(no subject)
Title: Small Moments
Author: ash_night
Pairing: James/Elizabeth (Will/Elizabeth subtext)
Rating: PG
Genre: AU, set... uh, somewhere in the future, a year after the first movie.
Summary: What would it take for Elizabeth to realize the depth of Norrington's love?
Disclaimer: Disney owns these characters and POTC and so on and so forth. I quiver beneath their magical influence.
A/N: No DMC spoilers. One shot. This popped up into my head while I was toying with my series. As always, feedback is appreciated.
---
One of you must die. Decide amongst yourselves.
The cell was tiny, barely enough space to house one inmate comfortably -- if such a thing were possible in jail. James met Elizabeth's eyes, but neither said anything until the footsteps faded away. Of course following her plan to dress as Lord and Lady, ambassadors from England, would fail, miserably. Honestly, he should have known better.
"I suppose we'll draw straws then?" She gave him a weak smile as if to say, this is not as bad as it seems. But there was a wariness in her eyes, a frailty in her posture that made her seem smaller.
He shook his head. "No, Miss Swann --"
"-- Call me Elizabeth," she interrupted.
"Elizabeth," he said softly, savoring the feel of her name on his lips. Pause. "It has been decided. I will go."
"Who decided what?" A spark of fire returned to her eyes. He supposed it would be better to have her angry than despondent.
"I have."
"And why should we listen to you?"
"Number one, I am older than you. Two, you are my ward regardless of our current status as prisoners. Three, I refuse to see you die before my eyes."
She was about to protest, but he continued, "Please do not argue with me Elizabeth." He used that tone of voice he often heard the Governor use when exceptionally irritated by her antics.
He stood and began examining the metal work of their prison. The iron bars were solid, not a hint of rust.
"I am not a child. You can't order me about like that."
He sighed, mentally cursing the Governor for being lax with discipline. "Your death is out of the question."
"And yours isn't?" Her voice took on a hysterical quality. She went to him, her dress and petticoats swishing on the dirty floor of the cell. Grabbing the lapel of his jacket, she demanded, "Tell me James, do you value your life so little that you would not submit to a game of chance?"
He looked down at her. There were bits of hay in her hair, dark shadows beneath her eyes, a smudge of gunpowder on her chin. She was a woman who could command the sun to stop rising and succeed. But, in her eyes, fear and perhaps guilt belied the aggressive action.
If he were honest with himself, he might have been able to appreciate this moment -- Elizabeth asking him not to go to his death. But, all that he could think about was the horror of watching her die from afar, the shame of surviving, of letting a woman take a man's place. There could be honor in defeat only through sacrifice.
He shouldn't have let them get captured, anyway.
"It is not that I hold little value for my life, but that I value yours more," he said finally.
She winced. "What do you mean?"
"My proposal last year...was not born of the desire to make you one of my accolades, despite what rumors you may have heard." He didn't know why he was explaining this to her. "I loved you. You had a passion for life that I lacked."
She let go of his clothes. "You never told me that."
"Would it have changed anything?"
The silence answered his question.
She returned to the crates they had been using as seats and stared at the floor. He didn't know what was going through that mind of hers, and doubted that he would ever know. He pondered the intricacies of fate. Perhaps death would be preferable to living this sham of a life.
"Do you still love me?"
"Would I be here with you, chasing after Mr. Turner, if I didn't?"
"I'm sorry James." She slumped against the wall, looking distraught and guilty. "Is there anything I can do for you now?"
He saw the desperation in her eyes, the desire to right the wrongs, if only for those fleeting moments when she would let him kiss her.
But -- it was too little too late. She belonged to Turner from heartstrings to skin. He wished them a happy life together, because he was forfeiting his own for it. Ironic.
He turned away from her and squeezed the bars of his prison, their prison, willing the iron to corrode into red ash. Resting his forehead on his arm, he thought to himself, I'm sorry as well.
---
Author: ash_night
Pairing: James/Elizabeth (Will/Elizabeth subtext)
Rating: PG
Genre: AU, set... uh, somewhere in the future, a year after the first movie.
Summary: What would it take for Elizabeth to realize the depth of Norrington's love?
Disclaimer: Disney owns these characters and POTC and so on and so forth. I quiver beneath their magical influence.
A/N: No DMC spoilers. One shot. This popped up into my head while I was toying with my series. As always, feedback is appreciated.
---
One of you must die. Decide amongst yourselves.
The cell was tiny, barely enough space to house one inmate comfortably -- if such a thing were possible in jail. James met Elizabeth's eyes, but neither said anything until the footsteps faded away. Of course following her plan to dress as Lord and Lady, ambassadors from England, would fail, miserably. Honestly, he should have known better.
"I suppose we'll draw straws then?" She gave him a weak smile as if to say, this is not as bad as it seems. But there was a wariness in her eyes, a frailty in her posture that made her seem smaller.
He shook his head. "No, Miss Swann --"
"-- Call me Elizabeth," she interrupted.
"Elizabeth," he said softly, savoring the feel of her name on his lips. Pause. "It has been decided. I will go."
"Who decided what?" A spark of fire returned to her eyes. He supposed it would be better to have her angry than despondent.
"I have."
"And why should we listen to you?"
"Number one, I am older than you. Two, you are my ward regardless of our current status as prisoners. Three, I refuse to see you die before my eyes."
She was about to protest, but he continued, "Please do not argue with me Elizabeth." He used that tone of voice he often heard the Governor use when exceptionally irritated by her antics.
He stood and began examining the metal work of their prison. The iron bars were solid, not a hint of rust.
"I am not a child. You can't order me about like that."
He sighed, mentally cursing the Governor for being lax with discipline. "Your death is out of the question."
"And yours isn't?" Her voice took on a hysterical quality. She went to him, her dress and petticoats swishing on the dirty floor of the cell. Grabbing the lapel of his jacket, she demanded, "Tell me James, do you value your life so little that you would not submit to a game of chance?"
He looked down at her. There were bits of hay in her hair, dark shadows beneath her eyes, a smudge of gunpowder on her chin. She was a woman who could command the sun to stop rising and succeed. But, in her eyes, fear and perhaps guilt belied the aggressive action.
If he were honest with himself, he might have been able to appreciate this moment -- Elizabeth asking him not to go to his death. But, all that he could think about was the horror of watching her die from afar, the shame of surviving, of letting a woman take a man's place. There could be honor in defeat only through sacrifice.
He shouldn't have let them get captured, anyway.
"It is not that I hold little value for my life, but that I value yours more," he said finally.
She winced. "What do you mean?"
"My proposal last year...was not born of the desire to make you one of my accolades, despite what rumors you may have heard." He didn't know why he was explaining this to her. "I loved you. You had a passion for life that I lacked."
She let go of his clothes. "You never told me that."
"Would it have changed anything?"
The silence answered his question.
She returned to the crates they had been using as seats and stared at the floor. He didn't know what was going through that mind of hers, and doubted that he would ever know. He pondered the intricacies of fate. Perhaps death would be preferable to living this sham of a life.
"Do you still love me?"
"Would I be here with you, chasing after Mr. Turner, if I didn't?"
"I'm sorry James." She slumped against the wall, looking distraught and guilty. "Is there anything I can do for you now?"
He saw the desperation in her eyes, the desire to right the wrongs, if only for those fleeting moments when she would let him kiss her.
But -- it was too little too late. She belonged to Turner from heartstrings to skin. He wished them a happy life together, because he was forfeiting his own for it. Ironic.
He turned away from her and squeezed the bars of his prison, their prison, willing the iron to corrode into red ash. Resting his forehead on his arm, he thought to himself, I'm sorry as well.
---