FIC: Heartbeat [Pirates of the Caribbean]
Title: Heartbeat
Author: atraphoenix
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean
Characters: Elizabeth Swann/James Norrington
Rating: PG-13
Summary: What if Elizabeth stayed behind on the Isle Cruces with James?
Author's Note: Written for the norribeth 'What If?' challenge.
A huge thank you to argyleheir for a wonderfully thorough and extremely helpful beta job.
“We’re not getting out of this,” Elizabeth said, unable to resist stating the obvious in a dire situation. They were backing slowly but surely towards the boat - their only chance of escape - but for every step they took, a member of Davy Jones’ crew took two steps more. She was tired, exhausted even, running solely on adrenaline that was sure to run out sooner or later.
“Not with the chest,” said James, startling her. She hadn’t really expected a response from anyone; a response would mean what she’d said was true, and that they really were all going to die.
She knew that the chest was the reason for it, too, but hearing James say it made it seem all the more real. To survive this, they’d have to give the heart back to Davy Jones. Elizabeth herself didn’t want it, but the three men did. If they thought it was worth dying for, then it had to be worth protecting.
Probably.
For a moment, she didn’t realise what he was doing, but then he was pulling the chest out of the boat and turning back towards the island.
“No!” she exclaimed, realising too late what his plan was, even if she didn’t realise his motivation. “You can’t! You’re mad!” Brave, yes, but still mad.
His only reply was: “Don’t wait for me!” There was a strange flash in his eyes as their gazes met for what he assumed would be the final time, but his momentary distraction was the opening Elizabeth needed. She seized the chest from his arms, willing to do anything to safe all three men, who she loved in very different ways.
Elizabeth had only a second to make her decision, but she was running down the beach in less time than that. She was struggling to run through the shallow waters at the edge of the beach as Davy Jones’ crew surged after her, the chest tucked awkwardly under one arm.
She’d seen something in his eyes that made it impossible to just turn away and forget about him. For a start, she wanted to figure out what that something she’d seen actually was.
“What are you doing?” James shouted, and Elizabeth turned her head slightly to see that it wasn’t just Jones’ crew chasing her across the sand. She realised, with a dull stab of horror and amazement, that he had found it equally impossible to turn away and forget about her.
“Helping you!” she exclaimed when he reached her, ducking to avoid a stroke from one of their pursuers, bringing up her sword to force him backwards and buy them a little more time. A few years ago she’d thought pirates fascinating enough, let alone pirates which had physically become part of the very ship they served on. There was probably such thing as too much excitement, though Elizabeth didn’t believe that just yet.
“You must go back!” he growled, whirling round to stop one of Davy Jones’ pirates from catching Elizabeth in the chest with his barnacle-encrusted sword.
“I can’t go back now,” she said, turning to block the thrust of someone who had taken advantage of the former Commodore’s lapse in concentration to strike at his neck, “They’re in my way.”
He glared at her for a moment, before they stepped forward together, raising their swords to cut down two of the creatures chasing them. She smiled, satisfied that he wasn’t going to argue anymore.
The sight before her soon wiped that smile away. James grabbed her hand when they reached the beach itself, taking the chest and tucking it under his arm as he dragged her through the trees. It was easier to run now they were out of the water, but not easy enough. Jones’ crew were getting closer. Elizabeth was almost convinced she could feel their breath on her neck, but, then again, she always did have an overactive imagination when it came to pirates.
(It was strange that she’d never pictured anything like this when she was a child, wasn’t it?)
She tripped and staggered, but James caught her, almost dropping the chest to keep Elizabeth on her feet. A very nice gesture, she was sure, but also just the opening those chasing them had been waiting for. In an instant, they were as good as surrounded. No amount of swordplay was going to get them out of this.
James spun to face the oncoming crowd, pushing Elizabeth behind him. She peered around his shoulder and noted that there seemed to be many more of them when they were all gathered together, swords glistening in the light which flooded through the tree branches.
“I shall pry the chest away from your cold, dead hands,” said one of the members of Jones’ crew, a smile on the face of his head, which he held in his hands. He was caressing it tenderly, with a lover’s feathery touch, and the overall effect was so sinister than Elizabeth made no attempt to step out from behind James.
The former Commodore glanced around, eyes resting briefly on the face of the woman he loved, and then he moved and tossed the chest straight into the creature’s hands.
“Here you go,” he said brightly. Before Elizabeth could react, James’ hand had closing round her wrist and he was dragging her away through the trees.
“No!” she shouted, struggling against his grip, “What are you doing? You’ve given them the chest! You’ve given them the heart!”
James didn’t say anything. He just carried on running. Elizabeth had no option but to do the same or end up stumbling and falling to the ground.
She wasn’t sure how long they tore through the forest, tree branches catching at their clothes and hair and sweat beading on their foreheads. When they did finally stop, however, the first thing she did was turn to run back the way they’d came. His grip remained steadfast on her arm, but she kicked and thrashed and struggled like a wildcat. In the end, his arms folded round her and he held her close to his chest until he was satisfied that she had finished struggling.
When James finally did let go, he continued to hold her wrist, keeping her close. Elizabeth assumed it was in case she started to run again.
“I haven’t given them the heart,” he assured her, his voice low and conspiratorial.
“James,” she exclaimed, still trying to pull free, though less desperately, “I just saw …”
“You saw me give them the chest,” he interrupted. “Not the heart.
Elizabeth merely stared at him, more than a little confused. But then James reached into his jacket and drew out something that she’d never expected to see for herself. The heart of Davy Jones.
It lay there, beating bloodlessly in his palm, and she felt as if her own heart had suddenly been torn from her chest. Yes, she’d heard James talking about giving it to Beckett, but she’d never quite believed it. Jack Sparrow was capable of acting so selfishly, and, though she was loathed to admit it, so was Will. (She’d never seen William Turner act as rashly as had over the last few days except when it came to rescuing her. She’d told herself she wasn’t jealous of his father. She didn’t have time for jealousy.)
But not James Norrington! Not the man she’d cornered at balls to question about pirates and battles and who had put up with the attention so gracefully. Not the man who had tried to dive off the ramparts of the fort to save her from drowning. Not the man who had agreed to rescue Will, as a wedding gift to her, even though he knew what it really meant.
“You were going to give it to Beckett,” she whispered.
“Elizabeth,” he said, very gently, very quietly, reaching for her hand, “I …”
“No!” she exclaimed, stepping back, looking as if he’d physically struck her, “No! After everything I’ve seen and heard, I still thought you were a good man! An honourable man! But I was so wrong. You’re no better than the pirates you used to hunt!”
You’re no better than me!
Her eyes were blazing and she opened her mouth to say more, but, suddenly, James was gripping her shoulders, spinning her round and forcing her back against a tree. Elizabeth struggled for a moment, to no avail, and then she was just standing there, pinioned by his arms, panting slightly, and, most importantly, glaring at him.
“I am not a pirate!” he growled. She’d never heard him sound like that before. The tone of his voice made her feel very small, and, for some reason, very aware of the fact that she was female. There was no politeness there, no careful mask held up to hide his true feeling. It was raw emotion, something he was always so unwilling to show, and Elizabeth was surprised to find how much she liked it.
“Then what are you?” she demanded. She wasn’t afraid of him, even now, even when he had her pinned to a tree trunk with his eyes blazing and one hand itching to reach for his sword.
“I don’t know,” he answered, hissing the words out from between his teeth.
Elizabeth gave a derisive laugh, and shook her head. She considered trying to move out of his grip, but, for reasons she couldn’t fathom, didn’t bother.
“Do you even have a heart of you own, James?” she said in a low, bitter voice.
Now it was his turn to look as if he’d been struck.
“You know I do, Elizabeth,” he said. “I gave it to you, remember?”
How could she forget? She regretted little, but what she’d done to James was top of the list. Using people was one thing, but using and mistreating someone who’d thought so highly of her was even worse. He’d let her be Elizabeth, and not just the Governor’s daughter. Even Will had found it difficult to see past that at first.
They were pressed to chest to chest, and she could feel the pounding of James’ heart through his tattered jacket. She found herself concentrating on it, the steady pulse beneath his skin. She counted the beat, slow and even and regular, despite where they were, despite what had happened. Despite the fact that he’d been playing to betray them all, herself included, to Beckett.
She should have found this thought abhorrent. Instead, she found herself wondering if anything could make his pulse race.
The kiss was gentle at first, a nervous bumping of lips. However, as his heartbeat began to speed up, and Elizabeth’s confidence grew, she deepened it, twinning her fingers through his hair, slipping her tongue in to duel with his. He tasted of rum and sweat, when once she would have expected him to taste of fine liquors and the rare, exotic tang of cigars. He tasted like a ...
“A pirate,” James whispered, his green eyes wide as saucers. “You said I was a pirate!”
The look of surprise and confusion on his face made him seem younger somehow, less the rum soaked wreck he had become and more the newly promoted Commodore who had proposed to her on the battlements of Fort Charles.
Elizabeth hadn’t realised how much she’d missed that look. She hadn’t even realised she knew it.
She found herself taking advantage of his surprise to reverse their positions. Now she was the one pinning him to the tree, pressing her body even more closely to his.
After all, the heart was safe with them. Relatively safe.
She didn’t think of the others, who she’d last seen fighting for their lives back on the beach. She didn’t think of Will, the man she was supposed to marry, or Jack Sparrow, the man who’d betrayed her yet again. Perhaps there only so much one person could put up with before they took matters - and Davy Jones’ heart - into their own hands.
“I like pirates,” she murmured, bringing her lips to his once more.
Author: atraphoenix
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean
Characters: Elizabeth Swann/James Norrington
Rating: PG-13
Summary: What if Elizabeth stayed behind on the Isle Cruces with James?
Author's Note: Written for the norribeth 'What If?' challenge.
A huge thank you to argyleheir for a wonderfully thorough and extremely helpful beta job.
“We’re not getting out of this,” Elizabeth said, unable to resist stating the obvious in a dire situation. They were backing slowly but surely towards the boat - their only chance of escape - but for every step they took, a member of Davy Jones’ crew took two steps more. She was tired, exhausted even, running solely on adrenaline that was sure to run out sooner or later.
“Not with the chest,” said James, startling her. She hadn’t really expected a response from anyone; a response would mean what she’d said was true, and that they really were all going to die.
She knew that the chest was the reason for it, too, but hearing James say it made it seem all the more real. To survive this, they’d have to give the heart back to Davy Jones. Elizabeth herself didn’t want it, but the three men did. If they thought it was worth dying for, then it had to be worth protecting.
Probably.
For a moment, she didn’t realise what he was doing, but then he was pulling the chest out of the boat and turning back towards the island.
“No!” she exclaimed, realising too late what his plan was, even if she didn’t realise his motivation. “You can’t! You’re mad!” Brave, yes, but still mad.
His only reply was: “Don’t wait for me!” There was a strange flash in his eyes as their gazes met for what he assumed would be the final time, but his momentary distraction was the opening Elizabeth needed. She seized the chest from his arms, willing to do anything to safe all three men, who she loved in very different ways.
Elizabeth had only a second to make her decision, but she was running down the beach in less time than that. She was struggling to run through the shallow waters at the edge of the beach as Davy Jones’ crew surged after her, the chest tucked awkwardly under one arm.
She’d seen something in his eyes that made it impossible to just turn away and forget about him. For a start, she wanted to figure out what that something she’d seen actually was.
“What are you doing?” James shouted, and Elizabeth turned her head slightly to see that it wasn’t just Jones’ crew chasing her across the sand. She realised, with a dull stab of horror and amazement, that he had found it equally impossible to turn away and forget about her.
“Helping you!” she exclaimed when he reached her, ducking to avoid a stroke from one of their pursuers, bringing up her sword to force him backwards and buy them a little more time. A few years ago she’d thought pirates fascinating enough, let alone pirates which had physically become part of the very ship they served on. There was probably such thing as too much excitement, though Elizabeth didn’t believe that just yet.
“You must go back!” he growled, whirling round to stop one of Davy Jones’ pirates from catching Elizabeth in the chest with his barnacle-encrusted sword.
“I can’t go back now,” she said, turning to block the thrust of someone who had taken advantage of the former Commodore’s lapse in concentration to strike at his neck, “They’re in my way.”
He glared at her for a moment, before they stepped forward together, raising their swords to cut down two of the creatures chasing them. She smiled, satisfied that he wasn’t going to argue anymore.
The sight before her soon wiped that smile away. James grabbed her hand when they reached the beach itself, taking the chest and tucking it under his arm as he dragged her through the trees. It was easier to run now they were out of the water, but not easy enough. Jones’ crew were getting closer. Elizabeth was almost convinced she could feel their breath on her neck, but, then again, she always did have an overactive imagination when it came to pirates.
(It was strange that she’d never pictured anything like this when she was a child, wasn’t it?)
She tripped and staggered, but James caught her, almost dropping the chest to keep Elizabeth on her feet. A very nice gesture, she was sure, but also just the opening those chasing them had been waiting for. In an instant, they were as good as surrounded. No amount of swordplay was going to get them out of this.
James spun to face the oncoming crowd, pushing Elizabeth behind him. She peered around his shoulder and noted that there seemed to be many more of them when they were all gathered together, swords glistening in the light which flooded through the tree branches.
“I shall pry the chest away from your cold, dead hands,” said one of the members of Jones’ crew, a smile on the face of his head, which he held in his hands. He was caressing it tenderly, with a lover’s feathery touch, and the overall effect was so sinister than Elizabeth made no attempt to step out from behind James.
The former Commodore glanced around, eyes resting briefly on the face of the woman he loved, and then he moved and tossed the chest straight into the creature’s hands.
“Here you go,” he said brightly. Before Elizabeth could react, James’ hand had closing round her wrist and he was dragging her away through the trees.
“No!” she shouted, struggling against his grip, “What are you doing? You’ve given them the chest! You’ve given them the heart!”
James didn’t say anything. He just carried on running. Elizabeth had no option but to do the same or end up stumbling and falling to the ground.
She wasn’t sure how long they tore through the forest, tree branches catching at their clothes and hair and sweat beading on their foreheads. When they did finally stop, however, the first thing she did was turn to run back the way they’d came. His grip remained steadfast on her arm, but she kicked and thrashed and struggled like a wildcat. In the end, his arms folded round her and he held her close to his chest until he was satisfied that she had finished struggling.
When James finally did let go, he continued to hold her wrist, keeping her close. Elizabeth assumed it was in case she started to run again.
“I haven’t given them the heart,” he assured her, his voice low and conspiratorial.
“James,” she exclaimed, still trying to pull free, though less desperately, “I just saw …”
“You saw me give them the chest,” he interrupted. “Not the heart.
Elizabeth merely stared at him, more than a little confused. But then James reached into his jacket and drew out something that she’d never expected to see for herself. The heart of Davy Jones.
It lay there, beating bloodlessly in his palm, and she felt as if her own heart had suddenly been torn from her chest. Yes, she’d heard James talking about giving it to Beckett, but she’d never quite believed it. Jack Sparrow was capable of acting so selfishly, and, though she was loathed to admit it, so was Will. (She’d never seen William Turner act as rashly as had over the last few days except when it came to rescuing her. She’d told herself she wasn’t jealous of his father. She didn’t have time for jealousy.)
But not James Norrington! Not the man she’d cornered at balls to question about pirates and battles and who had put up with the attention so gracefully. Not the man who had tried to dive off the ramparts of the fort to save her from drowning. Not the man who had agreed to rescue Will, as a wedding gift to her, even though he knew what it really meant.
“You were going to give it to Beckett,” she whispered.
“Elizabeth,” he said, very gently, very quietly, reaching for her hand, “I …”
“No!” she exclaimed, stepping back, looking as if he’d physically struck her, “No! After everything I’ve seen and heard, I still thought you were a good man! An honourable man! But I was so wrong. You’re no better than the pirates you used to hunt!”
You’re no better than me!
Her eyes were blazing and she opened her mouth to say more, but, suddenly, James was gripping her shoulders, spinning her round and forcing her back against a tree. Elizabeth struggled for a moment, to no avail, and then she was just standing there, pinioned by his arms, panting slightly, and, most importantly, glaring at him.
“I am not a pirate!” he growled. She’d never heard him sound like that before. The tone of his voice made her feel very small, and, for some reason, very aware of the fact that she was female. There was no politeness there, no careful mask held up to hide his true feeling. It was raw emotion, something he was always so unwilling to show, and Elizabeth was surprised to find how much she liked it.
“Then what are you?” she demanded. She wasn’t afraid of him, even now, even when he had her pinned to a tree trunk with his eyes blazing and one hand itching to reach for his sword.
“I don’t know,” he answered, hissing the words out from between his teeth.
Elizabeth gave a derisive laugh, and shook her head. She considered trying to move out of his grip, but, for reasons she couldn’t fathom, didn’t bother.
“Do you even have a heart of you own, James?” she said in a low, bitter voice.
Now it was his turn to look as if he’d been struck.
“You know I do, Elizabeth,” he said. “I gave it to you, remember?”
How could she forget? She regretted little, but what she’d done to James was top of the list. Using people was one thing, but using and mistreating someone who’d thought so highly of her was even worse. He’d let her be Elizabeth, and not just the Governor’s daughter. Even Will had found it difficult to see past that at first.
They were pressed to chest to chest, and she could feel the pounding of James’ heart through his tattered jacket. She found herself concentrating on it, the steady pulse beneath his skin. She counted the beat, slow and even and regular, despite where they were, despite what had happened. Despite the fact that he’d been playing to betray them all, herself included, to Beckett.
She should have found this thought abhorrent. Instead, she found herself wondering if anything could make his pulse race.
The kiss was gentle at first, a nervous bumping of lips. However, as his heartbeat began to speed up, and Elizabeth’s confidence grew, she deepened it, twinning her fingers through his hair, slipping her tongue in to duel with his. He tasted of rum and sweat, when once she would have expected him to taste of fine liquors and the rare, exotic tang of cigars. He tasted like a ...
“A pirate,” James whispered, his green eyes wide as saucers. “You said I was a pirate!”
The look of surprise and confusion on his face made him seem younger somehow, less the rum soaked wreck he had become and more the newly promoted Commodore who had proposed to her on the battlements of Fort Charles.
Elizabeth hadn’t realised how much she’d missed that look. She hadn’t even realised she knew it.
She found herself taking advantage of his surprise to reverse their positions. Now she was the one pinning him to the tree, pressing her body even more closely to his.
After all, the heart was safe with them. Relatively safe.
She didn’t think of the others, who she’d last seen fighting for their lives back on the beach. She didn’t think of Will, the man she was supposed to marry, or Jack Sparrow, the man who’d betrayed her yet again. Perhaps there only so much one person could put up with before they took matters - and Davy Jones’ heart - into their own hands.
“I like pirates,” she murmured, bringing her lips to his once more.