II: Only So Much A Man Can Take

Soon James returned, a serving girl behind him carrying two steaming bowls of what smelled like a stew. He gave her a copper and sent her on her way. As there was only one chair, they devised to pull the small table over to the bed.

"Surely you lost everything in the wreck, James? How have you lived?"

The first answer that came to mind was that he had not lived, until laying eyes upon her face once more. But he realized what she referred to was coin. "I have not been an officer so long in the King's Service that I am completely useless in the world," he jested. He had his ways, though he didn't really relish the thought of telling Elizabeth he'd stolen his first stake from a drunken pirate on the quay, and multiplied his earnings through a fast hand at cards.

She laughed, a musical sound that was a balm to his soul. They ate the rest of their stew in companionable silence, and set the empty bowls by the door.

"James?"

Even after what felt like a lifetime away, his name on her lips still had the power to send his heart into a full gallop. "Yes?"

"Why are you here. Why didn't you come home?"

"Empty handed, disgraced, and to watch you wed the blacksmith? There's only so much a man can take, Elizabeth."

She sighed, looking down at her feet once more. "Well…you could have watched us being marched off to gaol. That might have been amusing for you," she attempted to jest.

"Hardly my idea of a good joke. And had I been there, I'm sure I would have been thrown into the cell right next to you for my own part in Sparrow's escape. Justifiably so."

A weak smile curled her lips. "Even better. Then you would have had a first row seat to watch Will call off our engagement through the bars of my cell. He didn't even kiss me goodbye…" Tears welled in her eyes as she remembered that bittersweet moment, knowing he acted on noble impulse, and yet without even consulting her own wishes. She wrung her hands in her lap, feeling rather like a little girl again. "He gave me up so easily."

It hurt James' heart to see her in pain, even if she mourned the loss of his rival. She was his weakness, his Achilles heel, through and through. It seemed not much had changed after all. "You may take it on good authority, Miss Swann, that a man does not give you up easily. The boy has more pluck than I thought. He only did what he thought best, I am sure."

The pain in James' voice as he offered these words of conciliation pierced Elizabeth like a knife. So much time had passed, and yet he sounded as though he'd lost her just yesterday. Was it possible that James loved her, still? After everything she had done to him? After all he had lost? If he did, then she was certain she did not deserve his love, even less now than she had before.

Before she could apologize again or say something else of their painful past, James stood, picking up his baldric. "You must be exhausted, Elizabeth. I insist you take this room for the night. I will procure lodgings elsewhere."

An expression of pure panic crossed her features. "Please don't go!" James froze in his action of lifting his sword belt over his head, the desperation in her tone plucking at his deepest heartstrings. "I mean…" Elizabeth pressed her lips, clearly embarrassed by her outburst. But the truth was that she could hardly remember what it was like to not feel like a hunted animal, constantly looking over her shoulder. "I feel safe with you. Please stay. And I couldn't take your bed. I'll sleep on the floor."

"I…could not abide that, my lady. It would be most improper."

Elizabeth laughed, though there was no mirth in it. "I am fairly certain I witnessed you cut off a man's hand for me tonight, James Norrington. I am a fugitive from justice, and you a man risen from the dead. We're on a pirate island, and I do believe propriety has flown the coop."

He could not suppress a small if not sheepish smile. "Then what do you suggest?"

"The floor looks mighty uncomfortable, and I hardly think you will ravish me in my sleep, James. I believe we may share the bed without fear of scandal."

James swallowed, hard. Carefully he warned, "You do know that would have been my fondest dream once upon a time, Elizabeth?"

"Surely significantly less so, after the ruin I have brought you," she sighed, averting her eyes. Yet when she dared glance to the former Commodore from beneath her lashes, she caught James in a moment of unguarded emotion. In that brief flash she saw it all; his love, his longing, his loyalty, and her heart clenched. How was it possible? After all she had done to him? The heartbreak and embarrassment and devastation. How could a man be so loyal?

James knew he'd been caught with his true heart laid bare, and heavily he sighed, closing his eyes. He was a man who had always cloistered his emotions behind thick walls and locked doors, but now it seemed there was nowhere left to hide. "I wouldn't count on it," he admitted quietly.

"Oh James…"

The former Commodore cleared his throat, which was suddenly uncomfortably tight. Now that the effects of the battle had worn off it seemed he could do nothing but revert to his old self with Miss Swann, timid as a calf, eternally proper when all he wanted to do was grab her up and kiss her. "So perhaps you can imagine, Elizabeth, trusting your honor to me may not be in your best interest."

He watched as her expression softened, and found he did not know what it meant. From years of close study he thought he knew her repertoire of expressions completely, but then, she'd never looked at him like that before.

Elizabeth was feeling quite raw herself that night. Still smarting from Will's rejection, a fugitive from British law, miles from everything and everyone she'd ever known, all alone on a dangerous outlaw island…James was a familiar boon, a safe harbor at last after all her trials. She couldn't stand to see him go now.

"I'll risk it," she answered quietly, rising from the bed. Flabbergasted, he watched as she removed her boots, stockings, and tunic, and let down her hair from its tightly bound queue. It fell around her like a burnished gold curtain, and James' heart made a splendid attempt at beating right out of his chest. She lay down on the far side of the bed in her shirt and breeches, hugging a pillow, and James could do little more than stare in bewilderment.

How many times had he fantasized this very moment? Elizabeth awaiting him in bed, her hair undone and waving about her. Brazenly she watched him with large dark eyes, curious what he would do.

For a long moment James found himself utterly incapable of movement. What luck was this? What buggering luck. A torture most sweet. He didn't know how he could lay beside her and stand it. And yet how could he not? He didn't want to leave, truth be told. Despite its age, this was the most comfortable bed he'd found in Tortuga. He was tired, after all. He would fall right asleep, surely.

Keep dreaming, old boy.

With a deep sigh and a shake of his head James began to divest himself of his own accoutrements, pausing when finally he reached his shirt. He didn't like to sleep with it on, it was deuced hot and the night breeze that came through the tall windows was small relief, and…he didn't want to. Elizabeth was here with him, and he wanted…perhaps he'd become a pirate after all. He certainly wasn't a gentleman anymore, for all the good it had ever done him.

Rather fascinated, Elizabeth watched as James seemed to fight some war within himself, finally clasping the tails of his shirt and pulling it up over his head. What lay beneath pulled a delicate gasp from her throat. She never imagined he could look like that beneath his stodgy uniform and wig. Taut chiseled muscle, and scars. God, did he have scars.

As James lay down beside her she found herself reaching out to touch a particularly nasty slash across his pectoral, a little souvenir from a bout with a pirate some years ago. Her brow furrowed with concern. "Have you always had these?" she asked, afraid that much of this damage had been inflicted in just his short time on Tortuga.

James gasped as her fingertips slid across his bare skin, and on instinct he grabbed her hand, afraid to let her touch him more, afraid of what he would do. What he could gain, and what he could lose, all seemed equally damning at that moment. Finally he answered, "The worst are here, I assure you," pressing her hand over his heart.

In that moment she felt positively wretched. Somehow she knew that despite the loss of his men, the loss of his ship, his rank, his place in the world, she had caused by far the worst wound to his heart. A wound, it seemed, that had not healed even a little in the time that had passed.

"Oh James. I'm so sorry. I was a child. A foolish child. I didn't know…I couldn't imagine…"

How much he'd loved her.

How truly precious that love had been.

How much power she'd possessed over him, and how wickedly she'd wielded it.

James dared to reach out to touch her hair, brushing a tendril back from her face. A face that could launch a thousand ships. Ten thousand. A flat million. God damn it all but she was beautiful. Even more so now that she was older. Somehow that first pure bloom of fair youth had matured into something even more enticing, like a wine improves with age.

By some miracle Elizabeth leaned in to his touch, and at last James found himself completely undone.

One kiss.

Just one, for all his pain and trouble and suffering. The sleepless nights and long hours at sea spent thinking of the next time he might see her…surely she could forgive him for taking just one kiss?

James cradled her face in his large hand, leaning down to press his lips to hers. He waited for the slap, the shove, the bitter admonishment—instead, her mouth was soft and pliant beneath his, and he groaned as she opened her lips to him, the sliding touch of her tongue against his making him blind with desire.

He broke.

The kiss became a wild and hungry thing, and a spectator might have thought he did not mean to kiss her so much as devour her. Gladly she took his fury, his lust, his hunger, his pain. His hands travelled to her waist, the curve of her hip, her thigh, gripping her flesh so hard she knew there would be bruises.

She didn't care.

She'd earned them, and she would withstand it all, as a rock in the sea takes the ferocity of the waves in a storm.

At last James pulled back to look at her, his bottle green eyes wild and searching. "God, Elizabeth. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'll go…"

His voice came husky with desire, raw with wanting. His arm shook slightly as he held himself away from her, tremulous with excitement. Despite all this, he still would walk away if she wished it. Despite how far he'd fallen, somehow he still retained that much honor, for her.

She couldn't bear to see him go now.

Her hands slipped around his neck, pulling him closer. "It's alright, James," she soothed, smoothing his rich brown hair away from his eyes. She would have given anything in that moment to chase that haggard pain from his stare.

"Please stay. I'm so happy you're alive. Stay."