A/N: I'm sorry it's been a little while, school and all. That, and I wasn't sure quite what to do with this chapter for a while...thanks SO MUCH to royalpinkdogs my outstanding Beta; she really helped with this chapter!
Enjoyyyy
Chapter Nine: Haunted
Elizabeth untied the white bonnet on her head and ran into the fresh-smelling cottage, her feet bare on the warm wooden floors. She laughed as he grabbed her from behind, swinging her around and planting a kiss on her lips before setting her down in front of him.
"You know I was supposed to carry you over that threshold?"Elizabeth beamed at him and slipped her arms around his neck, looking up into his light chocolate eyes with sparkling eyes.
"Since when do I do what's expected of me, my dear?" she asked, pressing her index finger against his lips. She turned around and clasped her hands in front of her chest, looking around the cozy room. "It's so lovely." She said.
"Small, if you think of what you're used to." He answered a slight frown on his face. Elizabeth waved her arm breezily and walked to the door, shutting the world gently out.
"I'm used to big empty spaces and unfamiliar faces." She answered. He raised an eyebrow comically.
"How poetic," he said, holding out his hand to her. She took it, and clasped it in both of her hands, smiling softly.
"Don't think I'm going to miss any of that gaudy nonsense," she said, running her fingers over his knuckles. "How could I, when I've got you?"
--
Elizabeth put the brush on the table and tightened the strings on her nightgown, checking her hair once more before she walked to the bedroom door and opened it, peeking out hesitantly. He smiled at her from across the hall, where he leaned against the wall. She smiled back shyly and opened the door, allowing him entry. He shut it behind him gently.
"You look beautiful," he complimented, pulling her close to him and giving her a chaste kiss on the lips. Elizabeth leaned into him and splayed her hands against his shoulders, trying to remember every whispered conversation she'd overheard from the maids about their lovers. Will put his hand in her hair and kissed her cheek. She squealed in surprise when he picked her up and carried her over to the bed, closing her eyes and biting her lip. He lay down next to her and kissed her again, she sighed, finally able to enjoy his kisses without feeling ashamed. His hand reached for the tie at her neck and she ignored it until he pulled it loose.
"Will!" she gasped, pulling back. She bit her tongue, unsure of why she'd protested. He looked baffled, and pulled his hand back like he'd been burned.
"Did I hurt you?" he asked, genuinely confused.
"No," Elizabeth said, rubbing her lips together. "What are you going to do?" she mumbled, looking at him uncertainly. He looked even more confused.
"I'm going to—ah, Elizabeth?" he asked pleadingly, looking scared now. Elizabeth licked her lips, kicking herself mentally.
"What I meant…never mind." She said, blushing and entwining her arms around his neck. She pulled his head down and kissed him again; he waited a moment before letting his hand fall back to her nightgown. He pushed it off her shoulders, and Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut as he pulled it down, baring her body in a way she had never experienced before. His hand moved off her for a moment and he pulled back, looking down. Elizabeth bit her lip, embarrassed and shy, wanting to pull something over her.
"Will, I'm cold." She said suddenly, clearing her throat. He looked back at her, his hand working the buttons of his breeches. He leaned down and put his head next to hers on the pillow, bringing his hand up to stroke her cheek.
"You won't be." He said, as if she was supposed to know the meaning of that. He kissed her again, and pulled her under him, running his hands down to push her nightgown up and his breeches off. Elizabeth gasped in surprise, opening her eyes, and Will touched his tongue to her lips. She giggled and he looked at her in surprise. She shrugged and blushed, not sure what to say, and still completely embarrassed.
Will moved his foot against hers and pushed against her leg; she let him move it where he wanted it, and he pushed himself up on one arm, his white shirt brushing against her exposed chest. Elizabeth resisted the urge to cover her eyes. She felt him press against her; tingles shot up her back and her breath caught in her throat. She reached out and pressed her palm against his chest.
"Wait!" he looked at her, his eyebrows furrowed.
"What is it, Elizabeth?" he sounded worried, but impatient.
"Will this hurt?" Elizabeth asked, blushing again. Will seemed to falter and looked at her uncomprehending.
"I don't know," he answered, shaking his head. Elizabeth tapped her fingers against his shoulder and bit her lip. She looked up at the ceiling and back at him.
"Then…kiss me or something while you…do it." She said uncertainly, an uncertain smile playing on her lips. Will nodded, grinning suddenly. He bent down and kissed her, sliding one arm under her back. Elizabeth let herself sink into his kiss, and his hand massaging her back, the cold of his newly-placed wedding ring interesting on her skin. She flinched when she felt him against her again but she didn't stop him, afraid she was doing something wrong. She bent her head back, his hand touching a particularly sensitive spot on her small of her back and sending more tingles up her spine, when a sharp pain spread through her.
"OOWW!" she squealed, pulling her lips away from Will, her eyes watering. She looked at him, her eyes questioning, and her put his hand in her hair, looking apologetic. Elizabeth bit her lip, and as he shifted on her she closed her eyes and whimpered, still hurting or something from what he was doing. He bent down and kissed her again, his hand gripping the back of her shoulder tightly. He moved his hips and moaned, squeezing her shoulder tightly. The hard, calloused skin of his hand scraped her shoulder and she jerked it away.
"That hurts, you're holding too tight," she said tentatively. His hand slipped down her back; she winced again.
"I'm sorry," he said, lifting his head up and looking at her, his eyes cloudy. "I love you, Elizabeth." He said tensely, touching her cheek. She smiled at him and let his fingers run down her spine, the pain fading and the feeling of his hands not altogether unpleasant. He pressed his lips to hers again and she felt him moving on her, not hurting her this time, his legs pushing against hers. She grasped onto his shoulders uncertainly. She broke the kiss.
"Will, what do I do?" she asked, a little frustrated, breathless. His hair was wet in front; he looked at her again, his own breath coming in short gasps.
"You're fine," he gasped, pressing his forehead against her shoulder, "don't—move." Elizabeth swallowed and complied, just holding onto his hair and pressing her lips against his shoulder.
He pressed hi face against her neck and she smiled, more receptive to that. He whispered her name in her ear, tickling her, and she giggled, moving her head. She curled her foot around his and curved it in towards her, and he groaned into her shoulder. Elizabeth gasped as he moved a hand up to her shoulder again and grasped hard, scraping her again, and she was about to protest when he shuddered and let go, his muscles relaxed, his body still. He rolled onto his side and let her lay back gently against the pillows and lay next to her, resting his head on her shoulder. Elizabeth pulled her arm over her breasts self-consciously, unaccustomed to them being exposed. She looked at him and blushed, turning and burying her face into his shoulder. He put his arm around her waist.
"I'm sorry I hurt you." He said, kissing her forehead.
"It wasn't that bad," she replied, snuggling closer. She closed her eyes listening to his breathing, and thought about the servants' conversations drowsily. She remembered some of their whispered stories and had an inkling that it wasn't supposed to go like this…
She fell asleep in his arms.
--
"Will, bring the ribbon in my box. My hair's getting all in my face." Elizabeth called, pushing up her sleeves and drying off her hands with a towel, taking a break from the clothing in the wash basin and looking around. He knocked something over in the bedroom and appeared in the doorway, holding up a ripped and frayed maroon cloth.
"This is filthy," he commented, giving her a quizzical look as he held the rough fabric out in front of him. Elizabeth started across the room to take it when he pulled it to his eyes and looked closer, raising an inquiring eyebrow. "It smells like…throw this one out, Lizzie, I'll get you a new one." He said, folding it up in his fist.
Elizabeth shook her head and took his hand, unfolding the fingers gently and taking the ribbon out. She bit her lip between two teeth as she swept back her abundant hair and tied the ribbon in a bow to bind it back.
"Don't call me that," she said mildly, hardly aware of what she was saying. She turned back to the wash basin. "Don't worry about buying a new one, it's only a ribbon." She added.
"I think we can manage to afford a strip of cloth, Elizabeth. Besides, I like you to have pretty things."
"I don't need pretty things, darling." Elizabeth replied absently sticking her hands back in the basin. Will came up beside her and laid a hand on her arm lightly.
"At least let me get you one, something…blue." He suggested, touching the string of her apron, which was a pale azure.
"I like this ribbon, Will." She said suddenly, touching the end of it as she saw his hand reach for it. She didn't want him to remove it. "Jack ripped it off his bandanna."
Will stopped his stroking of her arm and looked at her curiously, surprised.
"This is Jack's ribbon?" he asked, sounding a little odd. Her hands stopped moving in the soap and she tilted her head at him.
"He said he had to leave something so that I wouldn't forget who gave you the guts to…take the opportune moment?" she smiled and raised an eyebrow at her husband's weird expression. "I don't think he knew you were going to pull that rescue off."
Will touched the edge of the ribbon again.
"Why would you want to remember him? He betrayed us, for the most part, and threatened your life."
Lightly, Elizabeth shook her head at him, and stood on tiptoes to give him a kiss.
"Don't say that; he saved my life. He's our friend, Will." She said. Will shook his head, his eyebrows knitting together in the middle.
"I don't generally call pirates my 'friend'." He said, his eyes going back to the frayed ribbon in her hair. "I thought you were over that fascination with pirates." He commented, sounding a little petty. She looked at him, confused.
"Why are you reacting like this?" she asked, genuinely unaware. He frowned and didn't answer, his weight shifting from one foot to another.
"You kept a ribbon…that a pirate gave you…it's like a token of being sweethearts or something." Elizabeth stared at him for a minute, and giggled. She turned back to the basin and glanced at him again through her eyelashes. Her smile faltered when she saw the expectant look on his face.
"Is that what you're—wait, Will, this is ridiculous. You're jealous of JackSparrow? Goodness, it's only a bloody piece of cloth."
"Then throw it out."
"No." she frowned at him, and took her hands out of the basin, crossing them across her apron and ignoring the soap. "And may I ask if it would bother you if it were an old ribbon of James Norrington's that I wore in my hair?"
He didn't answer right away, he stepped forward and put his hand on the side of her head gently, his palm on her cheek.
"I'm not accusing you of anything—"
"You sound like you are," she interrupted coolly. "It's just a ribbon. And Jack was a good man." She said with finality, turning back to the clothes. He sighed and kissed her on the top of the head habitually, still inexplicably irked by the ribbon.
--
"That's wonderful, Will!" she threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips against his neck, muscles exhausted from a day of scouring pots and pans, washing clothes and sweeping the floors, her knees bruised from the pressure she'd put on them plucking vegetables from the garden. "An entire company commission." She sighed, pressing her cheek against his.
He held her away at arm's length, smiling enthusiastically.
"It's going to swamp me, I won't be home much for a week, but it's an incredible amount of money, and you don't turn down the commander" a pause and he added "we could think about starting a family now."
He squeezed her arms, and Elizabeth let her fingers play with the frayed edges of his coat. She tilted her head at him.
"You're my family," she said, pursing her lips, "that's all the family I need."
"You can't be serious about not wanting children," Will replied disbelievingly, a skeptical look in his eyes, made more prominent by his raised brow.
"And why can't I?" Elizabeth asked primly, her eyebrows shooting up into her hair comically.
"You're a woman!"
She removed her hands from his swiftly, and let them fall to her hips, the smile gone from her tired face. Will realized his mistake and jumped in to cover it.
"I mean…well, it's natural to want children. Living example of love."
"I do not have to have a baby to prove that I love you." Elizabeth said smartly, her eyes narrowing. "I thought I made it clear I didn't want one? Or two? Or any?"
Will looked at her in exasperation and didn't understand why she was so against it.
"I never thought you were serious!"
"Start learning to take me seriously, Will!" she snapped, stomping her foot childishly. "I don't like children, I never have, they're noisy and messy and I don't want to share you with a snotty little brat!"
"You'd feel differently if it were your own, if it were ours."
"I don't want children!" Elizabeth said loudly, glaring at him. He stopped a moment, taken off guard by her force. He nodded his head.
"Calm down, Lizzie, I'm sorry, I just…I always saw myself as a father—"
"Don't call me that," she said on reflex, as she had the last few times the endearment had come out of his mouth. He felt a prickling of annoyance. "I'm sorry, Will, but I thought you understood that." She added, softer.
"I do." He answered dejectedly, trying to patch it up. He obviously said the wrong thing. She sighed and rubbed her palm over her forehead.
"By all means, don't let it inconvenience you."
--
She looped her arms through his, walking along the dock with him as he went to meet the captain of the ship who'd given him his biggest commission. She played with the strings of her bonnet as they walked, finally getting fed up with the strings and letting it fall back and release her hair.
"Ah, my good Mr. Turner!" a gruff, firm voice rang out and Elizabeth squinted against the sun as she looked around for the source; a burly, very stiff looking man was coming towards them.
"Captain Wentworth, may I introduce my wife, Elizabeth." Will answered formally. Elizabeth beamed; the captain tipped his hat to her and nodded shortly.
"You've done an exemplary job with my men's swords, son, and I'll thank ye for that. Worth every penny, though I'll not speak of man's business in front of the lady." Another courteous nod to Elizabeth, too which she was less receptive. "Excellent, excellent craftsmanship." The captain murmured, nodding as he stroked his beard.
"Thank you, sir; I hope they'll make do until you're able to get English commission." Will answered humbly. Elizabeth smiled and looked up at him.
"Oh, Will is too modest, Captain Wentworth; he's really one of the best blacksmiths around, and swords are his particular talent." She said proudly, giving him a swift kiss on the cheek. The Captain gave her a small smile and nodded.
"Charming," he said, turning to Will. He held out his hand, which Will took and shook firmly, his face set. "A moment in private, Mr. Turner?" he asked. Will slipped his arm out of Elizabeth's grasp and followed the other man away, standing a bit off and talking in a low voice. Elizabeth, more than a little miffed, stood with her arms crossed, waiting. He returned to her, and she didn't put her arm back in his.
"He talked to me like I was a troublesome child," she commented in an annoyed tone, pulling her bonnet off and swinging it in her hands.
"He didn't like your behavior. It was a little…improper." Will replied. She stopped walking.
"WHAT?" she asked sharply, clearly angry. Will turned when he found her not at his side and looked at her.
"You shouldn't have kissed me like that, it was just forward; he didn't approve."
"I believe I stopped caring for the approval of men like him when I married you, Will Turner." She hissed, tightening her hand on the bonnet strings. She glared at him. "And since when do ou take into account the opinion of others on my propriety?" she demanded. He looked frustrated.
"I have to look professional, Elizabeth, and you kiss me in front of my employer, it's…ah, it just felt odd."
"You shouldn't care what he thinks! I didn't make you look any less capable!"
"Elizabeth, please, I'm just trying to keep up an appearance here, to be recommended. What image does it give if my wife shows intimacy on a public dock?"
"Forgive me for marring your appearance, my dear husband. Shall I go home and have the servants tighten my corset strings?" she fired back sarcastically, raising her voice. He came towards her, looking around at the few people who'd turned to stare, and took her by the arm gently.
"Elizabeth-"
"I don't care if they're looking at us, don't you see? I married you to get away from those stupid conduct rules. I should be able to kiss my husband in public!"
"I was under the impression you married me because you loved me." Will said, an edge of sarcasm to his voice. Elizabeth pulled her arm out of his grip.
"Of course I did!" she defended.
"You're overreacting, then. I'm not reprimanding you-"
"What do you call it?"
"I'm just asking you to save your kisses for times other than business meetings!"
"Then, William, do leave me at home next time."
--
"Will?" Elizabeth called his name breathlessly when she heard his boots scuff the floor outside the door. She appeared in the doorway just as he shut the door behind him, shaking rain out of his hair. He hung up his coat and looked at her questioningly. She stepped towards him hesitantly.
"Will, I'm pregnant." She said, smiling a little at the corners of her mouth. He looked at her blankly for a moment, and then surprise and a smile spread over his face. He stepped over the threshold and swept her into a hug, getting her soaked with cold rainwater. She giggled.
"I knew you'd be happy," she said into his shoulder.
"But you—what about you? I mean, I thought..." he trailed off, looking worried. Elizabeth shrugged mildly.
"Well there's not much to do about it…and I kind of thought about having someone here during the day when you're gone, and then seeing him or her run to you when you come home…it might not be so bad." She admitted sheepishly. He squeezed her close again.
--
"I was thinking Will," she said, as she sat down across from him at the wooden table in the kitchen, leaning her chin in her hand. "about a name, for the baby."
"Don't you think we should find out if it's a boy or girl first?" Will asked, raising his eyebrows. She waved her hand.
"Oh, then it will be all rushed. Plus I think I'll be tired and I don't trust you." She teased lightly, smiling. "I think Rebecca, after my mother, for a girl…and Will, if it's a boy we have to name it Jack." She said dreamily, her hand in her lap.
"We are not naming him Jack." Will said, turning up his nose. Elizabeth didn't see his look, and assumed he was joking. She laughed.
"I think it fits-"
"Honestly, Elizabeth, why are you so intent on remembering Jack Sparrow?" Will interrupted in annoyance. She looked up at him in surprise, lifting her head off her palm.
"Why does he upset you so much?" she asked exasperatedly. "You don't think he's a worthy namesake? He did sort of bring us together; he saved my life." Will shook his head disgustedly.
"And almost got us both killed numerous times. He's a no-good pick pocket, and I won't have my son named after a pirate."
"Our son." Elizabeth corrected coldly. "Or have you forgotten that I do have some part in this?"
"You'll name him Jack and then be telling him glorified stories of pilfering and murder. I don't understand why you think Sparrow hung the moon."
"And I don't understand why you think he's such a devil! Everything he did helped us, Will, and you know it! If it wasn't for him I'd be dead!"
"I like a man with an honest living on his shoulders."
"And I like a man who's not afraid to do what he wants for himself!"
They stared at each other across the table, and Will groaned, leaning forward on the table.
"Forget I said anything, he's obviously a touchy subject."
Elizabeth laughed derisively and stood up, sweeping her dinner things off the table.
"Oh yes, I quite forgot, you don't like me thinking of Jack Sparrow because of my obvious preference of him to you." She said sarcastically, leaning against the sink. "In fact, you seem to be rather accusatory towards me when he's brought up. Do you have something you want to say to me?" she asked sharply. Will sighed and turned in his seat.
"What happened on that island?" he asked tiredly. Elizabeth's eyes flared, and her jaw set.
"Absolutely nothing! What's in your head, Will?" she demanded angrily, glaring daggers at him.
"'It never would have worked between us', what was that about then?" Will asked, mimicking Jack's voice.
"It's JACK he's delusional! He—you know, I don't find it necessary to justify myself to you. If you honestly sit there and think that I—that we—I don't know what's wrong with you!" she stumbled over her words, throwing her hands up.
"I don't understand how you can admire a man like him so much." Will muttered.
"He's a good man!" she cried. "Why are we even fighting about this? Jack Sparrow is irrelevant to our lives, he is only a memory, a friend, and every time I mention him you act as if you are personally threatened!"
"Forgive me if the idolatrous way you seem to think of him gives me reason to be suspicious of—"
"Jack Sparrow has never laid a hand on me, nor I him. And if it's what you need to hear to soothe your bizarre jealous preoccupation, then there it is."
"I'm not jealous of him!" Will snapped, standing up. Elizabeth turned away to the counter and looked out the window stubbornly.
"First the ribbon and now this. You act so insecure whenever you hear me talk about Jack. Pardon me if I have a bit of respectful regard towards a man who saved me from death."
"It seems you've forgotten who got you away from Barbossa and the likes of his men." Will responded coldly. "All the while Sparrow was negotiating our demise."
"Oh, Will," sighed Elizabeth tiredly. "This is ridiculous."
"What's ridiculous is you keeping a torn, dirty slip of a pirate's bandanna in your jewelry box."
--
Will.
Elizabeth bit down on her lip and squeezed her eyes together, tasting coppery blood in her mouth. She raised her arm, finding it somewhere under silky sheets, and covered her eyes, just in case she relaxed her muscles and accidentally opened them. She didn't want to see the world around her, not now. She didn't want to see anything, really and she hadn't for five years. She sighed quietly to herself.
He was all she ever dreamed about—before, during, and after the marriage. Nothing but him, even if it was a vision of just her, sitting alone in a room or standing in the rain and just letting the ice cold water penetrate her skin…it was always because of him. It always had something to do with him and she couldn't stop it and she hated it but she loved it, loved it though it was nonsensical in its insanity. But these dreams…the constant roll of benign memories that had flowed through her subconscious all this night; these weren't the mind-numbing exaggerations or frightening metaphorical nightmares she was usually jolted out of, they were genuine memories. Bits and pieces of the little moments of her sordidly ended marriage, moments that weren't tremendously painful or even the climactic points of the utter disaster that haunted her, and still—still she didn't want to see, she didn't want to remember. She just wanted it to end.
Elizabeth knew Jack was still in bed with her. She felt her legs still tangled around his under the light sheets, his arm under her neck and his fingers in her hair, curled against her scalp. She slipped her hand down the side of her face, untangling the knots in the strands that fell down to the side, and opened her eyes with a quiet sigh. She wet her lips with her tongue, swallowing the last of the blood, and feeling inexplicably sick to her stomach. His face was turned into the arm that was stretched under her neck, his other arm under the sheets, fingers splayed in the space between them. She didn't want to move another inch because she didn't want to face him either, she didn't want to face either one of them, the man in her mind or the man in her bed, and yet here both of them were, right in front of her. Figuratively and literally.
She hadn't gotten drunk, she hadn't gotten past the first glass of wine and it was this astonishing fact that baffled her as to why she'd fallen to utter pieces last night. Why had she let herself crack, get vulnerable, why had she told him what she'd told him? Wasn't that just confirmation of everything she'd been trying to deny all these abysmal years—that it had all really, actually happened? She'd done the one thing she'd sworn she would never do again. She'd lost her footing, yielded ground, and given the opponent ammunition. She'd let Jack Sparrow pull the details of her failed marriage out of her head and told him everything she'd erased and blacked out…and there was no sane, earthly explanation why.
That was it. Why. She didn't know why she had told him anything because he wasn't anything to her and she didn't mean anything to him. She had let all of it loose on a man who'd used her as collateral to escape years ago, on someone she hadn't associated with for five years and who she could honestly say held no influence over her—and she regretted every fucking word out of her mouth.
She regretted leaving the blissful numbness of seedy Tortuga, she hated herself for letting the facade she'd worked so hard to build crack and slip apart in a split second in time, and she hated him for hearing it. She hated him for seeing her fall apart, for being the first person—and a man, all the worse—to see her cry since she'd dried her tears for good, and she hated him for being there when she woke up, and making it that much harder to hate him as she'd hated all men. Her muscles were tense with the hate and the stress and the confusion, and still she didn't understand, knowing quite clearly the untoward animosity she felt for him, why she was still laying in bed with him.
Elizabeth drew in a sharp breath when she felt his rough fingers on her cheek, his thumb at the corner of her lip. She swallowed and kept her eyes on the ceiling, angry that he'd caught her crying, surprised that she hadn't noticed it herself. She turned her head away from him and disentangled her leg from his under the sheets, incapable of knowing what to say to him; she didn't want to speak to him. He shifted beside her, rising up on his elbow, and leaned over, his ringed fingers brushing against the back of her neck as he pulled her hair off of it. He pressed his lips against the dip between her shoulder and neck; she closed her eyes and sat up slowly, drawing the white sheets around her, her hair falling over the shoulder that hid Jack from her. He rolled over on his back and put his arm behind her, resting his palm and splayed fingers on the small of her back.
"Why're you crying, love?" he asked, his voice languid and deep. She closed her eyes and licked her lips. Maybe it was his voice like velvet that drew it out of her…
"Believe me," she replied quietly, her tone distant and measured, "it was an unintentional action."
"Purpose or no, there is a reason all the same."
"Which," she said carefully, eyes quite the dryer now and spine a little more rigid, "you are not entitled to know simply because you think it some sort of rare, amusing novelty." She could freeze him out, if not kick him out of his own bed.
"I don't think it amusing when others cry." He responded, his voice more aware of her mood now. He moved his hand and wrapped it around her arm above the elbow, pulling her around. She reluctantly turned, wary of fighting against him, and looked at him as he reclined, gazing at her with his dark, probing eyes, his head pillowed on his crooked arm. "Ridiculous, maybe, and almost always annoying, but not amusing. And not when there's good reason to be doing it."
She watched him for a second more, and pulled her arm out of his loose grasp, turning back to stare at the aged wood of the opposite cabin wall again. With every intention, her voice dripped with sarcasm when she spoke again.
"How gallant of you, captain."
"No," she heard him mutter, swearing an oath under his breath. He moved quickly, the sheets pulling, and sat up, moving so that he was in front of her, blocking her view, his arm stretched across to her other arm and holding her in a vice-like grip, his dark eyes burning.
"You're going to behave now, Miss Swann," he informed her in a low voice. "I believe we've disposed of the facade of scintillatingly harsh bravado."
She jerked back from him but he jerked forward at the same time, and she hissed with pain as his hand twisted a burn into her bare shoulder. He tilted his head and raised an eyebrow, as if asking an insolent child to mind the rules. She twisted her shoulder again, opening her mouth, her fierce eyes locked on his stubborn ones. Wanting nothing more than for him to leave, she reprimanded him.
"Now, Jack, don't you have better things to do than discipline me?" she asked patronizingly, flashing her eyebrows distractingly. "Captain your ship, for example?" she suggested innocently.
"I consider it a captainly duty to keep up the morale of those residing on my ship." He responded sharply, easily keeping up with her searing words. "Otherwise dreadfully unpleasant things happen, often to those who are involved in distracting the captain." He bent towards her, conspiratorially, his eyes hard. "Mutiny, for example."
"There's a very good chance they'll mutiny if you continue to lounge about fucking me."
Elizabeth fired back acidly, pulling her arm out of his grasp while he was caught up with her words and grabbing his wrist. She bared her wrist to him unwittingly and his eyes fell to the fading burn and scratches there; she caught on and dropped his wrist like dead weight on the bed.
In a fluke of confirmation to her reprimands, there sounded a loud shout and curse from deck and a bang on the wall of the cabin. Jack barely flinched. He looked at her like he would hit her, furious, before he turned and slapped his hand against the wood behind the bed, shouting a harsh word loudly. He didn't look at her again as he swiftly dressed; in a moment of unconnected thought she admired the way he effortlessly attired himself with all of his effects in less than five minutes. His boots reverberated loudly across the wood, thumping, and he swept her chemise off the floor fluidly, handing it to her in a mocking show of gentility. His fingers played over the
edge of the chair across the room where his coat was hung, and as he plucked it off the back and placed his hand around the handle of the cabin door, he turned hard, almost vicious eyes on her.
"Best put on something different," he suggested, "wouldn't want the crew to think you were some kind of whore."
Elizabeth picked up the wine glass on the side table and flung it against the door after him, relishing the sound of the shattering glass. She snaked her hands up to her hair, knotted her fingers in it, and pulled, biting her lip until the pain was so sharp it went numb.
Why those words from him cut so deep was an unfathomable annoyance.
--Haunted by Evanescence
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