Fic: 'What's in a name?'
Didn't get away for lunch today, but dashed this off and sent it to hereswith and hendercats who very kindly edited.
What's In A Name?
Lizzie. He was calling her Lizzie, now.
No one ever called her Lizzie. It had only ever been Miss Swann, or a respectful Miss Elizabeth. Elizabeth had been reserved for the very few: her mother and father; her dimly remembered relatives back in England, when she was small; and, for the last year or so, James. She remembered how pleased her father had been when she had given James that permission. Little did he know how soon his plans in that direction would go awry. Or how many years it had been since she'd given Will that same permission, to no avail, until recent events had changed so much between them.
Jack, on the other hand, hadn't waited on such an absurdity as permission. Absurd to him, at least.
"Elizabeth... it is Elizabeth?"
"It's Miss Swann."
"Ah. Miss Swann. If you'd be so kind."
He'd always said Miss Swann with that slightly satirical lilt. As though convention and appearance and reputation were of small account in his grand scheme. As though he saw through her, right from the start. Saw beneath the silk and lace and brocade. Beneath that bloody corset. Saw her for what she was, rather than what she was raised to be. Supposed to be.
And now, instead of the more staid Elizabeth, it was Lizzie. A casual familiarity that fell all too comfortably from his smiling lips.
Comfortable, like the boy's clothing she had chosen to assume, which gave her both freedom and an odd awareness of herself.
She rather thought she liked it.
~.~
What's In A Name?
Lizzie. He was calling her Lizzie, now.
No one ever called her Lizzie. It had only ever been Miss Swann, or a respectful Miss Elizabeth. Elizabeth had been reserved for the very few: her mother and father; her dimly remembered relatives back in England, when she was small; and, for the last year or so, James. She remembered how pleased her father had been when she had given James that permission. Little did he know how soon his plans in that direction would go awry. Or how many years it had been since she'd given Will that same permission, to no avail, until recent events had changed so much between them.
Jack, on the other hand, hadn't waited on such an absurdity as permission. Absurd to him, at least.
"Elizabeth... it is Elizabeth?"
"It's Miss Swann."
"Ah. Miss Swann. If you'd be so kind."
He'd always said Miss Swann with that slightly satirical lilt. As though convention and appearance and reputation were of small account in his grand scheme. As though he saw through her, right from the start. Saw beneath the silk and lace and brocade. Beneath that bloody corset. Saw her for what she was, rather than what she was raised to be. Supposed to be.
And now, instead of the more staid Elizabeth, it was Lizzie. A casual familiarity that fell all too comfortably from his smiling lips.
Comfortable, like the boy's clothing she had chosen to assume, which gave her both freedom and an odd awareness of herself.
She rather thought she liked it.
~.~