Wandering Kind: Past Our Dancing Days
Title: Our Wandering Kind (year three): Past Our Dancing Days
Author: artemismuse
Rating: PG
Pairing: Norribeth
Warnings: This is now solidly AU pre-CotBP.
Summary: James shows Elizabeth his scars, and there is much pondering of sexual tension on both sides.
When she is fourteen, he shows her his scars.
It happens by accident, as these things so often do. Upon hearing that James has made it back from some skirmishes with pirates- safely, she is assured, and made Commander by default now that the old Commander was killed in action- she barges into his cabin below-deck. He is dressing, his back to her, and she is about to squeal "James!" and pounce on him when she realizes that without all the layers of stiff fabric and trim, she can see his corded muscles, tan from working in the Caribbean sun. Feeling like a voyeur, she continues to stare at him in silent wonder at all the things about James she has never known.
His body is like an unknown country she's always dreamed about but never visited. He has always been gentle with her, so she sees all the strength he tucks away somewhere when they talk. She sees the slightly unsure way he carries himself when he is alone, revealing that he is still at an awkward age, trying so hard to be a man when he is so much younger than the men he commands. And she sees the scars- the old ones, and the newly bandaged ones that make him wince as he reaches for his shirt. So instead of hugging him far too tight and likely causing him pain, she murmurs softly, aching for him, "Oh, James."
He drops the shirt, turns too quickly, and a brief flash of pain crosses his face before a look that is part shock and part pure delight takes over.
"Elizabeth! What are you doing here?" He smiles, crosses the small space between them and hugs her with one arm.
"I had to come see you," she says into his chest, cheek pressed into his pectoral muscle, hearing his heart. He is nothing like her doll, not soft and squishy at all like when she presses it to her heart and imagines it is him. He is deliciously warm and all hard angles, muscle and bone. She is delirious. She is in heaven. She wants to stay here forever. She should be telling him why she's here. "They told me you were alright, but I wanted to make sure…." It is only at this point that James realizes he is shirtless, and that holding the Governor's growing fourteen-year-old daughter against his bare chest in his quarters might seem improper. To those who don't understand that the relationship between them is more familial than anything else, it might seem awkward indeed. He pushes her away, slightly alarmed.
"Oh, I do apologize, I should… let me put on a…."
"No," she says, "please don't on my account. I'm sure you're more comfortable with it off."
"Oh," he says, relieved that she doesn't seem scandalized. "Thank you, but…."
She racks her brain for an excuse to keep him shirtless.
"You're injured," she says, distracting him. "What happened?" Confide in me, she wants to say, tell me everything. She points to the bandage taped over his shoulder-blade.
"Oh, that? It's just a scratch." She stares at him witheringly.
"You don't have to lie to me, James. I don't need protecting from the cruel, cruel world. You can tell me."
"Gunshot wound," he admits sheepishly, as if he should have known better. Elizabeth resists the urge to clap a hand to her mouth and gasp, as she knows that will distress him and stop him from telling her these things. She nods, and makes herself at home on his bed, happily noting that he has indeed placed her carving of the Dauntless on his dresser in a prominent place.
"Go on."
"What's to tell? I was watching Gillette's back, making sure he got to safety, and I forgot to watch my own. It was a stupid mistake."
"Saving someone else's life is never a 'stupid mistake', James," Elizabeth says, trying to be gentle with him, as he has always been with her. "And those?" She points to three shallow lines by his right hip bone.
"These were from shrapnel… are you sure you really want to hear this?" She nods.
"Please." James shrugs and raises his trouser leg, pointing to another bandage by his ankle.
"This one was from friendly fire. Just an accident, no hard feelings." He has still not addressed her main concern, a set of scars on his chest that looks as though someone tried to tear his heart out with a broken glass bottle.
"And that?" He follows her gaze.
"That," he says grimly, "is what comes of trusting a pirate."
Elizabeth feels ill. All this time, she has been nattering on about how wonderful pirates are, and James has let her, when he was clearly almost killed by one who betrayed him, apparently. She suddenly hates pirates with a red-hot passion. How dare they do this to her James? All the color drains from her face as she whispers, heartbroken,
"I'm so sorry. I should go."
"Yes, perhaps you should. Until I get some clothes on, at least." He takes a better look at her. "Oh, what are you crying for?" James brushes her tears away with his thumb. "I'm still alive, aren't I?" He tilts his head and laughs disparagingly. "Even if I do look rather ugly shirtless."
"No, I… I think they're beautiful," she says, clapping her hands to her burning cheeks, and dashes out.
He stares after her for a moment, stunned, and then shuts the door, wondering if he's heard wrong, then wondering if he offended her suddenly delicate sensibilities. No, he concludes, that can't be it: she was the one who wanted to see them in the first place.
She called them- me- beautiful.
James, you dense piece of driftwood, he thinks, now you've done it. You've been treating her like one of the family, and…
She thinks she's in love with you.
He shakes his head and laughs at himself, quick to dismiss this idea as ridiculous. She looks at him as an older brother or a favored uncle, surely. After all, if she did think she loved him, there would be only two ways to deal with the situation: either ignore it and pretend he never realized she had feelings for him, or distance himself from her and treat her as a proper young lady, addressing her as "Miss Swann" and making her hate him, no doubt. The only time he has ever attempted to call her "Miss Swann," only half-serious and formal in front of the Governor, she frowned, glared at him, and hit him on the head with her parasol when the Governor wasn't looking, hissing "Stop that immediately, James, it isn't remotely funny." He has never tried it since.
In truth, James has never been good at distancing himself from people he cares for, and Elizabeth makes it considerably easier on him when he sees her next by choosing to pretend she never said anything. They never mention their encounter, and James begins to convince himself that he imagined her interest. There are rumors that he is to be made Captain of his own ship, the fastest ship in the British fleet, they say. It will be called the Interceptor, and Elizabeth and James waste half a day proposing increasingly silly ideas about what, exactly, it is meant to intercept. They still joke together as siblings would, and he still allows her to practice her sailing. She is so proud the first time she sounds the depths without his help. He even puts her in the Captain's place and lets her pretend to steer the ship when the Dauntless is anchored as he stands behind her and places his hands over hers, guiding her.
She still takes him out on the town some nights and they meander through the night markets and street performers, sampling foreign delicacies and smiling at private jokes. But when she dances to the wild melodies and holds out her hand, he pats his shoulder, looks regretful and says, "Ah, no… I am past my dancing days." To which she always responds, "Don't be stupid, you're only, what, nineteen? Twenty? Dance with me!"
But he always smiles and shakes his head and watches her spin and twirl, and then goes back to his room at night and stares pensively at the ship she made for him, wondering. And in his dreams, which are confusing and perturbing, he dreams of white shoulders in the moonlight, a beautiful column of a neck that he longs to kiss, and a lovely young woman in a beautiful gown who he chases down flowered paths. She always lets him catch her, and her face is always Elizabeth's.
Elizabeth, for her part, is always disappointed when he refuses to dance, for she knows he would be an excellent partner if he should ever choose to participate. She goes home and traces the places on her Lieutenant doll where his scars would be with her lips, kissing every one. And though Elizabeth is a bit fuzzy on exactly where scar-kissing should lead (since, though the Governor had to have a highly awkward talk with her via her governess wherein he explained the physics of child-bearing, he neglected to mention the pleasurable aspects, so Elizabeth must hear coarse sailors' talk to gather that there is such a thing), she is confident that, as in all things, James will excel. She dreams of kissing his lips.
Also, givemethechild made the comment that she'd love to see a one-shot focusing on what sillly ideas Liz and James were proposing for the Interceptor, exactly, and I'd like to issue the challenge if anyone's interested in writing it, because I'd love to see it too (and I'm a bit busy at the moment).
Author: artemismuse
Rating: PG
Pairing: Norribeth
Warnings: This is now solidly AU pre-CotBP.
Summary: James shows Elizabeth his scars, and there is much pondering of sexual tension on both sides.
When she is fourteen, he shows her his scars.
It happens by accident, as these things so often do. Upon hearing that James has made it back from some skirmishes with pirates- safely, she is assured, and made Commander by default now that the old Commander was killed in action- she barges into his cabin below-deck. He is dressing, his back to her, and she is about to squeal "James!" and pounce on him when she realizes that without all the layers of stiff fabric and trim, she can see his corded muscles, tan from working in the Caribbean sun. Feeling like a voyeur, she continues to stare at him in silent wonder at all the things about James she has never known.
His body is like an unknown country she's always dreamed about but never visited. He has always been gentle with her, so she sees all the strength he tucks away somewhere when they talk. She sees the slightly unsure way he carries himself when he is alone, revealing that he is still at an awkward age, trying so hard to be a man when he is so much younger than the men he commands. And she sees the scars- the old ones, and the newly bandaged ones that make him wince as he reaches for his shirt. So instead of hugging him far too tight and likely causing him pain, she murmurs softly, aching for him, "Oh, James."
He drops the shirt, turns too quickly, and a brief flash of pain crosses his face before a look that is part shock and part pure delight takes over.
"Elizabeth! What are you doing here?" He smiles, crosses the small space between them and hugs her with one arm.
"I had to come see you," she says into his chest, cheek pressed into his pectoral muscle, hearing his heart. He is nothing like her doll, not soft and squishy at all like when she presses it to her heart and imagines it is him. He is deliciously warm and all hard angles, muscle and bone. She is delirious. She is in heaven. She wants to stay here forever. She should be telling him why she's here. "They told me you were alright, but I wanted to make sure…." It is only at this point that James realizes he is shirtless, and that holding the Governor's growing fourteen-year-old daughter against his bare chest in his quarters might seem improper. To those who don't understand that the relationship between them is more familial than anything else, it might seem awkward indeed. He pushes her away, slightly alarmed.
"Oh, I do apologize, I should… let me put on a…."
"No," she says, "please don't on my account. I'm sure you're more comfortable with it off."
"Oh," he says, relieved that she doesn't seem scandalized. "Thank you, but…."
She racks her brain for an excuse to keep him shirtless.
"You're injured," she says, distracting him. "What happened?" Confide in me, she wants to say, tell me everything. She points to the bandage taped over his shoulder-blade.
"Oh, that? It's just a scratch." She stares at him witheringly.
"You don't have to lie to me, James. I don't need protecting from the cruel, cruel world. You can tell me."
"Gunshot wound," he admits sheepishly, as if he should have known better. Elizabeth resists the urge to clap a hand to her mouth and gasp, as she knows that will distress him and stop him from telling her these things. She nods, and makes herself at home on his bed, happily noting that he has indeed placed her carving of the Dauntless on his dresser in a prominent place.
"Go on."
"What's to tell? I was watching Gillette's back, making sure he got to safety, and I forgot to watch my own. It was a stupid mistake."
"Saving someone else's life is never a 'stupid mistake', James," Elizabeth says, trying to be gentle with him, as he has always been with her. "And those?" She points to three shallow lines by his right hip bone.
"These were from shrapnel… are you sure you really want to hear this?" She nods.
"Please." James shrugs and raises his trouser leg, pointing to another bandage by his ankle.
"This one was from friendly fire. Just an accident, no hard feelings." He has still not addressed her main concern, a set of scars on his chest that looks as though someone tried to tear his heart out with a broken glass bottle.
"And that?" He follows her gaze.
"That," he says grimly, "is what comes of trusting a pirate."
Elizabeth feels ill. All this time, she has been nattering on about how wonderful pirates are, and James has let her, when he was clearly almost killed by one who betrayed him, apparently. She suddenly hates pirates with a red-hot passion. How dare they do this to her James? All the color drains from her face as she whispers, heartbroken,
"I'm so sorry. I should go."
"Yes, perhaps you should. Until I get some clothes on, at least." He takes a better look at her. "Oh, what are you crying for?" James brushes her tears away with his thumb. "I'm still alive, aren't I?" He tilts his head and laughs disparagingly. "Even if I do look rather ugly shirtless."
"No, I… I think they're beautiful," she says, clapping her hands to her burning cheeks, and dashes out.
He stares after her for a moment, stunned, and then shuts the door, wondering if he's heard wrong, then wondering if he offended her suddenly delicate sensibilities. No, he concludes, that can't be it: she was the one who wanted to see them in the first place.
She called them- me- beautiful.
James, you dense piece of driftwood, he thinks, now you've done it. You've been treating her like one of the family, and…
She thinks she's in love with you.
He shakes his head and laughs at himself, quick to dismiss this idea as ridiculous. She looks at him as an older brother or a favored uncle, surely. After all, if she did think she loved him, there would be only two ways to deal with the situation: either ignore it and pretend he never realized she had feelings for him, or distance himself from her and treat her as a proper young lady, addressing her as "Miss Swann" and making her hate him, no doubt. The only time he has ever attempted to call her "Miss Swann," only half-serious and formal in front of the Governor, she frowned, glared at him, and hit him on the head with her parasol when the Governor wasn't looking, hissing "Stop that immediately, James, it isn't remotely funny." He has never tried it since.
In truth, James has never been good at distancing himself from people he cares for, and Elizabeth makes it considerably easier on him when he sees her next by choosing to pretend she never said anything. They never mention their encounter, and James begins to convince himself that he imagined her interest. There are rumors that he is to be made Captain of his own ship, the fastest ship in the British fleet, they say. It will be called the Interceptor, and Elizabeth and James waste half a day proposing increasingly silly ideas about what, exactly, it is meant to intercept. They still joke together as siblings would, and he still allows her to practice her sailing. She is so proud the first time she sounds the depths without his help. He even puts her in the Captain's place and lets her pretend to steer the ship when the Dauntless is anchored as he stands behind her and places his hands over hers, guiding her.
She still takes him out on the town some nights and they meander through the night markets and street performers, sampling foreign delicacies and smiling at private jokes. But when she dances to the wild melodies and holds out her hand, he pats his shoulder, looks regretful and says, "Ah, no… I am past my dancing days." To which she always responds, "Don't be stupid, you're only, what, nineteen? Twenty? Dance with me!"
But he always smiles and shakes his head and watches her spin and twirl, and then goes back to his room at night and stares pensively at the ship she made for him, wondering. And in his dreams, which are confusing and perturbing, he dreams of white shoulders in the moonlight, a beautiful column of a neck that he longs to kiss, and a lovely young woman in a beautiful gown who he chases down flowered paths. She always lets him catch her, and her face is always Elizabeth's.
Elizabeth, for her part, is always disappointed when he refuses to dance, for she knows he would be an excellent partner if he should ever choose to participate. She goes home and traces the places on her Lieutenant doll where his scars would be with her lips, kissing every one. And though Elizabeth is a bit fuzzy on exactly where scar-kissing should lead (since, though the Governor had to have a highly awkward talk with her via her governess wherein he explained the physics of child-bearing, he neglected to mention the pleasurable aspects, so Elizabeth must hear coarse sailors' talk to gather that there is such a thing), she is confident that, as in all things, James will excel. She dreams of kissing his lips.
Also, givemethechild made the comment that she'd love to see a one-shot focusing on what sillly ideas Liz and James were proposing for the Interceptor, exactly, and I'd like to issue the challenge if anyone's interested in writing it, because I'd love to see it too (and I'm a bit busy at the moment).