing. With his stupid white ruffled shirt. As if he were Davey Jones from the Monkees or something. Where are your raiders, Paul Revere? Jerk.

I saw the two men arguing, the joint moving back and forth between them. Obviously, hot new guy didn't want the damn thing and his friend couldn't accept it. Typical.

"Yeah, mate. Hit it!" The odd-ball said, pushing it back to his friend.

"No!"

Robbie became impatient. "Just do it! Can't hurt you."

Those stupid videos in grade school weren't lying about peer pressure. It only took a few more coaxing words, before he put it to his lips and breathed in, immediately causing him to cough violently, shoving the joint back at his friend. A few of the others laughed at the poor bloke, but I found the situation pretty anti-amusing.

Why the fuck did his friend bring him to a place like this?

He obviously didn't belong. I looked at Robbie who was still laughing. "Newbie?"

The sexy square kind of glared at Robbie, who had plopped down beside me again, his arm around my shoulders. But then his gaze diverted, as if he hadn't noticed me before. And his eyes met mine. I swear, my martini almost slid from my fingers to the floor.

His eyes were a deep brown. He was adorable, the way he swallowed almost audibly over the sexy voice of Jim Morrison.

He suddenly looked away.

"I don' know 'im," his sleazy friend said quickly. Yeah, mate, you a newbie?"

"Screw you," Gorgeous Guy said. And well deserved, Mr. Sexy! I took another sip from my martini and watched as he smirked in amusement. A sense of humor…that's very interesting. Maybe he wasn't so much of a square.

My heart rose into my throat as I watched him turn around. No, please stay. I wanted to stare some more into those eyes, or maybe touch him. Not anywhere in particular. I wondered what he had that he could offer a woman besides eye candy. I let him know with one of my seductive maybe-later-we-can-go-to-bed looks.

He missed it. Stupid Robbie, pulling him back to argue. If the guy doesn't want more than one hit, let him be. He obviously didn't really appreciate the first one. Move on, don't force your shit on him. Even though it was pretty good shit.

I watched the Gorgeous Guy, who mulled it over in his head. I recognized that look. It was the "Fuck it, I've got nothing to lose" look. I knew the look well. Seen most often in the mirror.

He stared at me again and I bravely met his beautiful eyes. They were like pools of deepness or something poetic. Fuck my English major at uni. He would not look away, and while I would call anyone else an absolute creeper for it, I felt comforted. If some terrorist burst into the club right now, he would protect me and, I don't know, jump in front of a bullet or something for me. That's what his eyes were saying.

Maybe I had too many hits already.

I finally had to look away. I felt myself blushing. God, he really was hot.

When I looked back to him, he brought the joint back to his lips again, this time savoring the contents before pushing the smoke from his mouth smoothly. There it is. As he passed the cig back to his mate, the guy pushed a drink into his hand.

Uh oh.

He threw the shit-colored drink down his throat without another thought and was out. Coughing and sputtering, he dropped the cheap plastic glass to the floor and held his throat. I set my martini aside and bounded up, afraid his friend may have inadvertently poisoned him.

But he stood upright again.

Oh, maybe it was just a bit too strong. I felt sheepish as Robbie looked at me strangely. I swallowed hard and looked back to Beautiful Eyed Sexy Man. His eyes weren't quite as deep and mesmerizing. In fact, they were blinking wildly. And he was swaying dangerously.

"Shit!" I cursed, preparing my slightly inebriated self to help him.

Looking to my side, I saw that both Robbie and Odd-ball had disappeared. Oh, great. Way to ditch your mate, jerk off.

When I looked back, my new charge was gone. I paused, cocking my head in confusion. Where the hell did he off to?

But my question was answered when I looked down, for he was sprawled haphazardly on the ground beneath my cute black heels. I rolled my eyes and bent down. Great. This was going to be a shit long night for this kid.


Damn fucking taxi!!

I watched as it sped away, thanking God I held my priceless purse in my grasp. Stupid prick couldn't wait five seconds for me to give Will his coat back? Really? Shit.

I turned back to see Will staring after the taxi with wide eyes. "God, I'm so sorry! I can…" His flustered self was suddenly incredibly alluring. And I found myself moving closer. The sudden urge to touch him again was strong. "I can call you a—" He swallowed. "…another one. A taxi, that is."

I didn't want another taxi. I wanted him to bring me up to his apartment, and ultimately, his bed.

"Will, I may be under the influence, but would you trust me if I said it has nothing to do with my desire to follow you up to your apartment?"

His eyes widened almost like little explosives were put in them and the moment I said that, they went off. His lips fluttered open and closed, as if he wanted to say something but couldn't. And then he stopped. "I trust you," he breathed to me.

Oh, yes.

"Then open your damn door."

He brought me inside, being absolutely adorable in his flustered state. He wasn't the first slightly nervous bloke I'd gone home with, but he was absolutely the best looking. And the sweetest.

As I went in, I noticed a picture of a man and child. I figured Will was the child, the man his father, for they were almost identical. It was a cute little picture. I studied it closer and thought back to the cab. How embarrassing was I!

But he held me. I didn't understand why I spewed myself to him, or why he didn't dive out of the cab to get away from my crazy arse. I had clung to him, to feel him against me, yes, but also to feel protected. I did feel protected when he held me.

But I was still confused. I didn't spew like that to my own father, let alone some random sweet guy I was sharing a taxi cab with. What the hell?

More than that, I was confused at his reception. He talked to me, and what he said made so much sense. He was so nerdy, though. He liked a book more than a party. So that's why he didn't have girls hanging all over him. He sat in his apartment and probably read on Friday nights. Something I would never do, despite the fact that I loved a good book.

For some reason (I felt this way along the cab ride, but I felt it even more so now, staring at his father clutching his hand in the picture), I found his innocent nature, his confidence in himself, and his sweet outlook on life wholly endearing. I saw the boy in the picture in his eyes when I looked there, that wide grin and the dimples. I saw him in his father.

"Is this your father?" I don't know why I asked, because I knew it had to be his father. Maybe I just wanted to hear Will answer. I wanted to hear the emotion in his voice when he answered. "You're adorable," I said suddenly, before he could answer. I threw a look back at him, an eyebrow raised. "Your dad still live here?"

His smile twitched slightly, but his eyes still held their brightness. "No, he passed away awhile ago."

Oh shit.

I looked down, embarrassed, and oddly enough, incredibly sad. The man in the fishing boots didn't exist any longer. His bright smile that mirrored Will's own was gone, lasting only in this picture. And I felt it tugging at my heart strings. "I'm so sorry," I whispered.

"Don't be. I'm alright."

I turned, finding him standing right behind me. His hand was on my shoulder, his fingers grazing over the bare skin of my shoulder. And I couldn't stand it anymore. I needed him.

Almost as if in a trance, he set his hand to my cheek and leant down to kiss me. His lips almost seemed as if they were worshipping mine, moving slowly and reverently. He seemed timid and it slightly annoyed me. So I pulled him closer and kissed him harder.

His hands braced me at my waist and pushed me backwards into the wall. I made contact with a gasp and fought the urge to grin like a Cheshire cat. This was more like it.

I let out a small whimper as he attacked me with his soft lips. Whimper? Did he seriously just make me whimper? Oh Jesus, this wasn't good.

His touch was killing me. Other guys didn't take this kind of time. I was in their bed within a moment of entering their flats, we got to it, and they fell asleep. I let myself out, called a taxi, and I was home. Easy as that.

But his lips were so attentive, his hands against my neck and waist.

He pulled away and I gasped, confused. Did I bite and not realize it? I'm sorry! But not really. I dove in again, but he stepped away. Oh great. I really did do something wrong.

"Wait."

"Wait?" Huh? I found my fingers at the buttons of his sexy black shirt.

"I…don't do this."

I almost had to laugh, but I was too flustered to do so. He was almost more alluring in his innocent, naïve boy act. He doesn't have one night stands with pretty girls. Mhm, sure. I was almost one hundred percent sure it was an act, because a guy as hot as this had to attract all sorts of inebriated girls in bars. Even sober girls would go for him. He was that hot.

Ignoring his protest, I dove in again. He grabbed at me and lifted me into his arms, stumbling and cursing his way into what I assumed was his bedroom. I couldn't rightly see where he was going, but I had an inkling this would end up in the bedroom. It always did.

He put me on the bed and made love to me slowly, reverently…with my bloody clothes on! My eyelids fluttered at his attentions, and a heady pressure built up at my center as I felt his body lower against mine.

He was undeniably strong, and ridiculously talented with his hands and lips. I decided if he was willing, I could do this slowly. Make it last and savor it. As I got his shirt and pants off, I realized that this was definitely a body I had no problem savoring.

With clumsy precision, he pulled the sheets down the bed. Maybe this guy wasn't so experienced. Doubt started to leak into my mind, but I fought it back. So far, he was proving far more skilled than his first puff of that joint had deemed him.

As he pulled me to stand before him, he met my eyes. I found myself drawn into him, into the way he looked at me. So much so that I soon found the touch of his rough fingers against my skin beneath my little black dress. They moved up slowly as his lips moved against my jaw. Oh God.

I groaned lightly, my eyes popping open in slight confusion. The guy didn't even have me in his bed yet and I was already groaning. What the hell is going on?

Suddenly I felt absolute cold against my thigh. I gasped, figuring it might have something to do with the cold bedpost he pressed me against. But when I looked up, I saw that he was wide-eyed and apologetic. I looked down and smiled. Ah, I was right.

Where was I? Yes, the zipper to my dress.

I pulled the zipper down as far as I could, but was forced to stop as my arm would not allow for any sort of position past the uncomfortable one I was in at that very moment. But before I could switch my position, he pulled my hands out of the way and unzipped it himself, pulling it down my body and lowering himself to the floor before me. He squeezed my waist and looked up at me, his brown eyes large and almost awestruck. It was incredibly flattering to see that look in his eyes, but more than that, it elicited something foreign within me.

No man had ever looked at me that way, whether I was clothed or not. Hunger, yes. Lust, yes. But never had they seen me like this and stared long enough to actually take me in. Never was there awe.

His eyes suddenly shut and I felt his stubble face pushing into my bare stomach. It tickled, but I bit my lip, still staring down at him as he seemingly worshipped my midsection. What is wrong with this guy?

His lips moved up my abdomen, between my breasts, and to my neck. He began suckling on my neck, so I turned my head. Looking down with my hand on the bedpost, I actually got a good look at it. What the fuck was black and shiny and how did he get it on his bed? It was cool.

"What is this?"

He stopped, pulling back. I saw uncertainty churning through those depths of chocolate above his cheekbones. When his eyes flicked down, the uncertainty was gone and he blushed slightly. I have no idea what he thought I meant, but I pushed it from my mind when he told me it was his bed post. No shit Sherlock.

I kept asking questions. I really wanted to know! But he brushed them off, finally telling me it was black polished chrome. I didn't even know that existed, but he continued to kiss me and I found myself not really caring anymore what the fuck it was.

I melted into him. This guy could just hold me like this and kiss me all night, and I was almost certain I wouldn't complain in the morning. His lips were bloody made of gold or something.

We finally fell back onto the bed after I asked him more stupid questions about his bed post. I don't know why, but I felt the need to draw it out even more. As impatient as I was to have him on me in the most intimate way possible, I also just wanted him to worship me with his eyes. He was so good at it. I was a fucking puddle when he flashed those dark eyes.

His hands moved all over me, causing me to ponder what he did for a living. What sort of work would he be doing that would make his hands so rough? And with hands like those, how was it possible for him to be so gentle? Why didn't every guy have hands like these?

When will I shut up and enjoy said hands?

I inwardly rolled my eyes at myself and shut my thoughts down, pushing my hands down his body and tucking my fingers beneath the waistband of his boxers. I almost laughed as I looked down and saw the small phrase "Too Drunk to Fuck" on the right thigh of the boxers.

It seemed as if my slightly square but infinitely sexy mystery god was, as they say, inwardly a bad boy.

My presumption was confirmed not a moment later when he took my bra off and immediately disposed of my underpants as well. Suddenly, I looked down and found his cute boxers were gone as well.

He lowered himself on top of me, his dark hair loose around his face. He kissed me. It wasn't a hungry kiss. And it had no lust whatsoever. It was wholly innocent. It caught me off-guard is what it did.

He pulled his lips away from mine and pushed them against my ear. He started whispering soft words into my ear, things about heaven and angels. At one point, I may have heard the word "beautiful" but my mind was completely focused on my lower half, where both of his hands pulled my waist fully against his.

He pulled up again, his arms still wrapped around me. It was odd. I felt so protected and safe in his embrace. As if any moment, he would sweep me up into paradise and never would anything bad happen to me ever again.

But deep inside of me, despite the way he was making me feel as his eyes burned into me, I knew it was impossible. There was no such thing as paradise and bad things would happen to me, just because this was life.

C'est la vie.

As I watched him gaze at me, I decided that he was different, but I had no idea what to make of him. Here was a mind-bogglingly adorable and good looking man. He couldn't take a hit worth shit, and he didn't take alcohol well at all. He was shy, but not too shy obviously, because he was now lying on top of me in his skivvies and we were about to have sex.

He moved down and I was almost sure this was it. So I braced my hands on his back, bit my lip, and shut my eyes. God, how many times had I been through this? I felt his rough cheek against my soft one, then his impossibly gently lips against my cheek, then my ear. As his body rubbed against mine, eliciting quite the response in the form of a slight gasp, I heard two words whispered into my ear that shocked me out of my sexual reverie.

In fact, you could say whatever paradise or heaven that was between us disappeared and I was plummeted back down to earth. My own impossibly dull earth.

"You're mesmerizing."

"What?" I took my hands from his back, my throat suddenly dry and my heart stopping. I was suddenly wide awake. Did he just say what I thought he said?

He suddenly seemed very nervous. I watched his Adam's apple bob up and down out of the corner of my eye. I stared at the ceiling fan above him. He pulled back and forced my eyes to meet his. When he looked at me like that, I couldn't help meeting his eyes. They were soulful, as cliché as that sounds, so full of something indescribable.

Once again, I was forced to notice that no man had ever looked at me like he was. As if he was confused by me, and thrilled by it. He was thrilled by the fact that he was being seduced, thrilled that maybe I was different for him too.

"I mean you're…" He paused and blushed, and suddenly my heart was beating again. In fact, it was almost exploding from my chest. God, what is wrong with you, Elizabeth? Snap out of it!

"…mesmerizing." He said it again. With emphasis. Mesmerizing.

I just kept my eyes on his, trying to see if perhaps the sincerity would falter and his true, playboy nature would awaken. Then we could have a good romp, and I'd leave, and he'd be no different than the rest of the jerks I slept with. But there was no faltering of genuine awe. He was on the level. He truly believed me mesmerizing. I awakened this in him.

And it was at that moment that I realized this might be something more. We had spent almost an hour just kissing and rubbing and touching. And he stopped everything, just to tell me I was "mesmerizing". No doubt, the extra breaths I was forced to take at this very moment meant something was pure about this. New.

He took the time to make me feel beautiful.

I didn't quite know how to respond to this. But I knew one thing for sure.

At that very moment, I was in love with him. I was in love with his voice, his hands, his body against mine…his genuine gaze. His cute dimpled smile.

I was in love with the fact that he didn't like marijuana. Or alcohol. Or huge parties in which people woke up the next morning with complete strangers tangled in their arms.

I opened my mouth. I wanted to say something. I wanted to tell him I loved him. But my voice died in my throat, so I reached up and stroked his cheek. It was something I had never done to any man. And I liked it. I liked how he shut his eyes, as if in ecstasy.

I liked that I had that effect on him.

So I pulled his head down and kissed him. There was no lust. I meant for it to be more than that. I wanted him to know that I respected him as he had shown he respected me. I made sure he was fully on top of me and bent my legs at his waist.

I was prepared to give myself fully to this man I had met only a few hours before. Because I felt as though he knew me. It meant nothing to me that I barely knew him, because he knew me.

This thought caused me to grin, his lips still moving against mine.

He pushed into me slowly, and I felt helpless beneath him, my breath leaving my body. I squeezed his strong back with my fingers, not caring that I was probably leaving a mark. He felt marvelous, as unoriginal as it sounds.

And I couldn't possible begin to explain how fully I underestimated him. I felt his lips against my skin, my neck and collarbone. And his hands dragged over my body. His hips moved against mine in absolute control. But it wasn't the same kind of control I was used to.

I decided to throw off his control to see how he would react, knowing that while this man absolutely had to be experienced (I could already tell), he was also used to submissive girls.

And that was something in which I was not.

But I was thrown off myself when he began to quicken his thrusts. I gasped, forced to close my eyes at the immense pleasure shooting through me. Opening them again, I stared at him. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were shut. And when his dark eyes met mine, I was pulled into his spell again. His forehead dropped to my neck and he scooted slightly to the side, shooting a strong pleasurable shock through my entire body.

He was absolutely doting, and I was worried suddenly that he was so good at pleasuring me that he was receiving nothing in return. My reputation could not be tarnished, especially not with Will, a man in whom I felt I had something to prove to.

So I lifted a hand from his back and pushed it between our bodies, dragging it down his lower stomach, dragging lower, lower, lower. I found his eyes clouding as his movements became erratic. Ah, so it was working. He groaned loudly and I found myself immensely pleased.

He was causing me to make sounds I don't remember making with anyone else. I was loving every moment of him inside of me. It was killing me to know I could not just stay here with him, making God awfully great love, for the rest of my days.

It took him awhile, but finally the arm he propped himself up on began to shake with his weight, so he fell against me, causing me to moan against his neck. His hand went directly to my thigh and he bent my leg farther. I felt him inside of me even deeper and I couldn't contain my calls.

He was the best I remember ever having. And that was saying something. He was gentle and sweet, but he was also taking control and demanding of me. I had no problem meeting his needs. If I could provide him with half of what I was getting beneath him, I would be content.

We spent a few more hours and many more climaxes from both parties. I seem to remember feeling that black polished chrome against me countless times.

In fact, as I seem to recall, one of his nice plush chairs was used, as well as his dresser, the window seat, and his bedroom wall, amongst other places. We were in a frenzy all night and I didn't want to stop. I couldn't stop.

I couldn't get enough of the way he was making me feel.

I wanted him.

And I got him.

I got him good.

Too good.

For as we lay there, panting and breathless, our chests heaving together, his body still intertwined with mine, he tried to speak. I stopped him. I didn't want to hear whatever he was going to say. I felt the tears from the cab ride gather in my eyes, so I hid in him. God, I hid. I clung with everything in me, to hide.

To hide the tears that were coming.

And when they did come, I let them. I squeezed him even tighter, my cheeks wet with sorrow. For I was in love with him. I was absolutely and completely in love with him.

I didn't even know him.

And I loved him.

I held in the sobs and just shut my eyes as tight as I could, feeling him against me, feeling my heart break with each nuzzle of his nose against my ear or my temple. He was still making love to me, even after all of that. He was still admiring, still loving, whispering sweet nothings into my ear.

And it made everything worse. For I knew I really did get him. And it would be even worse in the morning.

But nothing prepared me for what I heard before he fell into a deep slumber.

"I love you."

As he went limp, his arms still protecting me in their warmth and love, his breathing calm and comforting to me, I cried harder, shaking as I buried myself in his embrace.

I would use what I had tonight, when I needed it the most.

As long as tomorrow, I was smart enough to wake before him.


I clumsily pulled my undergarments on, then pulled on my little black dress. It smelled like pot and alcohol and it was disgusting, but I managed to pull it on and zip it up properly.

As I haphazardly pulled on my heels and grabbed my small purse from the nightstand, I hurried to the wide open door of his bedroom and attempted to just leave.

I couldn't look back at him, for I knew it would make me sick to look at him again.

But I did look back at him.

He was turned toward me, the sheets tangled about his bottom half, his hair flopped over half his face. His features were beautiful and content, almost like a little boy. With his long eyelashes and sweet smile.

I knew with everything in me that he expected to wake up with me beside him.

Shaking my head, my bottom lip quivering, I rushed down his hallway and out the front door. Clamoring down the steps, I hurried down the street and raised my arm as I saw the yellow and black checkered cab slow.

I got in, gave my address, then slumped back into the very early morning shadow that fell upon the backseat.

My chest heaved as I cried, my hands rubbing at my face as I brought my knees up against my front, leaning against the seat in a fetal position.

My heart felt as if it was ripped in two, because I kept picturing his face when he woke up. Hopeful. Excited. He would get up and remember the night before with a wide grin on his face. He could start his life anew.

He would hop up, expecting to find me somewhere. Anywhere.

But he was smart. I knew he was. He had eyes that had seen much. His smarts exceeded book smarts. He would figure out pretty quick that I was gone. He wouldn't look for a number or a note.

He would know right off the back.

And his heart would break. If it was half as shattered as mine was now, as I sobbed so hard I could barely breathe, I couldn't bear to think of it. I couldn't bear to think of that man, so sweet and innocent, so naïve to everything, but so incredible and perfect, huddled like this in the same bed we had made love in last night, heaving with his broken heart.

I nearly wailed in my grief, causing the driver to squirm uncomfortably in his seat. His eyes flicked up to peer at me every once in awhile, worry widening them. But I didn't care.

I felt sick. I hated myself. I was trash. And I was cruel and twisted.

I saved him from a future with someone like me. I repeated this over and over in my mind. He would get over it soon.

But would I?


It took me a few weeks, but I finally got back on my feet. I did other things. Mods was out of the question, because I was afraid. I was so scared he might show up there again, looking for me.

So I didn't go back there.

I hated it there.

I hated the color purple. And the shit.

I filled my days with unimportant things, trying so hard to block Will Turner from my thoughts. He loaded my mind with his voice and his eyes, the way he moved against me, the way he touched me and spoke to me.

I couldn't stand it!

I took up an art class. I sucked.

Couldn't paint worth shit. Even finger painting in school when I was six was terrible for me. I was absolutely useless. But it forced me to think. About painting. And Will was far from that.

I knew why he haunted me so.

I was still head over heels for him, and it drove me mad to know it. Even if I wanted to subject him to me again, to apologize or beg him for a date or two, to get to know him…I couldn't. I didn't know where he lived. I was buried in his chest, drowning in self-loathing in the cab. I wasn't watching where we were driving.

And I didn't have a phone number. Will Turner.

That was all I had.

I held a cute blouse off the sales rack up to me and peered at myself in the mirror. Not bad. I always looked alright in maroon and I loved the ruffles. The new in-thing, I'd read in Vogue, was a masculine upper body look and feminine lower body look joined together with a cute bag.

I could work that. I could work many—

He stepped out from the escalator, his head down and his hands in his pocket. Despite the way his hair hung about his face, I knew him anywhere. I knew his hair and shoulders, for I spent hours running my fingers through and over them that one night.

I ducked down behind the clothes rack, careful to keep him from seeing me. So I moved aside some clothing with my fingers and peered through at him. He stood staring at the bed sheets stacked before him. I inched closer, dodging along the clothes racks like a spy.

He was handsome as ever, strong as ever. But his eyes were dull and his shoulders slumped. So I had broken his heart, and severed the gleam I remembered in him. Gone was that innocent look I adored.

I had taken that naivety from him. And I had broken his heart.

Choking back the pain in my throat, I stood up, hurt splayed across my features, no doubt.

I turned and planned to quickly make my getaway.

"Elizabeth?" There was a pause. "Elizabeth Swann?"

Oh his voice. I shut my eyes tightly. What would I do? What could I say? How could I possibly make amends for what I did?

And how could I keep myself from collapsing into his protective arms again? I couldn't.

I turned, smiling with my lips tight and eyes wide. "Will!"

He smiled, but it was an unsure smile, for his gentle lips twitched slightly. "How—" His voice cracked and he blushed, starting over. "How are you?"

"I'm good." My voice was unnaturally high and spritely. Inwardly, I was dying. This was so awkward and terrible and…wonderful. I had found him. No! Don't lead him on again.

"Good," he said, stepping closer. "I—" Nervousness flashed across his features. "Why did you leave?"

My heart plummeted into my gut and I felt nausea flood through me. "I—I'm sorry." What else could I say?

"That doesn't answer my question, though." He shook his head. "But…but it doesn't matter now. Here we are." Will smiled and I felt horrible. "Let's get some lunch."

God, was he serious? He wanted to have lunch with me. After all of that, as if my leaving that morning wasn't an indication that this couldn't continue. It wouldn't continue. It was finished. Kaput.

"Will, no," I breathed.

His smile faded and his shoulders slumped. "What? Why?"

Oh go away. Go away. Go away.

"I left, Will. I would have stayed if…"

"If you wanted to." He swallowed, then nodded. "I'm sorry. I'm so…" He chuckled, blushing bright red. "I'm an idiot. I didn't mean to make things uncomfortable."

I shook my head, my eyes begging for him to stop tearing me to shreds. He was blaming himself now. Go away. Go away. Go away.

"So it was…" His eyes flicked up to mine. And I felt as if I should just run. Just run away. I already hurt him enough. He needed a good girl who wouldn't break his heart. "It was nice meeting you, Elizabeth."

I nodded. "Yeah." It was all I had the heart for.

I reached out and shook his hand with a close mouthed smile, then brushed past him, walking quickly to the escalator. I took the thing two at a time in my haste to get away from him. Then I exploded right out of the front doors of the shopping venue. I ducked into an alleyway and pressed my back against the cool stone, shutting my eyes.

At least now he knew. And he could move on.

I just wasn't sure I could move on.


"Elizabeth!" I turned from where I leant on my white stone balcony, peering out over the beautiful garden behind my father's estate.

"Yes, Daddy?" I called back.

"Come down for a moment, angel!"

There it was again. Angel.

I sighed and straightened myself, walking through my room and down the winding spiral staircase. I figured he had called me from his office, so I went there straight away.

I grinned at him as he looked up from his desk. "Ah! There you are."

"Did you need me for something?"

"Yes, actually." He stood up, placing his glasses down on in front of him and coming around to put his hands on my shoulder. "You look more like your mother each day, Elizabeth."

I just smiled. He said that to me every day. And frankly, it was getting old. But then again, so was he. So I dealt with it. "Thank you, Daddy."

"Anyways," he pulled his hands away and went back to his desk. "I wanted to ask you if, perhaps, you would like to join me tonight at a nice function some of the fellows at the office invited me to."

"It's Friday night, Daddy." And it was exactly one month before that I had spent a Friday night with Will. William Turner. My eyes went downcast.

"Oh well. I thought I would invite you anyways. I realize you usually go to London on Fridays." He smiled and sat down again, leaving me to stare after him. I sighed. I hated going out to London by myself anyways, and I wasn't in the mood to see Robbie or any of the other potheads at Mods. They probably wondered where I was after a month of not showing up.

"What's the function?" I asked, turning and looking up at the painting of my great-grandfather Jonathon Swann.

"Some art exhibit in London. It sounds interesting. Some young man made artwork from traditional metalworking. Apparently with a forge and everything. He's doing a presentation and his work is open to public. One of my colleagues knew his father, so he received an invite and we in turn were invited as well."

"Oh. In London?" I wasn't too sure if I wanted to be there, but I suppose if I arrived on the arm of my doting father, it wouldn't be too bad. "Well…it sounds like it has the potential to be fun."

Weatherby Swann chuckled. "Oh, don't act like you aren't interested. Come. It will be fun."

"Will you talk business the entire time, Daddy? Or will you actually enjoy it?"

He came up to me again and hugged me, giving me a kiss on the cheek. "I will be with you, so no matter what I do, I will enjoy it."

I giggled, kissing him back. "When shall I don my best evening wear?"

"Well, the young man…oh I forget his name…but he will begin his presentation at seven thirty. Then the exhibit opens at nine. So we will leave around seven. How does that sound?"

"Perfect. I'm going to go upstairs then and get ready."

"Already? It's only four thirty, love." He lifted his glasses back to his face.

"I'm going out with my main man, Daddy! I have to look my best." I grinned, happy for the first time in ages. It had been so long since I spent quality time with my father, and for some reason, today just felt right.

I bounded up the stairs, being far too silly and rambunctious for my twenty four years, and burst into my room again. Why was I so happy today? It couldn't be just my father.

Maybe it was the fact that I wouldn't be held to anything tonight. I could go enjoy my father and the art, and have normal conversations, not conversations about having entire universes in our fingernails or whatever people under the influence of major mushroom trips had.

I pulled out a long, satin red dress from my closet and held it up to my body, peering into the mirror. It was classic and lovely. I figured if I made myself up tonight, I could make this dress look pretty good, so I threw it on the bed and began to undress.

It was another two hours before I was completely ready, my four inch heels on and half of my hair pulled into an intricate bun and the rest flowing down my shoulders. My father knocked on my door and came in, his features lighting up.

"Ah, what a beautiful girl I'm escorting out tonight!" He chuckled and came up to me, taking my hands lovingly. I was reminded again why I loved my father so much. He was an incredible guy.

"Stop gushing, Father. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you."

"I'm afraid I might lose you tonight if you wear that. Some nice young artist will pick you up and take you away from me."

"Will you quit it?" I put some gold dangling earrings in my ears and grabbed my long, black trench coat. Then I took my matching bag and grinned, spinning for my father. "How does it look?"

"Beautiful. Let's go. I told Jackson we'd meet them in the front at seven fifteen."

"Alright."

We drove in Daddy's limo, all grins and laughter as we joked with each other. I remembered that about my childhood. Dad and I would always laugh and tease. Then mum would come in and find us laughing together and shake her head, smiling her beautiful smile at us. Then she drove into the Thames when I was fifteen.

It took us all of twelve minutes to arrive at the small venue. It looked like a hovel in the wall, with a large beefy man standing before the door. Father walked me to the door and smiled at the man.

"Uh, hello. My name is Weatherby Swann. I'm here with the…"

"Swann?"

"Yes."

"Weatherby!" A jaunty fellow a few years older than Dad walked up to us, a girl maybe my age or a few years older on his arm. Jackson Dillinger. It's like a corpse with a baby on its arm.

He had lost his wife before Mum died, and ever since then, his girlfriends got younger and younger each time I saw him.

"This is Carlotta. And is this…? Well, Elizabeth! Is that you, dollface?" I grinned widely. Well, he was a nice old codger, at least. "God, Weatherby, you really raised a gem!"

"I did at that," Daddy laughed, shaking Carlotta's hand. I shook Carlotta's hand as well, sending her a friendly smile. I figured it would be us two girls hanging out for the night. We were close in age, after all.

We walked in arm in arm, already chatting happily. She was a nice girl, but her head might have been a bit drafty. Poor thing.

We sat down near the back, as many of the front seats were taken up by other artists in the area, or recruiters. The stage was bare, save a large easel and a screen. I looked up and fancy that, there was a projector hanging from the ceiling.

Carlotta turned to me. "I heard he was supposed to be some young guy no one knows. Like, he makes swords and things for people who still buy that weird medieval crap, and door knobs and other random things. And then suddenly, he got all artistic and started statues I guess."

"Interesting," I said. I guess it was interesting. We would see. I looked beside me and found my father deep in conversation about the newest clientele with Jackson. I rolled my eyes. Typical Daddy.

The lights went out and a spotlight went on the stage.

"Would you like a brochure?" A nice looking older woman asked, thrusting two out to Carlotta and I. We smiled and took them. I neglected to look down at it as I focused on the spotlight.

A spruced up man in his late thirties or early forties stepped into the spotlight, earning a few quiet claps from the less reserved in the room, including myself. He had a silly grin on his face and his long black hair was pulled back under a fedora.

"Hello, friends! Welcome! I just want to let you know that what we're treating you to today is something you'll never forget. A young man who grew up in a life of poverty! A life in which nothing came easy…he battled the wind and the snow to rise up against his lot in life and become a blacksmith! Fancy that!"

A few of the guests chuckled. I chuckled. This bloke was actually charming in a strange, macho way.

"And finally, after making lots of weird things like pirate swords and scabbards. You know, frankly, he made lots of cra—"

"Jack!" Came a loud whisper from behind the stage. The small, full room chuckled again. But I was frozen. I knew that voice. But it couldn't be…

"Well, anyways, I'll let him explain. Ladies and gentlemen, I bring you William Turner!" He moved off of the stage and Will Turner, the man I had tried to stop thinking about for the past month, galloped into the spotlight, shielding his eyes.

"Uh, could we…could we maybe make the lights a little bit less nonexistent and try not to blind me?" He asked, grinning. A few of the back lights behind me went on, providing a little bit more light. And the spotlight on Will dimmed. "Thank so much."

I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat. This would happen to me. I turned to look at my father, who sat happily, ready to pay attention to the artist. Little did Daddy know I was absolutely in love with the man standing up there. Little did he know, I had a mad night of making passionate love with the man standing up there.

I had to get away from the man standing up there.

Immediately, I looked down. Hopefully he couldn't see past that blinding spotlight. If he could, hopefully my ducking down would hide me. I couldn't have another encounter like the last one. It just wasn't fair, not to either of us. But as I looked down, my eyes caught the brochure I clutched in my manicured hand. "William Turner: Metallurgy and Art".

So Will was a blacksmith. That would account for those hands.

He held a small remote control of sorts in his hand and pointed it at the projector above our heads, and on flashed his first slide. Honestly, I could care less about his slide. All I could think about was how to duck out on this gig without my father getting suspicious.

Maybe a head ache? No, I had done that before. I threw a sideways glance at dad and saw that he was very interested. Crap! That meant he wouldn't want to leave. And anyways, if I were to get up and leave, it would be incredibly obvious and the first person who would notice me would be Will.

Because that was just a small example of how life fucked with me on a regular basis.

So I sat and listened to him. God, he really was fascinating. And I wasn't just staring at him because I knew what he looked like under the adorable brown semi-formal suit he wore, but his work was dazzling. It was just as my father had said. He had gone from blacksmithing as a trade to blacksmithing as an art.

"Isn't this brilliant, love?"

I smiled beside me at my father who stared at me with wide, fascinated blue eyes. Poor Daddy didn't know the half of William Turner's brilliance. I was almost certain no one in the room knew half of his brilliance. Save me.

I scanned the audience. Everyone was rapt in attention, listening to Will ramble on in a most entertaining way about his art. I stopped on a young woman who was tall, sleek, and gorgeous. She stared with unadulterated desire at him as he rose his hand to point the remote at the projector, successfully changing the slide again.

"Oh, this is my favorite method by far. It's called the—"

Seriously, if she blinked at all in the last five minutes, it was in the split second I blinked my own eyes. I had an urge to throw one of the blunt objects in Will's presentation in her general direction. How dare she look at him like that?

But I had to divert my eyes. I looked down at the program in my hands, at the smiling face of the prize blacksmith of London city, and felt a pain in my chest where my heart ought to be.

I didn't have the right to be jealous. I lost that right when I left him in that bed that morning a month before. I lost that right when I broke his heart.

Where William Turner was concerned, I had no rights.

I pushed back the tears in my eyes and looked up, watching him steal the imaginations of his audience, dazzle them with his charm and good looks, and elicit interest with his intricate details on his works in the slideshow.

I shook my head awhile later when the lights flashed on and everyone exploded from their seats to give Will a round of applause. I grinned wildly, excited that he received such a welcoming reception from his peers, knowing this might be the thing that gets him started in the art world. I was happy for him.

But damn it, where did he go?

My eyes darted back and forth. He had disappeared from the stage after one bow to his fans. What the hell?

I rudely pushed past others trying to file out of the small, painted white wooden chairs they had set up in the studio, then hurried to the front. I brushed past the pretty girl who had been eyeing Will, trying to ignore the urge to hit her. She was granted a few looks here and there at him. He didn't belong to anybody. And he really was amazingly good-looking.

Well, maybe not to everyone. But he was certainly my cup of tea. And evidently this lanky girl's as well. Stupid

"Would you like some champagne, miss?"

I spun quickly, hitting the tray from the waiter's hand and causing the last glass of champagne to fly into the air. Almost as if in slow motion, the liquid spilled from the glass and splattered all over the front of the one and only Will Turner.

It was safe to say I thought my life had ended right there.

He scrambled awkwardly for the glass in mid air and caught it, his eyes wide. He let out a sigh, and set the glass on the tray of the grumbling waiter. After receiving a glare, the waiter knelt down with his towel and began wiping the floor.

My hands still hadn't left where I held them against my mouth. And I still hadn't breathed. My eyes lifted from the floor where the waiter continued to clean and I looked at the sopping wet man I had been dreaming of over the last few weeks.

The amusement I saw on his features as he wiped his face with another towel brought to him by a second waiter immediately disappeared as his own eyes rose. He stopped, his face deadpan.

"Elizabeth…"

"I'm so sorry! I didn't know he was behind me and he spoke and just…" My words died off. I was mortified. So much so that I found my throat had constricted and tears were beginning at the edges of my eyes.

Will peered around quickly. Thank God, only a few of the nearby guests noticed, but they went back to their appraisal of the artist's work not seconds after. He bent down and patted the waiter on the back. "Thanks Mike." The waiter grumbled again but looked up in confusion when Will went to me and took my arm, leading me away from the crowd.

I don't want this. I don't want this. Run now, Lizzie!

But I did want it. I wanted his fingers curled around my bicep as he gently guided me through the throngs of admirers. Champagne stained the front of his white shirt and I looked away from it in disgust. I could not believe I had done that.

I could have handled spilling champagne on the Queen of England, but not bloody Will Turner. God strike me down.

When I looked up again, I found myself in a smaller room with a drafting table, a couch, and a few cabinets in the corner. There was a sink as well, a plethora of paint stains along the side. The lighting was bad, only a tall lamp in the corner next to the sofa and the drafting table light.

I watched as he moved away from me into the corner, opening one of the cabinets and pulling his suit jacket off, he reached in and pulled down a clean dress shirt. He turned and regarded me only for a moment, before turning back and unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it from his pants and eventually from his upper half.

He tossed the soiled shirt to the couch and went to the sink.

I could do nothing but watch as he splashed his face free from the champagne, drying it with the lone towel hanging from the side of the sink. As he stood again, he checked his undershirt for any stain, and pulled on the new shirt.

If he wasn't going to say anything to me, if he wasn't going to look at me, why did he pull me back into this dank little room with him? To make me feel incredibly awkward and uncomfortable? Because it was working.

"Why did you come here?"

There he was. And here I was. And there it went.

"It was an accident…"

"I'm not talking about the champagne, Elizabeth. Why did you come to my exhibition?" He turned and met my eyes, leaning back against the couch, watching me steadily, as if searching for my true feelings. I put up my invisible shield, the one that was supposed to guard my emotions from others around me. I say supposed to because it most definitely wasn't working now.

He knew he had me.

He was just waiting for the break.

"I wasn't talking about that either, Will. My being here is an accident. My father was invited by his colleagues and he in turn, invited me. So I came. To get away from…" My voice died out. To get away from you.

It figured that where I went to get away from him would lead me straight into his arms. I should have known this would happen! I inwardly cursed myself.

"You didn't know I was the artist on exhibition? Do you truly expect me to believe that, Elizabeth?" He looked behind him and grabbed a program, holding it up with a raised eyebrow. There he was, smiling back at me, his name in large print beneath it.

"I didn't get a program."

Once again, upon looking down at my hands, I found a brochure clutched there, champagne staining it brown. Fuck. My. Life.

"I got this later, right as you were introduced—"

"Stop."

I did. Along with my heart. So there it was.

There was a part of me that, while I strove to be rid of this whole thing, wanted that reassurance that perhaps if we met again, he would ask me to lunch like he did last time. But it was done. I finished it.

And I shouldn't have.

"Did you come here to mock me?" He asked, his brow furrowed. I shook my head, trying to defend myself, but he continued. "No, I want to know the truth. Why else would you be here? You told me it was over."

It is. I shut my eyes. God, I didn't want it to be.

"Will, I'm different from the girls you're used to."

"I know," he said, stepping closer, a small smile on his face, despite his earlier tone with me.

"And I care about you enough to be honest with you." My eyes moved to meet his and I swallowed, preparing myself. I had no problem pouring my heart out to him in the taxi. Why was it so hard now?

He wasn't just a caring stranger anymore. No, he was so much more now. He was the man I loved, the man of whom I would be pouring my heart out about.

He waited, and I knew that it didn't matter how long I took to gather my thoughts, to gather the truth about what was inside of me. He would continue to wait.

The mere fact that he was upset about me showing up to his exhibit after telling him our relationship wasn't going to continue showed me that he did feel something still. I knew he did. There was no perhaps, maybe, possibly. He did. Just as I did.

He was just more open to it than I was.

"Will, I don't know what I am doing anymore. It has been a month since that night, and I haven't gone a single day without thinking about you." I swallowed the lump in my throat again and continued, forcing myself to look him in the face. He deserved it. He deserved the truth.

"I—I don't know what…" I had to stop, because I felt a sob gathering. Oh God, I thought I had gotten rid of those that morning after. I had cried for hours and hours that day. It continued into the next day, and the day after that. It was a wonder I kept it from Daddy.

"What made you leave that morning?"

Why all the hard questions? Why couldn't he ask easier questions? Why?

I shook my head, taking deep breaths. I looked back to him, tears beginning to moisten my eyes. "Will, you don't understand." I waited for him to speak, but he didn't. He just watched. He was listening again. "I have never met anyone like you." I braced myself. The mushy stuff had to be said. He had to know. "You made me feel…so amazing that night. And I fell in love with you."

He pushed off of the couch, eyes wide. He obviously wasn't expecting that one. "If you fell in love with me, why did you leave?" He asked me in genuine confusion. He was right to be confused.

So was I.

"I left because I was frightened." He rolled his eyes, completely out of character for him. You don't even know him, Elizabeth! You don't know what's out of character for him! "No, wait! I was scared because I never had that sort of connection with anybody!" I went up to him and looked him straight in the eyes. "I don't know what to do with this."

"With what?" He asked me. I started seeing that softness seep back into him, the softness that had brought me to him in the first place.

I love you, I wanted to scream. But the words would not come, so I just shook my head again, trying to hold back the urge to bury myself in his chest again.

I felt his hands latch onto the side of my face. He lifted my face to look up at him, and I let the tears fall. "Shall I help you?" He asked softly, a small smile on his face.

"What?" But he just smiled reassuringly, so I nodded, even though I didn't know what the hell he meant. I trusted him. So much.

"I'll tell you what to do, Elizabeth. I'm going to ask you if you want to get a drink after this, and you just say 'yes'. Simple as that." I grinned widely, giggling through my unnecessary tears.

"Ok."

"Ok. So…Elizabeth, do you want to get a drink with me later tonight?" His eyes were hopeful, even though he knew I would agree to it. And it was this that pushed me into my answer most.

"I would love to."

He leant forward and kissed my cheek, bringing me in for a hug. It wasn't passionate or lustful. It was lovely, strong, and just what I needed. I hugged him back with everything in me, realizing that nothing had felt this good in such a long time.

Well…a month, to be exact.

I pulled back and smiled happily up at him. Yes, happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. I was so incredibly happy.

Will took my hand securely in his and wiped my tears and smudged eye makeup with the thumb of his other hand. "There. Good as new." With a last smile, he pulled me out into the main room again. On the way, we met the oddball friend. Jack, was it? He stopped and blinked.

God, I couldn't believe I hadn't recognized him the moment he hopped up on stage. He was the same macho bad-friend mix-sucky-drinks guy that came to Mods with Will. I could have spared myself all of this, if I had recognized him and bolted right then.

But as I looked up at Will, I was glad I hadn't put the pieces together. He was holding my hand with a smile, and it felt good. It felt magnificent.

Jack raised his eyebrow. "Hey…I've seen you before."

I looked up at Will, raising an eyebrow. Really? Very interesting. Will shuffled uncomfortably. He obviously hadn't told his best friend about our night. "Uh, yeah Jack. You saw her at…well…"

"At Mods, yeah?! That one night when Will took those hits and coughed up a lung!" Jack laughed, making Will frown. "God, tha' wos funny."

As Will pulled me out further, making Jack watch us with a knowing smirk on his face, I smiled softly to myself. He was still holding my hand, in front of this room full of people. I looked to my left and found that tall, gorgeous girl turn. She grinned at Will, but the grin dropped from her face as soon as she spied my hand grasped firmly in his. She turned back to her friends, her shoulders slumped. That's right.

"William!"

We both turned to find Jackson, Carlotta, and my father making their way towards us. I quickly pulled my hand out of Will's and stepped a bit away from him, smiling innocently. I saw Will look at me in confusion out of the corner of my eye.

Carlotta smirked at me from Jackson's arm. Thank God she was the only one who noticed.

"Hello, Mr. Dillinger! I'm so glad you could make it!" Will shook his hand heartily. Jackson pat him on the back, then turned to Carlotta and my father.

"William's father was an old family friend of mine, way back in my college years. I remember you when you were only this high!" Jackson lowered his hand to just below his knees, laughing and smacking Will on the back again. I thought back to the picture in Will's apartment of his father and him, standing and holding hands, looking at each other.

Jackson turned back to Carlotta and Daddy. "William, this is my colleague and best of friends, Weatherby Swann. And this is Carlotta." Carlotta shook Will's hand warmly, but Will paled slightly as he realized what Jackson had just said. Yes, Weatherby Swann. Yes, Will. My father.

"Uh…Oh. Mr. Swann, it's a pleasure, sir."

My father chuckled in his cute jolly way and shook Will's hand. "It is an honor, young man. Your work is magnificent."

Hell yes, it is.

I fought to keep the ironic grin off of my face and folded my hands together behind my back. That's when Daddy turned and saw me. "Elizabeth! There you are! Where have you been?"

I opened my mouth to say something, but found myself cut off by my father. He pulled me to him and put an arm fondly around me. I kissed his cheek as he decided to introduce me. "William Turner, this is my daughter, Elizabeth!"

Will and I shared an amused look and I reached forward and shook his hand. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Turner."

Will grinned widely, his cute dimples showing. "Call me Will, won't you?"

As Jackson took Will away from my eyesight, most likely discussing Will's artwork, or maybe old times, I turned to my father who was eyeing me funny.

"What?" I shrugged.

"Must you flirt with every good-looking young man who comes around?" He winked at me. Well, at least he didn't know the truth. If he thought I was flirting with Will just because he was cute, let him.

"Sorry, Daddy."

"You'll be the death of me yet, my girl." He nudged my chin and I smiled cheekily, before pulling away from him and going to where the beverages were being proffered. I turned and found Carlotta at my side with a wide smirk.

"So…Elizabeth."

"Hm?" I raised my eyebrows innocently, taking a sip from some champagne.

"You can pull that innocent stuff with a man, girly, but not me." She boldly took the champagne from my hand and set it down on the table next to us, putting her hands on her hips and raising an eyebrow. "Well? I saw you chummy with William Turner over there. Can't play it off."

Hm. I kind of liked Carlotta, I decided. She reminded me a bit of myself. Except I might have been a bit less…well, let's just say the inside of my skull had more sustenance.

"I've just…met him before, is all."

"I see."

There was a long pause with both of us peering about. I lifted my drink back to my lips, letting the champagne slide through my lips and against my tongue.

"So what's he like?"

I choked on my champagne, swallowing it quickly and turning to cough into a napkin, my eyes watering again. I looked back at her, the napkin still pressed to my lips. She just continued to stare at me.

"I don't know what you mean," I wheezed, still trying to regain my composure. Oh, I knew exactly what she meant.

"Yes you do."

I looked around the room, seeing my father talking to Jackson and Will in the other corner. Will gestured to an avante-garde miniature statue of a woman in a flowing gown, seemingly explaining his train of thought or procedure.

My eyes flicked back to Carlotta. "He is fantastic."

She laughed and threw her head back. From then on, a bond was formed.

The three gentlemen joined us again a few minutes later. People were filtering out of the studio slowly but surely. The show was over and there was nothing left for them. I clandestinely flipped open my cell in my purse to see the time. 10:30…not bad.

"Well, I think I will be going. Elizabeth…joining your ol' dad?" I felt bad, because I was about to dash his hopes.

"Actually, Mr. Swann, I was hoping I might steal your daughter for a drink." I looked at Will with wide eyes. Was he seriously taking some initiative right now?

Daddy turned and smiled. "Well, Mr. Turner. I couldn't say no." They both turned to me. Jackson and Carlotta looked on, Carlotta hiding a grin behind her hand and Jackson just plain interested.

"I—I would love to have a drink with you, Mr. Turner."

"Wonderful."

"Well, I think I shall be off then," said father. He came up to me and kissed my cheek, winking at me as he pulled away. As he left with Jackson and Carlotta after our own goodbyes, I realized Daddy might know more than I had thought at first.

That small amused look in his features told me something. I wasn't quite so sneaky as I thought.

Will turned to me and suddenly seemed rather bashful. "Listen, we've got people taking care of this. And I talked to Jack. He'll make sure everything gets put away alright. And he's making sure the clean up crew is careful and whatnot."

"Shall we go, then?"

"Yeah." He took my shoulder and guided me out after the last of the guests. He thanked them as they gave him their congratulations, then hurried me down behind the studio into a small alley where a nice small, black car was parked. "So this belongs to one of my friends, but he let me use it to bring some of the important things over today. Kinda made things easy for me, but yeah!"

We got in the car and talked all the way to the bar. Then we talked at the bar over some nice, light beers. Then we talked some more as he drove me home.

He pulled up outside of the Swann gate, then shut down the motor. "Well…"

"Mhm…"

We sat there in silence. But strangely enough, it wasn't awkward at all. I turned to him and we shared smiles. "Listen, Will. I just want to talk to you about this—well, this whole thing."

He just nodded, ready to listen again.

"I am sorry for what I put us both through. It was just…I thought I was doing what was best for you, especially. I didn't want you getting tied to a girl like me." I giggled bitterly and shook my head. "As I'm sure you know, I don't…stay with one guy for long."

"There's no nice way for me to answer that, Elizabeth." I laughed.

"No, no there isn't. I was so afraid that maybe I had finally found someone I could stay with. I didn't…know…how to deal with that. I don't know why." I shrugged.

"I know. You know, and while I felt bad for it, I understand why you did all this. As long as we can have another go now." He paused. When I didn't answer, he swallowed. "Can we—have another go?"

I smiled fondly and took his hand from where it sat on the steering wheel. "Yes. Yes, we can definitely have another go. I want to."

"Good." He looked very relieved and it was sort of sweet.

"Well, I should go in." We both looked at the car clock. It was after one. Daddy obviously wouldn't be worried. I was twenty-four years old after all. But, I was rather tired. The whole day was…well, ridiculously action packed.

"You want me to walk you in there?" He peered out of my window. "The walkway looks kind of dark and…long and daunting and such." Indeed, the dirt road that led up to our front road was about 100 yards from the gate to the front door.

"Oh, no. I've done it countless times before. Don't you move." I smiled again. "Thanks, Will. I had…such a great time just—just talking with you."

"I had a great time too."

I shrugged, then leaned in, my hand on his cheek. Our lips met very softly, very warmly, then he pulled away, much to my reluctance. He gave me an apologetic smile. "I just…think maybe we should take things a bit slower now."

I nodded, most emphatically. "Yes, yes we should." I giggled, squeezed his hand, opening my door and getting out. I shut the door, ready to walk away, when I heard the window roll down.

"Wait, Elizabeth!" Oh, maybe he wanted another snog. I had no problem with that. I bent down and looked through the open window.

"Hm?"

"Just…just a question." He looked incredibly nervous, embarrassed and flustered.

"Shoot." I tried to smile reassuringly, but I wasn't sure how that panned out, for his nervousness was in no way relieved.

"Well, I was just wondering if you…" He paused. "Do you still go to Mods at all?"

Oh, the dear sweet lovable absolutely fantastic man.

I met his eyes sincerely. "I haven't been back since."

He smiled genuinely, nodding as if it meant nothing to him, when I absolutely knew it meant everything to him. "Oh…ok. Just wondering." He laughed, then shrugged. "I'll call you?"

"Oh God! Yeah!" I threw him my cell number really quick. "Please do!"

"I will! Catch you soon?"

"Definitely."

I stood up and went into my gate, walking as calmly and smoothly as possible to the door. I knew he was the type of guy who would wait until I got right into my door before he peeled away. And sure enough, when I turned, I waved behind me and saw his hand pop out the window.

He drove away, leaving me inside of my home with perhaps the most rampantly fluttering heart I had in my entire life.

This…was the real thing.

A/N: It took a lot out of me to write this for you all. But I did it. Because I just couldn't finish without them together. I'm such a romantic.

Hope you all liked it!

Review.

I'm taking tallies to see if people think I should continue or not. Let me know!

boot-stealer