AU: Titanic-style fic. Partially written for The Very Last Valkyrie. Be nice and review please :) Enjoy!
He was everything I never knew I wanted, or needed.
He came from somewhere different than I did.
He was much kinder, so I assume that his family had obviously been warm while my own mother had been more focused on marrying me off to some wealthy businessman.
He didn't argue, only bickered when I teased him. He didn't shout, he never seemed angry by something stupid I had done. He liked it, I think. He enjoyed my childlike manners, my clumsiness, my laugh. Or, at least that was what he had told me.
He had laughed along with me, smiled and smirked, and I remember his content grin whenever I would say something funny, something to distract him, to keep him beside me.
He had taught me things. He had shown and I had learnt. He had watched me, carefully observed my mannerisms and the way I walked. I had let him. I enjoyed him watching me. I enjoyed my time with him. I cherished it.
I had learnt how to dance the way I wanted to. Carefree and without an instructor and with less rules. He freed me, saved me, educated me on things that i always wanted to know. I had no interest in my mother's hobbies or her dreams. I had my own sights set. I wanted a new life, one that held fewer cards and could turn at any second, one with him, one where I'd leave this ship and spend my life loving and learning from this man. The word 'man' seems premature. He was only in his twenties, yet still only than I and more experienced, he had been through more than I probably ever would. But I wanted to, and I wanted to see his world, his life, and I wanted to learn.
He had been happy, with life and with his days. He had lived, and smiled, and he was fine with everything he had. He didn't need more money than the average workman. He didn't need a better life, prettier women to screw or his own set of bodyguards. He had himself, and his clothes, and his pride, and his drawing pad that I remember him keeping safe. It was his life, his work, his prized possession.
"Don't you have to get back to your fiancé?" He had asked, hands behind his back with his newfound politeness and I wanted to smack him, to pull his arms towards me and hold him, touch him.
"My fiancé doesn't have to know everything." I had replied, swaying back and forth on my small heels and wetting my lips with my tongue. I remember his face, his strained muscles, his green eyes like mint staring into mine, as if he was trying to win me. He didn't need to. he had already won me. Well, in my opinion, he had.
His lips had been pink, and gracefully shaped and I recall his slight speech fault. It wasn't a lisp or a stutter, and I'll never know what it was, but I remember his deep voice buckling my knees out from under me everytime he talked. He was beautiful, in every way the word could make sense. He was handsome, with his exotic charms and wild features. He had pulled me in, dragged me under and sucked the air out of my lungs. And I had let him.
I remember him saying that he didn't feel sure whenever he was around me, that he didn't feel completely safe whenever my fiancé's guard was hovering in the distance. I wasn't sure if he felt threatened, or afraid that something might happen if he looked at me the wrong way. I wanted him to see me that way though, and I needed him to touch me, if not only by the feeling of his hand in mine.
"You know, you may be spoiled, but you're far from rotten."
"Why, thank you." I joked, tapping his arm and letting him pull me down a corridor, escaping my fiance's man and finding a secluded area aboard the ship.
His breath had been strong but lovely, minty against my lips and his hands had gripped my waist, "I should probably make the most of this, shouldn't I?"
"Why would you say that?"
"I'm not an idiot, April. I know how the world works. You go one way and I go the other." His eyes had seemed lost, saddened by that almost and I remember my heart breaking at the sight. He was strong, and far from weak, but he was just as vulnerable as I was.
He had brushed a hand through my red hair, cupping my cheek and resting his forehead to mine, and I had closed my eyes as he had kissed me. It had light, and simple, and just as perfect as I had imagined it to be. He didn't force me, or pressure me, or make me feel worthless.
I felt safe with him. I felt secure, like I'd never need anybody else to ever look after me. He made me safe, and he protected me, even with just the taste of his lips and the feeling of his hands digging into the material of my dress.
It was probably the combustible mixture of his eyes and his mouth and those talented artist's hands, that had led me to drag him behind me as we had snuck further away, slipping down past the engine room and running loose between the guests' vehicles. I remember the old wagon, the one with the tinted windows and the leather seats, the one where I'd let him take me, have me, love me. The one where I'd given him everything, too afraid that if I didn't, he'd never get another chance to be my only.
I distinctly recall the feel of his hands on my body, the way he had touched me as if he was doing another one of his drawings. Taking his time, studying the subject, finding the place to start and working from there. He had owned me, and discovered me like no man ever had, and he had been gentle and tender, eyes glued to mine and hands bracing my neck softly as we had moved. He had kissed me with passion, with lust, and he had looked at me with love, and I don't remember any other person ever looking at me in that way. Like I was the only thing that mattered, like we were alone in the world, like he'd never let me go.
But above all else, I remember the disaster. The end, the beginning of my heart's failure. I remember the warnings, the screams, the shouts. The calls for help, the distant pleas of men trying to reach their wives and mothers trying to hold onto their children.
The impact wasn't sudden, everyone was aware of their fate, of their inevitable ending. Everyone aside from myself. I was in denial, unable to believe that this was in fact happening, that I was in actual danger of losing myself, of losing him. None of it had seemed real. From the cries to the collision to the moment that one end of the ship stood vertical to the other. None of this was right.
And I remember the cold, the freezing water of the ocean and silver necklace around my neck burning my skin like ice. It was ice, I was ice, and he was slowly losing his grip. I had begged with him, pleaded with him. I had forced his hands into mine so that I could drag him onto my board, pull him to some form of safety to save him, keep him. He had resisted my weak pulls, and willingly left his body in the water as he had taken my hands and looked at me again. With that same look, with that same stare that made me heart stop. Only this time I could actually feel my heart pounding against my chest, palpitating like a bloodstream when he had smiled despite his state, despite his ache. Why wouldn't he let me help him? How could he not have let me save him this time?
He deserved to be saved. He deserved to live, to smile and laugh. He deserved to fight, to love, to grow old and see the world. He deserved to be saved more than anyone, more than myself.
I don't even have a single picture of him, of his handsome smile and his bright green eyes that once shone like a deep ocean
And I can close my eyes on any given day and recite his last words, the ones imprinted on my soul that I will take with me forever, that I will take with me to the bottom of the ocean, to the bottom of my soul.
I had given him my thanks for saving my life, and I had shared my love for him. I had sobbed as he had ran his cold fingertips over my frozen hands.
"Remember when I said I didn't need anything else?" He had asked with a breath and I had closed my eyes with a quick nod, "I was wrong. I needed you. So, thank you."
I could barely him at the time, hardly understand his words until he had sunk below and let go of my hands, something he had once promised to never do.
I don't remember the rest, and I think on some level I chose to cut the rest of that fateful night out of my memory. I didn't want to see it happen again, or relive it, or feel the goosebumps creep up my arms as I remember him letting go, of my one love leaving me forever.
I recall the officer that had come around to check on me after I had been rescued. And I still fail to see how the Gods could let me continue on when they could take someone as wonderful and passionate and loving as Jackson was.
"Can I take your name, please?"
"April Avery." I had answered so fast.
I was his. I would now go by his name. He had owned me, he loved me, taken my heart and wrecked me. I had given him my life and I had lost his. I was his.
He was handsome, and smart, and brave. And he had a much kinder heart than anyone I'd ever met. But very soon fate had decided to wreck me, and ruin him, and take him from my life before he was due. I loved him, and I remember him, and I will always treasure my time with him.
He saved me in every way that a person can be saved.