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suggestionsofthecaribbean · 5 years

Text

The Black Pearl: James and Elizabeth

The rescue mission is finally underway, and in precious snatches of privacy James and Elizabeth are trying to figure out the dynamic of their love life.

CW: An attempt at mild bondage that is quickly abandoned. Eventually, at the end, there is relatively explicit sexual content. This post is extremely long.

Tia Dalma said the way to Jack Sparra was as hidden as the inner chambers of the heart, beneath wave and earth, beyond time and reason. A deep cavern, neither of land nor of the ocean - and when you came out of it, not even of this world anymore. Her jewelry rattled, her eye glimmered; every man or woman in the room had shivered.

And Will Turner had spoken up first. “So who’s for spelunking?”

And the Pirate King had looked away, eyes distant, maybe misty, jaw tight.

---

Teague and Barbossa handled being crammed onto the Pearl startling well. Teague was more elegant in his ways than his son was and not desperate to prove his dominion over the ship, and Barbossa, for his part, was as obsequious to the father as he’d been mutinous to the son; their shared humility led to an agreeable and easy co-Captainship. The Pirate King was superior to them both, but also the least qualified and the least knowledgeable; and so she marched around and looked important, got on gamely with everyone, asked Teague more about the Code, ribbed Barbossa about his monkey, and practiced her Cantonese; and all day long she barked frequently specific orders to her dog without partaking much of his company - nor that of her ex-husband, her civility to whom matched her treatment of the other captains, yet whose presence seemed to provoke zero consideration or emotion from her at all.

There were bets taken among the crew for which of her men she was on with. Some had it that her clipped cordiality with Turner meant she had chosen him, since she spoke not a word to Norrington that was not an instruction, and thus probably meant to give him a hard time; others had it that Turner was out and the attention to Norrington was a show that she liked him - the Pirate King bein’ a female, and that bein’ the ways of females an’ all.

In spite of all of those bets, however, not a man aboard noticed that one of them joined her in her cabin that night.

---

James had her in his arms the moment he shut the door.

“Elizabeth-”

Not content only to see her again, he picked her up and hefted her onto the crook of one arm, turning her across the floor like a newlywed and then kissing her deeply.

Elizabeth gasped and laughed and then shushed herself, smacking him on the shoulder scoldingly for making her make so much noise, and rendering this scolding toothless by kissing him back with equal ardor.

“Do you know the trouble it’s been, staying reserved and silent all day when all I wish is to adore you-”

“Oh, but you did so well-” she said, running her fingers through his hair while clutching his shoulders with the other hand. “You did everything so well…”

“One does one’s best,” he said, before kissing her again.

She let him, wrapping her arms further around him, pulling him close, pressing herself closer. James carried her to her little cot and gently lay her down against it, leaning over her and seemingly, for once, uncaring of his hair falling in his face. Elizabeth pulled him closer still, guiding him down between her thighs while kissing him with increasingly soft kisses, before holding his head against her throat, tilting her head back and groaning in sharp, sudden frustration.

“I was so angry at Tia Dalma I didn’t ask after a quondam-!”

James flinched. “Well, I suppose we’re even now-”

“I’m so sorry, James-”

“How long has it been-”

“I don’t know - I should be due soon-”

“Do you suppose it’s been three weeks?”

“Yes? Yes, it must have been - Elizabeth blinked, breaking the mood a little. “Lord - has it already been three weeks-”

James was visibly lost in thought.

“I- if it’s been three weeks the odds are low, very low-”

She started clutching at him a little too obviously. “Oh - really, James-?”

“I- I think,” he said warily. “I’m not positive-”

“Do you want- should we try?” she asked, pushing herself up on her elbows.

“I-”

His hand warily settled on her belly, followed by his line of sight.

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “I would hate to do that to you before you desire that as a possible outcome.”

Elizabeth’s shoulders sank, but her legs stayed wrapped around his waist. She slept in a shirt most nights, but changed into a more flattering nightgown if James were invited to her cabin - tonight, particularly, she had donned it with enthusiasm. Currently it was bunched around her hips, too long to do anything else.

“But what are the odds of that, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s not the kind of thing one can tell out of hand.”

“James,” she prompted. “We could die on this quest.”

“...that’s a fair point,” he said, though he had to look away from her as he did.

She rubbed the back of his hand.

“I have not yet shaved,” he said abruptly- and, following that, he immediately winced. That, if anything, only barred them from further alternatives to what they were both considering at the moment.

“I don’t mind,” she said - touching his beard affectionately.

“Elizabeth-”

He sat up beside her.

“If you were to fall pregnant- with my child, no less-”

She pulled a bit of a face, but endeavored to appear to be listening. “Not precisely unheard of to raise a child at sea,” she coaxed him.

“Yes,” he said patiently, “but with this whole… dog thing we’ve worked out-”

“I don’t care if anyone knows you’re the father. And you would be a good father-”

This clearly gave him pause- James had not expected to hear anything quite so sweet as that at a time like this, and he smiled almost reflexively.

“But would you wish to be a mother?” he asked, putting his hand flat on her belly again. “It’s asking a great deal more of you than myself.”

“I’d manage,” she said, after a short pause. She had not planned on anything that had happened to her in the past three years; this was, therefore, probably true. “I’m sure not all pirate children grow up to be depraved little monsters with tattoos everywhere.”

“Ha,” said James, giving her a very level look. “It’s not as though either of us would set that example to start with, unless you have plans.”

She smiled at him, perhaps a little mysteriously. “Not at present.”

“Mm. Well, I can’t say it would change my good opinion of you.”

“I was thinking about getting one,” she admitted hesitantly. “I’ll tell you about it… later, I think. When I’m not so embarrassed-”

“I don’t mean to pry,” he said, kissing her shoulder for good measure. “They’re quite common in the Navy, regardless.”

“Mmmm, this isn’t the Navy, James-” she sighed, shutting her eyes and tilting her head back.

“Of course not,” he said, kissing under her jaw. “If it were, I would not be doing this-”

He leaned back and added, with a stern point of the finger, “I know the sort of joke you’re thinking of, and I’m telling you now that it is not as clever or original as you may believe.”

“I can honestly tell you I have no idea what you mean,” said Elizabeth, pulling that hand to her breast. “I only have one thing on my mind, I’m afraid…”

“What’s that?” James said dryly. “Motherhood?”

“Fatherhood,” she rejoined, and started to laugh.

“If you’re certain-”

He kissed her again.

“-you and the child will want for nothing-”

Elizabeth rubbed his chest as she kissed him back. “You know,” she murmured. “Captain Barbossa’s not half bad with children himself…. Perhaps sailors are just very well-suited to child-rearing.”

“Perhaps,” he said, “though I suppose you would be breaking new ground as far as carrying one goes.”

“That’s not so,” she countered. “I don’t know too much about Jack’s mother, but I gather he was born at sea himself.”

“And Grania O’Malley had a sword in her hand two hours after delivering,” James added, “though she was, I believe, around thirty at the time. What do you think as regards naming it, hm? I suppose Weatherby is the obvious choice for a boy-”

“James,” she said faintly.

“You already said Eliza for a girl- I suppose they won’t all turn out to be little Sparrows, would they?”

“I don’t know. Teague’s a good enough sort, I guess, but rather eccentric; you would probably be a sterner father - and a more affectionate one, I think. Little Lizzy the Second would be much better off for that, I’m sure-”

“Wait- what does Teague have to do with it-”

“What does-? James, you can’t be serious.”

James had gone a little frantic around the eyes, in that subdued, tamped-down way of his.

“I know you like to believe he was more a father to me than the admiral, but I never knew the man-”

Elizabeth was so incredulous that she started laughing - and she had never been good at reading the subtle details of emotion. “Oh, come on - you’re having a go at me.”

“It’s a- well, I assumed it was a cultural sort of thing,” James began lamely, looking away from her with wide, staring eyes. “I didn’t think-”

“But they look exactly alike,” she said helplessly, still laughing. “Anyway - why did you think Teague came on this rescue mission, he doesn’t involve himself in much else- has to be impartial to enforce the rules, I suppose - well, it explains a lot, doesn’t it? Jack’s always been a better sort of pirate than most of them. Cares a lot about what’s fair, in an each man to his own sort of way-”

James stood abruptly and paced across the floor. There wasn’t a lot of room to do that, and he ended up turning back to her almost immediately.

“Oh, my God.”

Elizabeth had not noticed the early stages of his panic, but when he broke from her, she knew it at once, if not the reason for it. He found her sitting up uneasily, looking concerned.

“James?”

“Teague’s son?” he blurted. “That man- Jack bloody Sparrow-”

“Yes,” she said, hesitant to confirm it. “Are you - come sit down-”

James groaned and sat down on the edge of the cot, pushing his hair out of his face in irritation.

“You mean to tell me,” he said, “that I threw over four hundred men into a watery grave chasing down the son of the man who saved my life-”

Elizabeth went abashedly silent, unsure of how to proceed from here. The guilt he felt, the reality of it were so enormous she couldn’t hope to fix them.

“James, I didn’t- I didn’t think, I’m sorry-”

Touching him gingerly on the shoulder was a poor excuse for comfort, but she thought to pull closer to him would only be smothering and counterproductive.

“I always exempted Teague,” he said faintly. “Did you never realize that? When Beckett began the purges- I fed him as much misdirection from the start as I could to keep him away from you, from Turner- and from Teague.”

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“And any family I knew him to have, which was none. My God- if I’d known, I never would have sailed into that fucking hurricane-”

Elizabeth tried to rest her unhappy head on his shoulder and impede him as little as possible.

She had no idea what else to do.

“At least-”

He sighed. “It ended all right for me, I suppose. I can’t say as much for the others.”

“It was the law that was wrong - not you,” she said quickly, though her voice was a little flat - she felt numb. “How could you make a choice? You had none.”

“The law didn’t tell me to pick up a bottle,” he countered, with a sad smile. “That’s the kind of thing that damns a man, wouldn’t you say?”

“Be damned with me,” Elizabeth whispered, turning her face to meet his gaze. “I- I can’t say I’m not sorry for how we got here, but -”

She bit her tongue for a moment. It was not fair to compare Will to four hundred men and boys rotting underwater, broken heart or no.

“- I’m glad we’re here all the same. I don’t care if it’s selfish. You belong with me.”

James touched her cheek.

“I know.” He took a slow, shuddering breath, and added, with a similarly sad, drained laugh, “I haven’t indulged since- Good God, July?”

He paused.

“My God- Elizabeth, is it October already?”

“You know what this means,” said Elizabeth, focusing on something distantly, with a forlorn expression on her face.

“I know something,” he said, “but nothing important right now-”

“We are really bad friends to Jack Sparrow.”

“Jack Sparrow is not my friend,” James retorted, “and it took his father just as long.”

“He’s my friend,” said Elizabeth fiercely. Then she deflated. “Well, he was until I murdered him in cold blood and all of that,” she added miserably, and buried her face against his arm and groaned.

“Perhaps I can bargain with the witch to bring back the Dauntless,” James said mirthlessly, “or at least the men aboard.”

“That would be a little difficult,” Elizabeth said, muffled against his arm. “If not for her, then for them to go home to families that have spent two years mourning them.”

“I know,” James said fully. “But even so-”

“You would only be condemning them to lives as outcasts,” she warned. “Three years is a long time to be dead. And then all of them just come back? A miracle; or summoned from hell? And what will they go back to - wives remarried, children adopted, houses and belongings all sold - James. There’s nothing you can do for them.”

“And yet Hector Barbossa is stomping about overhead, playing at schoolmaster,” James said, with a bitter laugh, “and Jack bloody Sparrow’s died three times now and we all have to undo that, of course.”

“One of those times was my fault,” she reminded him quietly.

“I nearly hanged him,” he said, rubbing her between the shoulders. “And came rather close to shooting him-”

“Both of those things were different. It’s - oh, nevermind. You weren’t there.”

James smiled, but it turned into more of a grimace. “I was probably in Beckett’s office about then.”

“It’s one thing to kill a man in self-defence,” said Elizabeth, after a long moment; the silence of the cabin was terrible. “But to preventatively kill him, to save yourself? To kill a friend?”

“Elizabeth…”

He pulled her up a little higher, to lean on his shoulder.

“What happened back there-”

“Davy Jones sent the Kraken after him,” said Elizabeth with a pleading insistence. “We tried to battle it, but nothing worked. Jack wanted all the survivors to pile into the longboat and make for shore while it took down the Pearl-- but it didn’t want the Pearl. Just Jack. So I -” Elizabeth blinked quickly. “ - please don’t make me finish this.”

“-so you considered the greater need of your party,” James said gently.

“- I kissed him, and chained him to the mast while he was distracted,” Elizabeth said bluntly. “Will saw the kiss and looked away after, I presume. He spent the next year thinking I was-”

She had to stop again, now feeling the tears stinging her eyes. “This isn’t like you, terrified out of your wits and picking up a bottle in a storm. There were more righteous ways I could have thrown Jack to the creature - could have put the matter to a vote, or told the crew what I did, or whatever. I deceived him and then I lied about it, James. Don’t try to protect me from this.”

“Elizabeth,” said James, though there was a note of discomfort he couldn’t quite conceal. “That’s- well, you were proactive, I suppose.”

“That’s why he hates me so much. That’s also why I have to come rescue him.”

“Then we are alike in obligation,” he said grimly.

She kissed him on the cheek. He smiled a little at that and pressed his hand to her own cheek, as though to hold her there a little longer. She responded by bringing her kisses down his jawline, not minding the beard one bit.

“Changed your mind?” he teased, slipping his fingers into her hair.

“You know I like it,” she said, a little miffed, as she moved her lips to his throat. “I just also know that you don’t. And you can grow it out again if you change your mind…”

“More like if you change yours-”

“Well, I wanted to give you the illusion of control over your own life,” she said with a low laugh. “James, get on the bed.”

“Do you mean to say you would prefer me on my back?” he asked. “I’m afraid I’m already on the bed.”

“Yeah. I mean get on your back, on the bed,” said Elizabeth, already sliding onto the mattress.

James obligingly lay back and swung his legs up onto the mattress, with a little palm-up gesture, as though to say that there she had him. She had him indeed; she was on top of him in a moment, hands in his hair and kissing him.

“Does this please you-”

“Touch me,” she commanded, instead of answering him.

“Where?”

“Wherever you want most-”

He began with her hair; that would be the easiest way to keep himself from getting carried away, and it was so close already to the neck he moved on to kissing almost immediately after. Elizabeth shut her eyes and arched into it, her own hands creeping down to his chest to remove his shirt.

“I love you,” he breathed. “It still- I am still dazzled, to be so wanted by you after all-”

This didn’t propel her to greater heights of desire; it made her feel uncomfortably guilty. As much as she had tried to anchor her feelings in their past, she could not fully deceive herself that wanting James had not been new.

“ - I love you too,” she finally responded, passing it off as having been distracted by his touching her, and turning her head to kiss the palm of his hand, a gesture he reciprocated.

“I did not think you would choose me over him,” he said, reverently, against her palm. “I hardly dared to dream of it.”

“You - never?” She hadn’t wanted to follow him down this line of thought, but her discomfort pulled her there anyway. “Not after everything?”

He lifted her hand from his mouth to look up at her with sad, knowing eyes.

“I didn’t know. It was difficult to think that things might have mended again between you.”

She couldn’t meet his gaze for long.

“I’m sorry I didn’t… I didn’t do enough to assure you.” Even with her eyes cast down, she smiled. “That you were mine. That I intended to keep you.”

“Why, Elizabeth,” he said, reaching up to touch her face, and then pull her downward to kiss her, “that's very nearly a threat.”

“Captain Swann to you,” she whispered against his lips, smirking. Her tone was as sultry as it was dangerous.

“Your Majesty,” he said, in a low voice.

“One day,” the Pirate King continued conversationally, gliding the backs of her knuckles over his temple, “I will have you so thoroughly that you’ll be saying that as you climax.”

“Would you like me to work on that?”

“I suppose I’ll have to train you.”

“With what instruction?” he asked, lifting one leg and firmly bending it over hers.

Elizabeth reached up and behind him, sliding her hand beneath the pillow for something she’d had prepared.

The notorious silk curtain tie.

“Touch me a little while longer, my love,” she said with a look of profound satisfaction on her face. “Because in a moment I will ask you to give me your hands, and I will expect you to comply.”

He grinned. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

He kissed her again and pulled her down as much as he felt his station allowed.

It was, by and large, Elizabeth who took advantage of the minutes in which she allowed him to caress her - guiding his hands to pull down the bodice of her gown, nuzzling the palm of his hand, taking his fingertip into her mouth. She saw no need to disguise that this was more for her benefit than for his. It was an open secret, really.

“Does this please you?” he asked, pushing his fingers back through her hair.

She had been straddling him for the better part of it, all the greater pity they could not do as planned.

“Why don’t you check and see?”

“There are many kinds of pleasure, sweetheart.”

“Indeed, but I seek one at the moment.”

“Am I to look for a change in climate, then?” he asked lightly, gliding his free hand downward.

She was forced momentarily out of character by an eruption of laughter. “Climate, James?”

“If I may be so cautious-”

“I don’t enjoy your caution in this context.”

“I thought you might prefer to see your time extended.”

“Oh, it shall be, darling. I just want you to feel how I feel before I lash you to this bed,” she said with a gentle kiss.

“What- are you hiding more ropes in there-”

He patted down the length of her body, somewhat facetiously, while raising an eyebrow at her.

Elizabeth laughed again, pulling both of his hands back to her bared breasts. “Just your hands tonight, darling. One cannot learn too much in a single evening. Instructing you will take some time.”

Her smile was merciless and clearly baiting him.

“Would you have me blinded again, Your Majesty?” he asked, with an almost distressing degree of sincerity.

“Not tonight. One peculiarity at a time, I would think, is sufficient.”

“Ah,” he said. “Er, Elizabeth-”

“Poor thing,” Elizabeth laughed, stroking his jaw affectionately. “Would you have liked that?”

“Elizabeth,” he said, and he tried to soften it with a rather embarrassed-looking smile. “I- I don’t think I particularly desire to be tied up.”

“ -oh,” said Elizabeth in surprise, the little rope still in her hands. When she lowered them, without thinking, the rope sagged as though it had overheard, and had its hopes dashed. “What do you particularly desire?”

“I’m still sorting that out,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s- Elizabeth, you know I love you very much, don’t you?”

She laughed again, once and loudly. “A bit of insurance before you tell your mistress you’d rather not be tied on a leash?”

“Well, in a sense-”

Elizabeth chewed on the inside of her cheek and then proffered the ties again. “Do you wanna do it on me?”

“What, tie you up?” he blurted, looking startled by the very idea.

Elizabeth smirked at him. “Could make it a game, hm? Pirate hunter and captured Pirate King?” She was tickling him under the chin with one of the tassels. He laughed, and gently pushed it away, but let his hand linger on hers before lifting it to his lips.

“I want to stay here with you,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it neatly across the palm, “and talk, and enjoy your company, and take a little time to appreciate that you’re mine…”

“There’s not a lot in there about, ah, rutting each other senseless, is there-”

“We’ll see if we can work up to that,” James teased.

Elizabeth looked at him stubbornly.

“Do you not know where I am sitting? I think you’re worked up to it.”

“I haven’t,” he pointed out, “and I’m in no hurry to do so. May I kiss you again?”

“Hmph,” she said, with a demure nod of resignation.

He did, lips parted, and clasped her hands in his.

“I don’t want to simply rush into having a go at you,” he said, leaning his forehead to hers. “I know you don’t mind it, but- putting you to it first thing when I have been away from you for so long- as though I’m using you and worrying about the formalities later-”

“But I love doing it,” said Elizabeth, somewhere between petulance and remembered ecstasy. “How can it be using me?”

“I hope this doesn’t constitute too much of a problem,” said James.

Elizabeth slid gingerly off his lap. “I think you underestimate how much I want you.”

“I’m not going to challenge you to prove it,” James said lightly. “I suppose- well. I always had a very specific idea of what our marriage would entail, and the physical aspect was- never mind. I did not like to dwell on it.”

“The physical aspect was what,” she asked suspiciously.

“Rather low in my consideration,” said James. “As I said, I did not wish to dwell on it. It seemed improper.”

“What was your ‘very specific idea?’” she asked in growing, flattered curiosity. “I- we- might implement it, if you like, if I care for it. I think what we have now is very like what we might have had,” she said, and mortified herself by being shy.

James’s eyes widened as he looked at her, then looked away and down.

“I- I mean to say that I had thought- expected- more companionship than… physical acts,” he said, looking sidelong now to the cabin wall. “That was the very specific idea. I could not bear to think of much more save that I wanted to know you might enjoy said physical act-”

“Now I do - really, really do - and you avoid it,” she pointed out, with a small, pleased smile.

“I’ve a rather complicated history there, darling,” he said, looking back at her again to assure her he was not offended.

“Mm, yes. And you’ve a rather complicated history with me,” she agreed, rubbing his chest so as to assure him that she was not either. “I wish I could ease your conscience some. You have no idea how much I long for you - all day I do - and then being here with you, finally… I suppose you are less afraid of using me and a little more concerned that I am using you.”

“Lettie was not my first woman,” he said carefully.

“I had not thought she was. Men have more reign in these matters than women do, and you are a sailor.”

He smiled unhappily at this. “That’s hardly an excuse.”

“Nor indeed do you need an excuse,” she said, rubbing her thumb fondly back and forth over his chin.

“A woman would be expected to supply one,” James retorted.

“You know I think that is a wagon of horseshit, too -”

“Does it not seem rather unfair to you that a man is not, then?” he asked.

“Of course it does - but not in that direction,” she said incredulously. She leaned up a bit on her elbow and stretched her legs out. “I believe,” Elizabeth mused out loud, “everyone should do whatever they please, whenever they want to, and be obligated to no person - so long as they do no person any harm. Of course… If the East India Trading Company were to take a loss… or justice were dispensed towards those who do harm on a regular basis….” Elizabeth started to laugh, the kind of low but uninhibited laughter that often accompanies drowsiness.

“Those are rather unconnected phenomena, darling, that’s nothing to do with carnal matters-”

“Well, I am not merely speaking of carnal matters,” said Elizabeth peevishly. “You know people are limited in more ways than that.”

“If your father had seen the… disgraceful way I was carrying myself as recently as the week I brought the pair of you to Port Royal,” James protested, “he might never have given me his confidence around you- especially not after your incident in the library. It’s only through the grace of God I’m not poxed-”

Elizabeth shrugged. “I don’t mind. I’m only a bit jealous. I too would like to have a string of conquests behind me - Sao Feng left me his ship, but the rest of what he gave me wasn’t very nice, and I wasn’t with Jenny for long enough -”

“Oh, God,” James groaned. “They weren’t conquests-”

“Indeed, you were the conquest in every encounter, I am sure -” Elizabeth smiled at him teasingly. “At least you are with me, whether I may tie you down or not-”

“They were encounters, at best,” James said. “And frequently paid. And God, that’s not accounting for-”

He grit his teeth and took a breath.

“-fumbling with boys in the dark. That was hardly conquest either. We avoided looking at one another’s faces. We knew each other too well for that. Some of the others were busy with conquest, but one learned to look the other way and try to avoid the sound of it. There was a sort of stratification- some of us simply had to get it out somewhere, and another’s hand was as good as anywhere, and others- well, God forgive me, but they were practically sweethearts. It seemed unreasonably cruel to suggest it.”

“Cruel to suggest what?”

“Parting them-”

“I don’t know why you think it is my place to offer commentary on this,” said Elizabeth, after a pause. “I wouldn’t have done any differently.”

“Squandered yourself on people for whom you felt nothing but lust, and sometimes not even that?” James asked skeptically.

“What!” she exclaimed, in some surprise; this was so little like her own way of thinking. “Gained a bit of experience and made the passage of time considerably less dull - lord, James. It’s not as though I haven’t done a few things.”

“Less dull- well, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, but I could probably have made captain another two years earlier had I not been frittering my life away on drink and loose behavior-“

“And what would that have gotten you?” she challenged.

“I don’t know- something to keep me too busy to chase Sparrow halfway across the damned planet and in position enough to curb Beckett on my own,” he said bitterly.

“Something that took you away from me?” she asked, unable to keep the disappointment from her voice, and surprised that she felt it. It was selfishness, pure and simple - she could not pretend James was possibly happier with her now than he would have been in such a universe as he described now - but then too, Elizabeth was selfish. “Well, one of us would have been better off, but I’d much sooner have you for my dog than somebody else’s Rear Admiral.”

“Even if you had known of the drinking and wenching?” he asked dryly.

“I would have wished I could have signed up,” she said, grinning.

“Elizabeth!” he said, with a sudden, very visible flinch.

Concern flashed over her features; she touched his shoulder. “What is it?”

“Thought of you in the uniform.”

Her hand slid off. “What,” she said flatly.

“The breeches and all that-“

“Oh, James, God!” she exclaimed in exasperation, and she shoved him backwards.

“I told you, it’s difficult to not think of such things-“

“I don’t mind,” she insisted.

“I mind!” he said, staring up at the ceiling rather than her from where she had shoved him.

“Why?” she demanded to know. “You’ve seen my legs. Kissed them. Kissed very much between them, too-”

“I know- and I enjoyed it, thank you-”

“Then what’s so awful about picturing me in a pair of trousers?”

“It’s rather forward- and Elizabeth, I’m meant to be the one pleasing you-“

“It pleases me to be thought of. It pleases me to know you blush when you think of me. It pleases me to be wanted-”

“I do not blush-“

“More’s the pity-” she slung back heatedly.

“Elizabeth,” he said, “I’m beginning to fear I cannot keep up with you-“

That stung a little. That stung a lot, actually; and Elizabeth was ready to retort something else at him when she found she had not the words. She stared at him with her mouth barely open, and then, blinking angrily, she asked, “What do you think you mean by that?”

He couldn’t see her from this vantage point, did not recognize the pain in her voice, and continued, with an embarrassed and apologetic half-laugh, “I must be a dreadful disappointment to you.”

“You’re not-”

Suddenly she was leaning over him, cupping his face with her hand, tender and adamant; and just as suddenly she was kissing him. James gasped and started sitting up again in surprise.

“Elizabeth Swann,” he said fondly, “I will never deserve you.”

She growled a little and pushed him back down to the bed, absolutely devouring him.

“Elizabeth!”

It wasn’t much of a protest this time; he pulled her to him with a laugh of relief.

“I’m sorry about the ropes-“

“Forget about the ropes-” she said breathlessly.

“Ah,” he said. “Good, very good- I think I’d rather keep the dog bit out of the bedroom, if it’s all right with you-“

“My offer still stands,” she said with a lopsided smile.

“What! Oh, no, no-“

“No?” She looked mildly put out.

“Elizabeth,” he said, a little breathlessly, “I don’t think that’s at all to my preference-“

“No? Not even to do what I planned to do to you? I think you would like that.”

“I would rather be able to touch you,” he said, trailing a finger along her lower spine through her nightgown to illustrate this point.

“I just want to control you,” she said with relish. “But never mind it - I shall do so when the sun is up.”

“And I suppose, if you may accept this as an offer of trust,” he said, “you are welcome to pull my hair and grope at me as you will.”

“What?” asked Elizabeth, stupefied. “Really? I know that your reputation is largely set in stone and that you’ll be my kept boy in all the annals of history, but do you really want that on the record?”

“If it is set in stone, it scarcely matters,” James retorted. “And I'd rather that than the ropes.”

“Look, I….” She had to sit up and give this the thoughtfulness it deserved. “I am not unopposed, but - not in front of Will, if that’s all right with you. To be perfectly honest, I would rather we not do it in front of Barbossa, either, but that’s another story - he’s just too smart to fall for it. He knows I’m a little off my head about you, and he won’t stop letting me know how much it annoys him.”

James laughed at this, and kissed her hand.

“I'm quite amenable, I assure you.”

“Well,” said Elizabeth, her eyes still wide. “I suppose that gives us something else to live for.”

“I rather assumed you enjoyed it,” said James. “God knows that without your attentions I might well have given up on my hair by now. It's damned annoying when it can't be secured.”

“It’ll grow out and then you can secure it,” she said, sliding her fingers through it now.

“I know. I know, that's how I continue to commit myself to it.” He closed his eyes and relaxed under her touch. “Though it helps to be in a situation where one can have a bit of one’s vanity back.”

She watched him a while longer with a satisfied smile. Seeing his face still stirred more than a decade of memories, all of them more valuable now than they had ever been. After a moment of recollection, Elizabeth leaned over to kiss him on the cheek - repeatedly, and whispered: “Dog’s head buckles…” before giggling and pressing her face into the pillow, leaning on him for support. James put his arms around her, nuzzling into her hair and kissing her temple.

“Yes, of course. Those are an absolute, are they not?”

“Mmmm,” Elizabeth agreed, leaning into it and rolling over. “James, would you like me to indulge your vanity a bit more?”

“Mmm. Yes, I suppose,” he said, closing his eyes as he tightened his grip, a little possessively. He had earned the right to be possessive, he thought. She was his. She had said as much.

Elizabeth shut her eyes and melted further into the embrace.

“Well, looking at you….” she said, and slid her own arm around his waist, tightly. “You look like a proper pirate.”

“Good heavens,” he laughed. “Is that a compliment, now?”

“From me? You have to ask?”

“I know, I know,” he teased. “It’s more simply a wonder that I have ended here-”

“I wonder at that, too - every time I look at you and recall the last decade of our acquaintance,” she said affectionately. She ran the flat and then the back of her hand over his chest.

“Mm,” said James. “I’m glad to know you approve.”

“More than approve,” she said softly.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, “it is as much pleasing you, and knowing that I am doing so, as it is simple vanity.”

“Let me tell you again how much it pleases me…” she murmured.

“Oh, do,” James said, in a voice reduced to a low, pleased rumble. “I shall work to keep that in mind.”

“Better yet, I could show you…”

“Or both,” he said, unable to prevent another chuckle from entering his voice. “You know how much I seek to live up to any admiration I receive-”

“My dear Captain Norrington,” said Elizabeth, lips on his throat, “is that what the French call a double entendre?”

“A what?”

He opened his eyes and lifted his head at this.

“Living up to my admiration, darling?” she asked, with a strategic caress.

“Elizabeth, good lord-”

“I assume that was a no,” she said, struggling to control her laughter. It was easy enough, though, to bury her face against his throat and resume her attentions there. James lay back down, still a little startled, and laced his fingers through her hair.

“I meant only that I want to deserve that kind of indulgence,” he clarified, with an awkward clearing of the throat.

“The indulgence is mine. You’re mine.”

“Ah, yes. I’d forgotten my place.”

“To be fair, until the acquisition of certain objects, you cannot properly inhabit it.”

“Elizabeth-” James blurted. “My God-”

“Do you object to that?” she asked, a touch exasperated.

“I’m still accustoming myself to your frankness-”

She snorted.

“There is a difference between the degree of opinion which I have always known, and been delighted to know you possess,” James said carefully, “and this… freedom of expression.”

Elizabeth lifted her head, unable to fully conceal either her embarrassment or her sincere pleasure in his admission.

“Really?” She cleared her own throat. “Delighted, I mean?”

“Elizabeth,” he said, “I was not thinking of you in trousers yet when I granted that you might borrow them from the Marines.”

“Delighted does not mean resigned.”

“I was delighted, I assure you. I distinctly recall laughing.”

“Oh,” she said, doubtfully. “I suppose I remember that.” She lay there a moment longer with his heart beating against her arm where it rested on his chest, her fingers combing through his hair. “Can it really be so,” she wondered out loud, when she could control herself no longer, “that I’ve fallen in love with you - an older brother at most, later an unwanted suitor, uptight, honorbound, and extremely uninteresting? Pinch me; I think I dreamt it.”

James, with no change in expression, gave her a sound pinch on the rear.

She burst into laughter.

“Not so unwanted now, it would seem,” he said dryly.

“Not a suitor either. You only call them suitors when they are still trying to win you,” she said, cupping his cheek. “Oh, how though?”

“Something to do with the promise of dog’s head buckles, it would seem,” he said, closing his eyes and just barely allowing himself a smug smile.

“It began well before that -”

“Well, for whatever reason, I’m yours now,” James countered.

“Yes, but you were mine already,” she said - gently this time. “I just didn’t claim you.”

This time, he burst into laughter in return.

“Fair enough-”

“Now I do with pride.”

“And I gladly accept such an arrangement,” he said, leaning to kiss her on the top of the head. Elizabeth shut her eyes and smiled.

“James, have we talked enough for your tastes or is it still too early in the evening for you?” she teased. “Pardon me for my forwardness, Captain, but all this talk about ownership does things for me.”

“Ah, but I so enjoy seeing you like this.”

“Like what-”

“Breathless and eager-”

“Careful application of your hand will get you more of it-”

Of course it would; even saying so did.

“-and finishing you off would put a swift end to it. No, I think I should prefer to enjoy prolonging it a bit.”

She let out an affronted peal of laughter, but even as that died down she looked at him with earnest wonder. James lifted his eyebrows in questioning amusement.

“What is it?”

“I wish I knew,” she said sincerely.

James tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear and smiled up at her from where he lay.

“Perhaps it is not ours to question,” he said, “only to be happy in it.”

She returned his smile, leaned in to kiss it.

“I hope,” she said, hesitating after beginning, then going on anyway, reaching to clasp his hand as she did, “we would have found our way to this if we’d married, too.”

James paused, blinked a few times, and then slowly smiled again.

“One can only hope.”

“Even if you would not show me your scars on our wedding night,” she teased him.

“A gruesome topic for a wedding night, wouldn’t you say?” James retorted. “I know I’m hardly ravaged, but there’s a time and a place for such things-”

“Yes,” agreed Elizabeth, her voice low and warm, cupping his cheek again and leaning in as though to kiss him. “The wedding night.”

He laughed again, defeated. “All right, a fair point. You may look on them now, if you like.”

“Why don’t you show them to me?” asked Elizabeth, languidly propping herself up on one hand.

“Ah, yes,” he said. “Of course-”

James pushed himself up and started trying to extricate himself from his jacket as quickly as possible, with a gesture for her to be patient. She wasn’t, though, and helped undo the closures with an air that made that very plain.

“Show me - show me like you would have shown me then,” said Elizabeth - her shyness returning, though her ability to breathe did not. “As if we were starting - from the beginning.”

“...ah,” said James. “Well, ah-”

He made another gesture for patience and stood- nearly rolled himself from the bed, in fact, and tried to recall who he might have been three or four years previously under circumstances such as these.

“Elizabeth,” he began- he linked his hands behind his back, without thinking- “I don't wish to alarm you, but I feel as though I cannot proceed in this without a bit of preamble-”

Elizabeth swallowed back a laugh and did her best to look innocent and cautious - and then, actually remembering what she had been like back then, a little dubious. She had not meant this sort of mummery, but when faced with the opportunity she would gladly claim the idea as her own.

“Certainly you are aware that the Navy man’s lot in life is not an easy one,” he continued, lifting his chin despite his back still being turned to her. “I count myself very lucky, for a man of my rank.”

“Will you not at least turn and face me?” asked Elizabeth, starting to remember, too, why she had liked him less then.

His posture loosened as he turned around- he had to remind himself to straighten it again, as though he had not very recently buried his face between this woman’s thighs.

“Forgive me.”

“That is easily done, with perhaps a bit of encouragement, J- Commodore Norrington,” said Elizabeth, recalling with a pang of guilt that she had called him that even up to the end of their engagement.

“I don't wish to alarm you- or invoke your pity, either,” said James. “Only to prepare you-”

“For what? I am not ignorant of the- the customs and expectations of matrimony-”

“I don't mean to impose anything further than the awareness of- the ways in which I have been marked during the course of my career,” he said carefully.

“Oh?” asked Elizabeth, with perhaps more interest than she would have actually shown if such a day had come to pass.

“Er, yes,” said James. He came to sit beside her again and took her hands in his.

After a moment of looking her in the eyes, he faltered.

“This- er, well, I probably would have removed the wig here,” he said, “so we can probably just ignore that-“

Elizabeth rubbed his hair, which was a bit longer than it would have been.

“And I suppose I would have done that, too. I want to believe I would have, at any rate,” she said, with a faint, agreeable smile.

“This would have shown on its own,” he said, pulling his hair back from the scar on the side of his head. “Rather starkly, at the time. You’ll have to imagine that.”

“And I would have…”

She brushed her thumb over it.

“Do you want me to continue like this, or…”

“Please.”

He cleared his throat.

“All right,” he said. “That's the worst of them. I hope that is a reassurance.”

“Is it?” asked Elizabeth, dubious again. “I don’t mind to see the… the proofs of your courage, Commodore.” And though she rather suspected this was not actually how things would have gone, she touched him on the shoulder and said, more softly, “- or James. May I call you James?”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Of course, Elizabeth.”

“I’m sorry I did not do it sooner,” she said, and realized with a flush of warmth that she was worse than sorry, and not at all playing pretend. The sudden shine in her eyes was real.

“I don't blame you,” he said softly.

He could have kissed her in that moment, but belatedly recalled that she wanted to continue play-acting. James blinked rapidly and looked down.

“Shall we continue-”

“May we?” she asked, rubbing her nose swiftly and decisively.

“Well,” he said, “I suppose I ought to get to it.”

He returned to unfastening his weskit, with the occasional brief look in her direction.

Elizabeth set her jaw determinedly and tried to stay in character. James was making it very easy - boring as he had ever been - but guilt was making it a challenge for her.

“Would you-”

She had found herself too authoritative, addressing a question as though it were a command, and had to shut her eyes and work out the more hesitant, softer tone necessary. “Would you like my help undressing?”

James paused with his hands on the closures as his eyes met hers. A moment later, he nodded and moved his hands away.

She’d helped him do this twenty times now at least, and somehow it still felt different in this context. She had been aware through all the stages of their relationship of what it might have been, and it hung over them now like a heavy curtain. Her breath caught at the sight of him as if she really were ridding him of a military uniform, and she flushed with embarrassment at that.

“We’ll pretend this was more difficult, I suppose,” James said awkwardly. “Cravat and all that-”

Elizabeth kissed him on the throat in response to that - timidly, she recollected just in time. Self-consciousness provided her some realism.

“Would you have minded this terribly?” she asked, touching his collarbone. “You had always been so overdressed around me.”

“It was a uniform, Elizabeth,” he said. “I hardly gave it any thought past keeping it in order.”

“Yes, but to be undressed right in front of me,” she pressed. She maintained eye contact as she insisted, but her eyes dropped to his chest as it was revealed to her. “And to be - to be staring, I would have stared -”

“You would have been my wife,” said James.

“As though that would have made a difference to your shyness so soon-”

“It would have been expected of me,” he retorted, “and as I don't exactly have anything to hide under here-”

“All right,” she said, with a touch of impatience, meeting his eyes sparingly but fiercely - rather a bit too like she had once done. “And it isn’t as though you hadn’t seen me undressed - twice, by that point.”

“There would have been nothing to mind,” he said. “I would not have wished to impose further, had you expressed any reluctance.”

“I wouldn’t have, but you would have seen it just the same. Sent me to bed and slept beside me as stiff as a tin soldier - not in an enjoyable way, either-”

“There was no right to be claimed- my studies of how to please you or no, I would not have wished to force you-“

“I would not have needed you to force me,” she said, a hard note of insistence entering her voice.

“I know you would have stared,” he said wearily. “Why else would I have undressed before you in Tortuga?”

“Did you like it? Did you want to-” She glided a fingertip down his chest and to his navel. “-Provoke it?”

“You were married,” he said grimly, “or at least, I thought you were at the time.”

“Being engaged to you did not prevent me from staring at other men,” she reminded him, sharply, so as to dissolve his guilt.

“You did not love me then.”

“- no, I didn’t,” she said, uncomfortably. “And I would not have on our wedding night. But I would still have had eyes.”

“I would not have wanted you like that on our wedding night,” James admitted, after a long silence.

Elizabeth took his hand and clasped it a long time.

“When would we have… do you think…”

“I don’t know,” he said. “It grew further from my mind the longer the engagement progressed.”

“Because you could tell, you mean-” she said bitterly.

“...yes,” he said. “Because I could tell. I thought- perhaps at sea-“

Elizabeth pulled him to her and kissed him quiet. James put his arms around her in relief and gratitude.

“That is what happened, isn’t it - after all-” she managed between kisses.

“In a way- good lord, Elizabeth, is it terrible to be glad we were never married-“

“Would we have still found this-” she asked, with her eyes finding his.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I can only hope so, but with so little to be sure of…”

“I’ve spent months wondering about it - how I gave you up, how I ruined your life -” Elizabeth drew him back to the bed, drowning him in kisses.

“Elizabeth- for all you know I might have lost you with the Dauntless-“

“As if the sea could claim me -” scoffed Elizabeth.

“Elizabeth-”

“I’ll only let you do that,” she murmured against his mouth.

“How are you so adept at this?” James said, as impressed as he was confused. “You have a greater knack for steering everything in that direction than any man I’ve ever known.”

“What direction?” asked Elizabeth, straddling him on the bed - “sex?”

“I was attempting to be more delicate than that.”

“Perhaps it is only because I am not a man,” she said, smirking.

“Mm. By now, I daresay it wouldn’t matter if you were.” He pulled her down and kissed her.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that….”

She licked him on the ear and whispered, “I’d have really fucked you by now.”

James was shocked into laughter.

“Elizabeth-”

“You’d have liked it, James,” she baited him, moving her mouth - and her tongue - over to his mouth.

“Of course I would have,” he said, making a fist in her hair. “It’s you, after all-”

She groaned a little loudly, shutting her eyes.

“-and you remember what I told you, months ago-”

“God, as though I could forget-”

“Really?” He sounded surprised, but pleased.

“James, that was the most romantic thing I’ve ever been told-” she said, pulling back to look him in the eye, although a shy expression of pleasure came into her gaze.

James blinked in slow shock, and then moved his hand from her hair to her cheek.

“...it’s true,” he said, in a soft voice. “Every word of it. God help me- it might have been easier if I did not love you for some time there, but… I don’t believe it’s anything that can be helped.”

“Thank you,” she said, when she had found her voice again; “for waiting for me.”

“I would wait decades for you, if I had to,” James said, stroking along her cheekbone with his thumb.

“You don’t need to go so far as that,” said Elizabeth, biting back a greater smile and looking aside, just slightly away from his eyes. “I plan to never make you wait again.”

“Will you still have me as your dog?” he asked, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“For always, I hope,” she said, meeting his eyes now.

“Before others,” he said, “I think that is what I must be.”

“They’ll know I love you,” she said, caressing his cheek, first with her fingertips and then her knuckles, back and forth, and then his throat, just the same. “They may think something a little cruel in that love, but I won’t be able to hide it, so I will not try.”

“I can manage that,” he said. “I didn’t spend twenty years in the service to rankle under authority.”

“Especially authority as sweet as mine,” she said coaxingly, before laughing at herself. But she touched his lips and said sincerely, “You know I love you, James. So much.”

“I know,” he agreed. “I do know, now.”

She kissed him, cupping his cheek as she did.

“It is a greater gift than I dared hope to receive any longer,” James said, pulling her against him and embracing her, nuzzling into the mass of her hair. “God- Elizabeth, there is no world in which I could not love you-”

Elizabeth held him and rolled over hard, to bring him halfway on top of her.

“In this world, at least, I promise you won’t lose me either,” she said in a near whisper.

James had to brace himself, with an awkward little bark of laughter, to keep from falling on her. The whole cot was sent rocking.

“Noted-”

“Oh, James-”

“What is it, love?”

Elizabeth let out a tiny laugh that died on her lips, tilting her head as she looked at him, fond and a little embarrassed. “Oh, James,” she had to repeat.

She had not reacted like this since the night she had saved him in Tortuga, and that somehow seemed more distant to him than even their former lives. Those seemed to exist nearly simultaneously, but behind a pane of glass- inaccessible, yet always visible. Their life now- his life, this life- had become so much the status quo already that it was strange to think that its course had begun so recently.

He pushed his fingers back through her hair and she shut her eyes and leaned into it.

“Don’t stop that,” she whispered, biting her lip.

“This- now, this, I might easily have done on our wedding night-”

“Mmm.”

“It seemed indecent to even think of it.”

“Touching my hair? Oh, James, good lord, imagine-”

“It’s a matter of context-”

“What a delightfully filthy idea,” she continued to tease him, wetting her lips and smiling.

“Didn't tend to imagine it quite so golden, though-”

“Well, no. It wasn’t.”

“Mm. Well, I like it golden-”

“I like that you like it,” she murmured.

“I like everything about you,” he said warmly, pulling her in for another kiss.

Elizabeth felt her face heat up and broke the kiss, as well as she could given the overall mood of the evening. “Surely not everything-” she faltered.

“Elizabeth, you're forcing my comments toward the filthy,” he half-grumbled. “Everything is close enough-”

“I did not mean it like - that,” she said, mortified. “I only meant - my pride and my stubborness. My tact - or if you rather my lack of tact-”

“Mm. Well. I was not thinking of that-”

“Something less literal? You like the idea of me?”

“Oh God- Elizabeth-”

He scrubbed at his face with his free hand, his voice a barely audible mutter.

“I like- I enjoy looking at you.”

“Oh my G- was that all it was? You like everything you see?” She started laughing, momentarily more relieved than flattered.

“Yes,” James groaned. “Christ- I'm still accustoming myself to this degree of informality between us-”

“Oh, dear, do you need a little bit more practice?” she asked, too innocently to mean anything but carnally.

“Oh, my God-”

She rubbed the back of his neck with a fraction more sincerity. He leaned into it- James never recognized his own muscle tension until she was relieving it- and gradually lowered his face to her shoulder in an attitude of defeat.

“I feel I am doomed to perform very poorly at being dreadful on your account if I can't handle so much as this,” he confessed. “I am brought low far too easily.”

“I do not mind you brought low - you have done some of your very best work for me in such a state as that,” said Elizabeth, holding him possessively closely, “but if you can see to it you are only done in by me, I would appreciate it. Remember who you belong to.”

“I know,” he sighed. “My God. I can promise you, I used to be better than this.”

“Why did becoming a pirate make you worse.”

“It was preceded by a long period of drunken wretchedness,” James said flatly. “I imagine that’s to blame.”

“We’ll make you better,” she said decisively.

“I am working on it, whether you can tell or not,” James said, with deeply wounded dignity.

“I can’t,” she said gamely, “though that is also because I can’t tell you have performed poorly by your own standards. I always find you competent at the very least. I have always admired you, and now that my admiration is joined by tender feelings and not a little bit of lust, I am probably blind to your faults.”

“I used to think that that was my worst,” he said. “The way I was… then. Not before you, but at sea.”

“And what do you think now?” she asked, briefly pausing in her administrations to the back of his neck.

“Well,” he said grimly, “I haven’t been back in battle in a good while.”

“Oh, that will probably change sooner than you’d like, and it will probably be ghosts or sea monsters or some other thing. This is an awful crowd.”

“Indeed,” he said dryly. “And there I will be, with none of my earlier resources to draw upon.”

He lifted his head enough to smile at her and assure her he wasn’t completely sinking away again.

“Yes; you will have something better,” she said, and she whispered into his ear something entirely too filthy.

“Oh God-”

His head dropped again. Elizabeth started to laugh at him again, faintly, barely suppressing it against his shoulder.

“Will that not fortify you?” she pressed on.

“I meant,” he said, “without my typical resources toward inspiring terror-”

He felt like a petulant child, and shut himself up again as he weighed his words. When he finally spoke again, his voice was lower, more even.

“You may recall that I had another name before I was Her Majesty’s dog,” said James. “The Scourge, they used to call me. God help me, I had earned it, too. I used to fear your learning of it in any detail. I suppose that hardly matters now.”

She stroked his hair. It did not matter, but she was impressed with it nonetheless.

“I doubt that carries much weight among these people any longer, regardless,” he said. “One can hardly keep up that kind of reputation when rumor has it one is being bent over a desk on a habitual basis.”

That was another thought for another night - she did not think it would have been fair to suggest it when they had still been unable to enjoy each other the other way around - and she reluctantly put it out of mind.

“I don’t think it would be impossible to remind them,” she said diplomatically. “Surely it will all come back in time.”

“One can only hope dog’s-head boot buckles and what have you can inspire a similar degree of dread as the slow removal of one's coat,” James commented.

After a pause, he added, “Because of the bloodstains, you see-”

Elizabeth shut her eyes tightly. James pushed himself up in concern.

“Are you all right?”

She bit her lip. “I’m picturing it-”

“Oh, my God-”

“So if we had married, things would have come around eventually,” she said optimistically. “You couldn’t have kept that a secret.”

She remembered with some shame how insipid, how oppressively bland she had thought being married to him would be, but that only meant that her turnaround would have happened all the more willingly.

“That's true,” he conceded. “I couldn't exactly tell your father of any of that, either.”

“I would have been besotted,” she laughed.

“Once you stopped fussing, perhaps,” he said, leaning up properly now to brace himself up on his elbow. “I used to- oh, God, it sounds ridiculous to explain it now-”

“Please go on.”

“Cheap wine skins under my shirt.” He patted at his side to illustrate where he could have situated them. “Flat, unnoticeable. If they were slashed, my clothes would be soaked red in an instant. A bit of warfare of the mind, you could say, to fool an opponent into believing I was fighting through a wound that ought to have been lethal-”

Elizabeth started to giggle. “I don’t think fussing would be necessary, for I would have gotten the shirt off you to see how bad the wounds were and uncovered the deception too quickly for that-”

“The devil you would have! I would have warned you first.”

“Either way, you cannot pretend you would have fooled me.”

“You're a great deal smarter than most of these people,” James said dryly. “Most of them seemed to believe I was up and about with an impossible head injury, at that.”

“I’ve had….” This was an unpleasant thing to talk about; she wanted to keep on talking about James, Scourge of the Caribbean, and fancy a better ending for them if they had gotten married when planned, but once the topic had been brought up, it was the honorable thing to do to at least acknowledge it. “I’ve had four times the education anyone else here has had,” she admitted, then, not sounding proud of it. “And I squandered a lot of that to read about pirates anyway. I am sure I would have been very stupid if I had not been forced to my studies.”

“Ignorance and stupidity are two very distinct things,” James said, rather dismissively. “Believe me, there's plenty of both to go around in the Navy as well.”

“Look,” she said, after a moment, a little unwilling to argue. “My first experience with pirates - an experience you shared, if you recall - involved ghosts and curses. I doubt that it is really that strange for a lot of these people to consider that the Crown may have undead pirate hunters to sic on them.”

“Oh, naturally,” he scoffed. “That's what made it so easy to exploit. I suppose we shall have to decide how that factors into my current status.”

“What is more fearful,” she teased, grateful to be off other topics, “death, or woman leaders?”

“A woman leader followed by three dead men, I would imagine.”

Elizabeth giggled again, leaning up enough to nuzzle him.

“We’ll have to devise a new impossible wound,” he said lightly, putting his arm around her. “The previous one is already out of sight most of the time, and will only be more obscured when I can tie my bloody hair back again-”

“Ohh, poor James,” she said, continuing to burrow into his arms.

“I’m not suggesting it’s the end of the world-“

“No, of course not, merely a great burden for you to shoulder,” she continued in the most tender tone of voice, rubbing his back.

“It's damnably annoying- I am permitted to be annoyed, you know-”

“Believe me, if you were not, I would remind you,” said Elizabeth, laying back again, and smirking up at him, tendrils of sunbleached hair falling in a tangle over her forehead. She touched his lips absently. James kissed that fingertip and stretched himself beside her, pushing her hair from her face and letting it trail over his hand.

“I know I hardly need to ask this,” he said, “but I dearly hope you never cut this off.”

“I was not planning to. I did consider it, when I went incognito after Will and Jack, but I decided my reluctance was all the advice I needed.”

“Your impatience with it would be worse than my own,” James chuckled, leaning in to nuzzle it- and her as well.

“I do like that you like it,” she admitted, touching his own hair, and urging him closer. “I like that more than I like it myself.”

“Ah, now there's a familiar feeling,” he said, muffled by her collarbone.

“Which is?”

“To enjoy being liked for some particular quality more than that quality itself.”

“Well, I only feel that with you - and my father,” she amended, gently chucking him under the chin. “To hell with what other people think of me.”

“Mm. I have come to feel similarly about you.”

“Good boy,” she whispered.

James laughed, startled.

“You’ll note I have not yet shaved-”

“Yeah,” she said, gripping him by the jaw affectionately. “I admit I am a little bit relieved. I like you roguish.”

“I knew it-”

“I only wanted what was best for you,” she protested.

“I’m not sure I have a best anymore.”

“Well, on that we are not in agreement; I have decided what is best for you is whatever I like most. On that note, you are keeping the beard. I don’t mind that it tickles. I have nothing to compare it to, anyway.”

“Noted,” James said dryly. “I shall try not to disappoint.”

“You never have,” she said fondly.

“I'm not particularly disposed toward the suggestion of a scarf.”

“Then ignore it.”

“I'm not going to stop complaining,” he said, very firmly. “I've earned that.”

“You have not!”

“Other than that,” he said, “I suppose I'm at your disposal-”

“I think earrings. Or an earring. Not one of those little manly hoops, though - something that dangles. It’ll blend in with your hair, I think, for the most part, but catch the light and look so pretty. Silver, I think. It’s a better color for you.”

“I'm sorry, what-”

He leaned back up on his elbow in abject alarm.

“I believe you heard me, Captain.”

“Yes,” he said, “but I never can tell when you're joking-”

“Well, I’m not,” she said crossly. “Don’t complain about this one, please.”

“How, exactly, do you intend to go sticking a new hole in my body-”

“Gin. Needle. Your sweet patience and an earring - something expensive, I think.”

“Oh, my God,” James groaned, laying back down.

There was a pause.

“... something dangling, though-”

“Yes. You really couldn’t pull off hoops, I don’t think - you’re somehow too….” She frowned at him. “Delicate.”

“That's a new one,” said James.

“Refined, perhaps.”

“It's going to be some time before I've enough hair for it to blend with, as you put it.”

“I don’t care. You’ll let me have what I want, won’t you?”

“I- yes, of course,” he said as he lay back down, a little bewildered. “How long have you been thinking of this?”

“At least all of today,” she said airily, to disguise how she felt about what she was about to confess. “I thought we could share a pair - although I do not look better in silver. I am willing to make a concession for you.”

James scoffed. “This is your idea. If you’d rather gold, it’s all quite the same to me.”

“No, you wouldn’t wear it well enough.”

“Fine-“

“Well, now all of that’s settled,” said Elizabeth, stretching herself out on the bed while sneaking a look at him that was not sneaky enough not to be noticed, nor intended to be.

James’s eyebrows drew together.

“What now?” he asked suspiciously.

“What indeed,” she said, sliding her leg over his.

“Ah,” he said. “That.”

“James,” she pleaded.

“I haven’t got a quondam-“

“Well, maybe we should start a family. Though I am not naming any son of mine Weatherby. I’ve always told father that. We agreed ‘Henry’ will do; it is his middle name.”

James slowly sat up again, staring at her unbrokenly as he moved all the way up.

“...Elizabeth?”

“Darling?”

“Are you- darling, are you serious?”

He reached for her hands. She laced their fingers together.

“I don’t want a child,” she said earnestly, but held onto him tightly, and kept her eyes on his - willing him to see her sincerity. “But would it be so terrible if we had one unplanned? We could die on this rescue mission. That would be a reliable form of birth control, to be sure. Then perhaps we may not conceive at all. And if we conceive, and we survive, then… well, then we would certainly have our work carved out for us. I don’t know how long you could be my dog before it interfered with our child-rearing, but…. We could work it out as it happens. James?” She rubbed her thumbs over his knuckles, then leaned in and kissed them. “We’re free out here. We can do anything we want.”

“I know,” he said. “And truly, I would give you all the assistance you require. But Elizabeth-”

“Yes, James?”

“Are you certain-”

“Yes - yes, I’m absolutely certain-” she said, a little feverishly, pulling him to her. “It’s worth the risk - and I have no worry for the consequences. I know that I can do and handle absolutely anything that falls in my path - and that you would be a wonderful father -”

“Elizabeth,” he reminded her, though he had to pause for a kiss- “Elizabeth, nine months is a rather long time-”

“Grania O’Malley,” she murmured. “Nothing shall ever slow me down-”

“Elizabeth…”

He kissed the edge of her mouth, already moving down toward her throat.

“Come back up here-” she laughed, wanting to taste him.

“Mm- you're right, it's safer up there-”

“Safer?” she asked, pausing as their lips touched, knowing she wouldn’t want to keep speaking once she kissed him.

“Less likely to lead anywhere unplanned,” he laughed.

“Ah, well - let’s do it anyway-” she laughed, and smooched him.

“Swann or Norrington, do you think-”

“James!”

“I'm making certain you're certain!”

“Swann, then!” she griped, and putting her arms around him she fell backwards to the bed.

“Mm- noted-”

He didn't add anything after that. His mouth was rather preoccupied.

The thought of having a child - of becoming pregnant with one - still left her with a quiet sense of unease. It was mostly to do with the immediate concern of their plans, Pirate King and dog - the reality of raising a baby could not emotionally touch her no matter how much James implored her to consider it, so instead she was hung up on what a difficulty it would be to make all the sea quake with fear of her when she was pregnant and enormous - to make others dread James again, while keeping him firmly beneath her boot, when they were raising a child together. To say nothing of the fact that the language she had adopted towards him in public could never, ever reach a child’s ears - children cannot hear their parents say such things to each other, even in play; they are too young to understand it.

But she was not lying when she told him that if it happened, she could weather it - they could weather it together. Perhaps they would have to raise a baby instead of raising hell - perhaps they would not be so terrifying as they wanted to be. But what was the point of wanting freedom if one only gave oneself new restrictions? She would not be tied down by her dreams of power; she refused. And just once, just one chance to know him - she would take the risk for that. Sometimes it seemed inevitable that he would die on this mission - in her mind, it was always James she feared dying, never herself - and she could not bear even the imaginary grief. Having him beforehand would probably not lighten that if it came to pass, nor did she think, if she were to conceive, that raising a child alone after losing him would be any easier; but those hardships seemed to pale in comparison to the possibility of regret. To never have him at all, to have loved him and lost him and never had him, would have been the worst possible feeling for her.

There was, however, nothing frantic in the way she kissed him; now that she had finally persuaded him, she felt free to take her time. The only reminder of her plans now was in the way she led him between her thighs, and even that, she did slowly - there was so much else to do in the meantime.

James’ hand had settled on her belly in a pensive way even as he kissed her collarbones, over her breasts, her shoulders. He had remained sober for a few months now; there was now an even greater pressure to remain so if- somehow, God forbid- things went predictably in the most complicated possible direction and she fell pregnant. He was not a violent drunk, except where taverns full of taunting pirates and the chance to kill Jack Sparrow were concerned. Most of the brawling he’d gotten into during his low year had been miserably sober and in the pursuit of getting drunk again, and that was less of a concern around a hypothetical child. But he was reckless, he knew that much, and that frightened him just as much.

And even if he and Elizabeth somehow turned into outstanding parents on the first try, his stomach clenched uneasily at the thought of raising a child on board the Empress, bearing witness to engagement after engagement, being shushed while he or Elizabeth dealt with prisoners, wearing the tiniest imitations of pirate finery either of them could find-

“If it's Swann,” he murmured, lips against the soft inside of her wrist, “you may have to reconsider Eliza for a girl.”

“Why’s that?” she murmured, extending her fingers to brush them against his cheek.

“Imagine it. Sixteen years from now, a second Elizabeth Swann running about the oceans, raising Cain with the wind in her hair, attracting all kinds of attempts on her life meant for her mother-"

“-whom, I assume, she would be like enough in temperament to handle it,” said Elizabeth, before admitting in a quieter voice, “I can’t even picture sixteen years from now.”

“Suppose she were not,” James said softly. “It would be a heavy burden to place on a child’s shoulders, that sort of legacy. Any child of ours will have some degree of that. I'm not worried that either of us will turn into the Admiral, but I was raised at sea and in his shadow all the same. Any child we have will be notorious from the moment you begin to show, whether they like it or not.”

“And I am not worried any child of ours will grow into Jack Sparrow,” she said impatiently, “but we wouldn’t be the first to do it, and we cannot be worse than Teague - or your father, for that matter. Anyway everyone must have some variation of this concern when they join in the marriage bed, and many people who don’t think about it end up with inadequately cared for children. We’re better off than many, and children are the primary result of this kind of cohabitation. Even if we had a quondam, it wouldn’t be a guarantee - so unless you are expecting me to live with you and long for you without satisfaction for the rest of my days, you cannot convince me not to want you by threatening me with babies.”

“If you insist.”

There was another little pause.

“And all this assumes only one child-”

She burst into laughter, but it was a bit edgy at this point. “God, James!”

“I'm not the one to carry and deliver it,” James insisted. “I must ask you to take this seriously-”

“How much more seriously am I to take it?”

“Are you eager enough to have me that you are comfortable with that risk?”

“The risk will always be there! So yes-”

“It will be much less of one when we've located a quondam-”

“And when that is located - will you then finally stop-”

“Yes! Elizabeth, that's all I'm waiting for-”

She looked frustrated and uneasy, clenching and unclenching her hands on the sheets. Finally she tried to relax her jaw, and said, “James, I don’t - I don’t want - if something happens to one of us - “ to you, though, as she thought privately - “I don’t want us to have never known each other.”

“My mouth has been- honestly, Elizabeth, I believe I’ve known you better than many men know their wives in decades of marriage-”

“It feels incomplete,” she said mournfully.

“You’ve likely had a more complete experience by that method than I could give you by entering you to begin with,” he said flatly.

“It’s not about - James, it’s not about just - that,” she said, flushing.

“I know,” he said. “But… Elizabeth-”

James settled his hands on her shoulders.

“I love you. I love you too much to ask you accept this lightly.”

“It must be accepted whatever happens,” she whispered, struggling with her agitation. “Whatever we do, quondams or not - it will always be a risk, don’t you understand that?”

“I don't understand why it must be like this,” he said, a little wearily.

“Like what?”

“In a rush, with our thoughts elsewhere and this sense of dread hanging over us both-”

“You are the one bringing both of those things! I just want to adore you, dammit-”

He kissed her.

“Elizabeth…”

“What now-” she asked, but her anger had dissipated considerably.

“I’m sorry,” he said.”But I cannot do that to you. It's painful, it's dangerous- good Christ, some women are practically disfigured by an unfortunate enough pregnancy-”

She could have choked, pushing him back very quickly to look him dead in the eye. “Never? You mean to tell me we are never-”

“When the risk is lower,” he said, trying to take her hand. “It will always be possible, but damn it, Elizabeth, we cannot play dice with this-”

Elizabeth groaned and pressed her forehead against his chest. James threaded his fingers back into her hair with a moody sigh of his own.

“I don't understand why this matters to you,” he said. “I've heard it's not terribly pleasant on your end to begin with.”

“Because it-” She broke off sharply and bit her lip, pushing her face against him harder.

“Because what? It appears if I die, the lot of you can come back for me,” he pointed out.

“Because it’s what spouses do,” she said through gritted teeth. “Degenerate pirates may do whatever they like and call that binding but a husband and wife do one very specific thing to consummate their marriage and I haven’t done it.”

James had to stop and take this in for a moment, going still against her.

“Well,” he said, “we are not married, and I can assure you that even if we had, similar precautions would have been taken-”

“Would they have been?” she asked, with a strange flood of relief, and a pang of guilt. “Did you never want a child with me?”

“Oh, God, Elizabeth,” he said. “Of course I want a child with you.”

“Really? Then why-”

“Haven't you got enough on your plate without that?” James asked.

“Now. But not then-”

“Living at sea? On a patrol vessel? The consequences would hardly have been any less dire then than they are now if any part of it went away.”

Elizabeth smiled wryly.

“I say this for your sake,” said James. “I hope you can at least understand that.”

“I don’t think you know what is for the best as well as you think you do, but I do understand.”

“My mother was well nigh crippled carrying me,” he said, a little ruefully.

“She wasn’t carrying your older brothers,” Elizabeth pointed out. “Women are not supposed to give birth so late in life.”

“She was scarcely twenty when she birthed Lawrence,” James countered, “and had the fever for four weeks after. I believe the difference there was comprised of Lawrence being the fruit of their wedding night, and not a nasty shock.”

“Is that why you wouldn’t have had me on our wedding night?” Elizabeth asked - not a demand, but too forwardly. “Trying to avoid being at all like your father?”

“What? Oh- no, no, it's nothing as… charged as that,” said James.

“I don’t understand you at all,” she pressed onward. “You had scarcely managed to convince me you had loved me and truly wanted to marry me for myself and not simply my father’s favor before you began to impress upon me just how far from yourself you intended to keep me.”

“A lack of intent to use you for my own enjoyment is not distance.”

“You don’t want me.”

“Of course I want you,” he said, cupping his hands around her face.

“You want to preserve me,” she said, grimacing. “That is the only way you express your love. I feel - God help me, James, I thought marrying you was going to be like being shut up in a little box, and I still feel like I’m in there sometimes.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he insisted. “I would think that’s something different.”

“I only want -”

She caught herself before blurting something insensitive, pulling his hands from her face out of a sense of duty. James might not want to hurt her, but she had a startling knack for hurting him.

“Elizabeth,” he said, “there are other ways we can pass our time, you know.”

“It isn’t the same.”

“You’re right, it’s more enjoyable.”

“James,” she said firmly, “I enjoy your company, I enjoy talking with you, but it isn’t the same.”

“I wasn’t speaking of conversation.”

“I don’t want you to think of me as your mistress,” Elizabeth said heatedly, without thinking. “I am not some - some -”

Elizabeth let off with an agitated hiss through her teeth. She did not know what she meant to say, but none of it could have been good. She ran her fingers through her hair til it fell over her face, and then she pressed her eyes into the palms of her hands and sighed.

“Forgive me, James, I want to be your wife.”

James’s response was not even hurt so much as concerned.

“Do you consider it the lot of a wife, then, to be impersonally emptied within and then dismissed to sleep?” he asked, tentatively brushing her hair aside.

Elizabeth shook her head.

“I don’t want to serve you - I know you would never take me like that anyway. That was never even a concern before. But I am - I am so burdened by the inverse. You wanting always to serve me, barely wanting me to touch you - I want to be together. This is not together, James, it is just… it just you playing forever at being my dog.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” he said. “This is… exactly how I might have treated you as my wife.”

He shook his head slowly.

“Then we would have come to the same place eventually, I suppose. I thought - I thought you must have been treating me differently. Oh, God’s wounds, I know that you hate the place but I wish we were back in Tortuga. I miss what we were like in Tortuga.”

“Has it changed?” he asked, his frown deepening. “As I recall, I did not consider it wise to do what you ask of me there, either.”

“I don’t know. It seemed more domestic then.”

“I have not changed in my feelings toward you, if that’s a concern.”

“I already know your heart is mine,” she murmured, pulling him wearily into an embrace. “It’s the rest of you I lack.”

James put his arms around her.

“There are few things in the world more one-sided and joyless than a man penetrating a woman,” he said, “or so I have been told. When one adds to that the consideration of the physical complications of pregnancy, I fear above all else that I would be inviting your resentment.”

“Then let me have you otherwise,” she said with a note of desperation in her voice. “You cannot tell me you are sparing me your selfishness when you are merely displacing it onto me instead. Let me tend to you, the way you tend to me - you make it seem as though it is a chore to be endured -”

“I don’t derive the degree of enjoyment you wish to give me from that,” James said, rubbing her shoulder now. “I’m much happier tending to you, I can assure you-”

“Now who is being selfish?”

“Elizabeth,” he laughed. “Lie down, and let me enjoy you.”

She did not comply - she did not say anything. She looked up at him moodily and her eyes flashed betrayal.

James sighed heavily, looking away.

“I don’t know how I can convince you of the intensity of my wanting,” he said, holding her a little tighter, “without feeling that I am using you for my own benefit.”

“At least do me the honor of acknowledging you are making me feel as though I am using you for mine,” said Elizabeth, her stubbornness colliding with her temper.

“I don’t mind it- heaven’s sake, Elizabeth, it’s all right by me. I don’t enjoy feeling helpless and drained- the blindfold was one thing, but-”

“But I do,” she said desperately.

“Are you saying you want to please me?”

“Yes!” she blurted, taking his face in her hands. “In this one thing, please, please let me be a wife to you and not a king-”

“I don’t want you to be a king then either!” James blurted. “Dear God- that sly, smiling pleasure in seeing me brought low- that’s all very well in front of others, but here-”

That stung. Elizabeth had thought it a game to play, not a cruelty at his expense, and she had believed - he had given her reason to believe - that he had enjoyed it as well as she.

“Let us leave this conversation off for another night,” said Elizabeth in cresting irritation. “Let us use this bed for the only purpose we can agree on.”

“All I’ve ever wanted of you was a wife,” he said, putting his hands on her face in reciprocation. “I was settling for a king. I believed a king was all I could have now.”

“No, you don’t want a wife,” she said, yanking his hands down. “You want some kind of doll-”

“What?” He stared, confused and hurt and completely, genuinely at a loss.

“What made you believe that? I- Elizabeth, if I could have you now, I would. It’s a great difficulty, wanting you as I do and being unable to do anything about it- and feeling all the more ignoble for it.”

“You don’t!” she cried indignantly. “You practically wince if I touch you - as though you hate it!”

“Pardon me for not enjoying an ongoing litany of how helpless I can be made to look, then,” James said stiffly.

“I am going to bed,” said Elizabeth poisonously, making good on this threat by standing abruptly and walking to the side of the bed, getting into it and staring sullenly at the wall, her back to him.

“Elizabeth,” he said, sitting down behind her and touching her shoulder. She shrugged his hand off.

“I said I am going to bed, Captain.”

“I will not trouble you any further if you wish to be left alone after I give my explanation to you,” he said, “but I would like to apologize for my lack of transparency in why I have felt such reluctance to accommodate you. I understand that my actions have been… confusing, in light of how I have asked to be treated in the company of others. I have sought to avoid treating you with any carnal disrespect, and I see now that that has…” He paused and swallowed.

“Miscommunicated the nature of my desire for you, and what I desire of you. For that, I am sorry. If you will have me, I would gladly offer myself to you.”

He touched her shoulder again- more deliberately this time- and stroked her hair away from her neck. She had not turned to look at him yet, but at this, she sank into the bed with relief.

“I am plagued by fear that I am misusing you. I never meant to make you believe I don’t want you. It’s- well, it’s a lot of things. But not wanting you has never been one of them.”

Elizabeth swallowed. “Lie down with me,” she said.

James cautiously stretched himself out alongside her and put his arm around her.

“How's this…?”

“Yes - good. I mean, yes, that’s what I meant -”

He kissed her at the soft place where her neck joined her shoulders, gliding his hand further down her body.

“Forgive me my misunderstanding.”

She took his hand and held it, pressed against her stomach, without any intended meaning behind it.

“If you will forgive me my silk rope…”

“It still makes an excellent blindfold,” he reminded her, with a weak laugh.

“And do you care for an excellent blindfold?”

“I can enjoy an excellent blindfold.”

“I see. Was your enjoyment at all enabled by the fact that you were servicing me at the time?”

“I won't pretend otherwise.”

“So was the blindfold part of that, or…?”

“I felt it improved my focus,” he said, with a small shrug.

“Ah,” she said knowingly; “my very thorough former Commodore,” she added affectionately and turned her head to nuzzle him back. James smiled and kissed her, holding her a little more possessively now.

“This is really not a trait of yours I thought I would come to enjoy, and I seem to be growing used to it,” Elizabeth observed, tilting her head back against his shoulder so that she could just sort of look at him.

“Which trait is that?” He had closed his eyes.

“Your professionalism,” she said, choosing the word particularly.

“It prevented me from any untoward thoughts,” he said, just as particularly.

“Not precisely a problem in my eyes.”

“And at the time,” he said, “wishing to avoid thoughts of drink.”

“Well, I thought you were a bore,” said Elizabeth, rubbing his hand.

“I'm aware,” he said flatly.

“You still are, but it’s…. I’m learning to work my way around it.”

“Thank you,” he said, even more flatly.

“I suppose… It was always an inflexible notion in my mind. That you were you, and I was of course too different from you - James, why didn’t that seem like an obstacle to you? We are so different.”

“I have always loved you as you are,” he said, giving her hair a gentle ruffle.

“And you thought we would - forgive me, you thought we were a suitable match regardless?”

“I was planning to bring you to sea,” he pointed out.

“Yes, where I would apparently be remaining a virgin for some time,” she teased.

He laughed. “I would like to hope, in retrospect at least, that the sight of me covered in blood and wine might have assisted things somewhat.”

“Christ,” she swore. “I would like to see that now.”

“Another reason for you to prefer me in black.”

“I would have torn your soiled clothes off you, darling.”

“Mm. How good to know…”

He kissed her again. Elizabeth squirmed in order to turn over onto her back, and James drew her closer to his body. She freed her hand to touch his face, then his hair, which she gripped as she deepened the kiss.

“You're allowed to do that-” he said softly, in a light gasp from the intensity of her kisses.

She closed her hand into a fist and pulled his head back - smoothly and deliberately, not with a short jerk.

“Good,” she whispered, before kissing him again.

Between pulling him backwards and pushing herself up to take a more aggressive tactic with him, she had soon pushed James onto his back, leaning over him, pressing him into the cot, smothering him, all her hair spilling over her shoulder and over him.

“Do you like this, darling-”

“Of course I do,” she gasped, out of breath.

“Ah- good, then-”

“Do you?”

“Mm- yes, quite-“

She smoothed his hair back over his forehead and smiled down at him. It was done almost grudgingly, but the smile was sincere, if becoming tired.

“Ah- mm. How do you feel about rolling over and-“

“Really?” asked Elizabeth, startled and, perhaps, not displeased. “You want to do that?”

After a second’s pause, she asked, without a change in tone, “With what?”

James had to give himself a moment and run a number of calculations in his head to follow what she meant.

“What? Oh- oh, no, that’s not what I-“

Elizabeth burst into peals of laughter. “So you don’t want to do that-”

“With what, to begin with-“

“That’s what I asked!”

“I was going to ask you how you feel about letting me have a run between your thighs-“

“Oh - I have no idea what I feel. Rather, I have no idea what I would feel- do you happen to know?”

“Well,” he grumbled, “I’d probably have to start you off first-“

“Oh, and now you don’t like that?”

“It sounds as though you don’t-“

“I love it,” she said fervently, “I just wish you would let me touch you too-”

“-and all else aside,” he said, “I can’t fathom it working without getting you good and slick-“

Her mouth opened. James grimaced.

“I know, that’s not what you asked for, but I feel as though I’m going to have an apoplexy if we don’t do something-“

“Oh, please let’s do something-”

Emboldened by this response, James took a moment to consider things one last time, swallowed, and nodded.

“...Eleanor if it’s a girl. What do you say?”

She gave him a very flat look. James had to look away.

“I… God help me. I want to be inside you-“

“I think you have successfully changed my mind on the viability of that suggestion,” she said, albeit more gently than she had initially intended, upon seeing his reaction.

“...right,” he said, feeling more keenly than ever that he was God’s perfect idiot.

She put her hand over his affectionately. James’s eyes flicked toward her and he had to look away in embarrassment.

“Oh, good God,” he muttered.

Elizabeth kissed him on the cheek.

“It’s not as funny as you seem to find it,” he said. “That- good Christ, I’m an idiot-“

“Why?” asked Elizabeth, walking her fingers up his hand and over his wrist teasingly. “Because you want the same things as I do?”

“I regret saying anything on the subject.”

“I’m glad you did. It’s been… enlightening,” she said, scooting close enough to him to lean her head back onto his shoulder contentedly.

“I suppose I’ve little choice now but to lie here consumed by lust,” he said flatly.

“There are other ways to be inside me,” she suggested - a bit shyly, given his record with the topic.

He looked at her in mild discomfort.

“Elizabeth,” he said.

“You liked it before,” she said crossly.

“I don’t understand how the entire process doesn’t strike you as rather unhygienic-“

“If I can go from having regular baths and a personal maid to the lifestyle of a pirate captain, to say nothing of the honeymoon suite I stayed in in Tortuga, I think I can manage one measly little-”

She cut herself off, embarrassed.

“...it’s not that little,” she said feebly. “You know what I mean-”

“No offense taken.”

“Besides, you like doing it to me-”

“You don’t… emit anything with that force-“

“What’s the force got to do with the hygiene?”

“Nothing erupting in my face, for one-“

“Oh, lord, James, I don’t mind any of that-”

“I mind!”

“Please let me have you, James,” she murmured, touching his chest, rubbing her thumb over his bare skin thoughtfully, her eyes dropping contemplatively to her hand and unfocusing.

“I don't know how long I can give you,” he said, a little mournfully, as he stroked her hair back from her face again.

“Such is the way of the fates,” said Elizabeth, voice dropping to an intimate whisper. “I don’t dare to question it.”

“Elizabeth…”

He pulled her closer and kissed her deeply, then just barely released her.

“Touch me.”

He kissed her again, and did not let go this time. James shifted his hips under her to give her better blind access. She did not need to be told twice, biting his lip sweetly at the same time as she gripped him.

He froze up a little- it was impossible not to, not with some of the associations still churning around in his head- but he used the sudden tension in his muscles to pull her down further, harder, almost painfully.

Elizabeth gasped against his mouth, having to pause her kissing to catch her breath, but she returned to both tasks quickly, with earnest enthusiasm and a little bit of initial fumbling. James dragged her down beside him.

“God-”

“You don’t have to call me that, darling,” she said indulgently, before silencing him with her tongue in his mouth.

“Mmf-”

He gripped her shoulders tightly. Elizabeth had to kiss him more slowly in order to focus the lion’s share of her attention on him, but this she did not mind. She could better savor him.

“Good God, Elizabeth,” he gasped. “More-”

“Like this?” she panted.

“Ah- yes, yes-”

“Oh, darling,” Elizabeth moaned against him, shutting her eyes, taking him in.

For a short moment she found time to sympathize with his statements in support of the blindfold, but it was very brief. Her eyes opened soon after to etch his expression into her memory. The look in his eyes when they met hers - that loyal, distracted, proprietary blend of adoration and timid trust that so often provoked feelings of guilt and inadequacy - only brought from her tenderness now; a desire to protect him and please him all at once. She leaned over him a little better, unable to help the wavy lock of her hair that slipped over her shoulder - bare, now; the shoulder of her nightgown had fallen down - and over his face; she was leaning up with one arm braced on the mattress, and would not have withdrawn her other hand from him for every piece of eight in the New World.

“God,” James was moaning. “God, you’re beautiful-”

She smiled without thinking - she was too distracted to reply, but she bit her lip and beamed at him anyway.

“Forgive me my- my earlier reluctance-”

“Forgiven - easily, always - oh, James. My love. My darling Captain-”

“I- oh, Christ, Elizabeth-”

This continued for several minutes longer, before James’s shoulders relaxed and he sank, breathless, into the bed. Elizabeth floated down beside him with a surprisingly solid thunk, nuzzling into his shoulder and shutting her eyes.

There was a long silence.

“Well,” James said at last. His voice was groggy.

She kissed him gently on the cheek.

“Thank you for letting me have that,” she whispered.

“Mmf. Think nothing of it,” said James, closing his eyes.

She kissed him swiftly on the eyelid and then the other, buying her giggling in his collarbones after. James put his arm around her and pulled her to his chest.

“How far along are you?” he murmured.

“Mm - pretty far, I think. I tend to be, you know, you-” She was tracing a shape over his chest with her fingertip idly. “- do things to my senses-”

“Let me… let me see if I can do anything about that…”

He rubbed her thigh.

Her administrations had left her compromised. She let out a very wretched gasp.

“Don’t you need - some time-”

“Only for a certain part-”

“Yes, but to concentrate- don’t you want to - I don’t know, cuddle first?”

James burst into exhausted-sounding laughter. “There's a reversal for you.”

She pouted.

“Of course, sweetheart, of course…” he said, wrapping his arms around her again. She buried her head in his chest again, loving the salt smell of him, the sturdy weight of him.

“Are you completely convinced about the earring?” he teased, his voice a soft rumble against her ear.

“Of course I am,” she said, leaning up to nip his ear.

“My suspicions accounted for a tattoo,” he said, “but never that.”

“A tattoo…” she said, touching his chest again. “Perhaps if you are thoroughly convinced you will love me forever, you could get-”

“Oh, here we go-”

“A swan,” she said offendedly. “What did you think I was going to say? ‘Property of Elizabeth Swann’?”

“You're very thorough yourself,” said James, “though I’m sure you already know that.”

“What’s that mean-”

“Only that you have an impressive number of ideas at your disposal,” said James, reaching up to rub the back of her neck and leaning his own head back into the pillow again to make his hair fall away from his face, if nothing else.

“You are an impressive figure; it’s fun to devise ways to improve on that,” said Elizabeth, perhaps growing drowsy. She rolled over onto him as though she were about to curl up and call it a night, but started kissing him instead - slow and sleepy kisses of delight and gratitude.

“I always wanted to be a project,” he said dryly, but with too much of a smile to imbue it with any real disapproval.

“Maybe not,” she said in a wry voice. “But you did always want to be mine, didn’t you?”

“Of course,” he said, his caressing growing lazier. “And I’ve no point in saving my pride here; I have done nothing less than ask you for exactly this.”

“Oh, James. I still- I still can’t- oh, forgive me for saying it one more time, but I still can’t believe it’s you,” she said, tactless with affection.

“Neither can I,” he admitted, smiling a little abashedly at her.

She matched his expression with a hint of the gawky girl she’d been, before she’d found grace and wit and boldness in spades, and impulsively she kissed him.

“Did you truly think I expected to leave you at home, corseted and doing sums?” he asked, settling both hands comfortably on her back and lacing his fingers together.

“Mmhm. I thought you had no use for me but to make an alliance with my father.”

“I already had that,” he said, a little wistfully. “I had… hopes, that eventually one day you might want me- I felt as though it would eventually be inevitable, some time into our marriage. I'm aware of my good fortune in at least that sense, relative to most of my former peers-”

“I told myself the same thing,” she said, in a distant voice - too profound for apology. “But it seemed so far off at the time.” After a few moments of consideration, hushed and bitter, Elizabeth brightened, nuzzling him to get his attention. “In one matter at least there is a happy certainty. I thought you unappealing enough in the navy uniform that I think I would have been thoroughly struck upon seeing you out of it.”

He laughed at this, too, with perhaps a little bitterness but no anger. “How kind of you to say.”

“I remembered enough of your pig shit ensemble - after you’d joined Beckett’s fleet - that in the period between our parting ways and my seeing you again, I could still remember…”

She trailed off, letting her fingers speak for her as they glided over his throat, mesmerized.

“...ah,” he said. “Well. Thank you-”

“I don’t imagine I’d mind it so much now,” she said on reflection, “now that I love you for thoroughly enlightened reasons, and have seen you nude, of course, but at the time it was a convenient place to sink my dislike. I could not dislike you personally, of course; I had known you since for-ever; you were too nice to me; so the uniform came in handy.” She squeezed his hand. “I think I really just did not like the thought of marriage.”

Marrying Will did not seem to be comparable; they had to marry in order to consummate their love, and besides, in that case, she was marrying down - it meant more liberty than she had ever otherwise known, but her father had meant to provide for her as well as he could, and so she had not faced the financial insecurity that would have otherwise meant. Marrying Will had meant a significant loss of standing and status in Port Royal’s civilized society, and that had been welcomed by Elizabeth with open arms. It had been her first step towards the place she stood now, she understood - embracing the comparable freedom allowed if she could only step away from the limitations of a class-bound, female-unfriendly world and into independence.

She hoped Will understood that someday. That she really had loved him, regardless of whether not she’d eventually stepped beyond him, too.

“Ah,” he said, taking a moment to reflect on this. “Well.”

He fell silent for a little longer, and then abruptly added, “For what it's worth, I would have forgone the damned wig around you whenever possible.”

She smiled faintly. “I would have appreciated that.”

“For that matter,” he added dryly, “I would likely have tried to fit rather more hair beneath it.”

“I think,” she said, in a soft, reconciliatory tone of voice, “that my feelings on the marriage would have changed, as I came to know that you really cared about me, for my own sake - that you wanted my company.”

“I can hope,” he said softly.

“And perhaps we would have walked the deck together and you could have told me about the winds and the stars, and… I would have fallen in love with your attention, and your patience, and your love for me,” Elizabeth said, dazzled; uncharacteristically shy.

“Is that before or after you've torn off my bloodied clothing, hm?” he asked, more wry this time.

“I like to think before. I want to think so - that you would have gotten to know me better in conversation - long before I would have fallen in love with all of your - oh, your danger and courage -”

James kissed her for that. “I hope I can offer you plenty of that now-”

“I would like it - I would like you to-”

“Yes, Elizabeth- anything-”

“- Perhaps if you ever… tire of being my dog… you could still tell me those things, you know. I only know so much - and I don’t know any English lore at all, I’ve just learned from Tai Huang - and we could still…. Walk on the deck, and you could tell me those things, and your old pirate stories - the things you wouldn’t tell me in my father’s house - all the things you were going to tell me after we - You know, after we married -”

Her voice crept upward in pitch just enough to have become a plea.

“I imagine I could do that now,” he said, “if one were to redefine ‘dog’ as strictly more of a wolfhound sort of role.”

“It won’t be the same,” she said with a hint of bitterness playing about her lips. “I still have to be the Pirate King, you know. But - when we’re back - when we’ve returned to the Empress, our ship -”

“Our ship,” he repeated, taking her hands in his. He brought them together and kissed them.

“I-”

James shook his head, as though he were not only surprised, but confused by this turn of events.

“I have so much wasted time that I must make amends for- so much time spent wanting and not having, and then feeling filthy and common for the wanting- and then, to find you believed I never did-”

He let go of her hands now and put his arms around her instead, closing his eyes.

“My God. Elizabeth- you believed I did not want you? I had to tell myself I wanted you less, that I was deluding myself, just to get by. Perhaps- perhaps you were right, and my feelings have been morbidly cool. If they were, they were through my own effort.”

“I wasn’t wholly ignorant,” she protested, overpowered by two different sources of guilt - that she had not wanted him back at the time and that she had now caused him this new crisis. “I knew you wanted to marry me. But I mistook your motives-”

“Because of my own actions,” said James, “and my decision to forcibly estrange myself from my desires.”

“James,” she said, uncomfortably. “It might not have made a difference-”

“I might have been more demonstrative-”

“I don’t want to give you unfounded hope that that might have been enough to capture my heart at that stage in things,” said Elizabeth gently. “I was so much infatuated with Will then, for such a long time.”

“I don't think hope matters for three years in the past.”

Elizabeth sighed, closing her eyes for a moment, willing herself to regret less.

“I only wish…. I wish father could see us. Not perhaps at this particular moment, but just to know-”

“He was proud of you to the very end,” said James. “I don’t know how he would feel about me, but he never regretted your course save to fear for your safety.”

“He’d be smug to be right,” said Elizabeth, opening her eyes with a wry look in them. “About us. He would try to hide it and frame it as about my happiness, of course, not entirely incorrectly, but I’d still be able to tell.”

Elizabeth’s smile faltered, and she pressed her cheek against James’ chest for a bit of comfort.

“...I miss him so much,” she said, feeling a tear leak out of her eye, though she otherwise kept a good lid on it. James pulled her up a little closer to his shoulder and pushed one hand into her hair.

“So do I, love. Every day.”

“I’m glad we…” Her voice squeaked out to nothing, and she cleared her throat. “I’m glad we have each other now - there are many other reasons for that, but I think we are the only two people who really -”

He kissed her forehead in silent understanding. She tilted her head up to accept it.

“Then doesn't matter anymore. You're mine now.”

“Captain Norrington,” said Elizabeth with a sniff and an easy laugh. “Please.”

“He used to slip up and call me that even after I made Admiral. For that matter, before I'd made Captain. He never made that mistake with others.”

“Father?”

“It was an affectionate nickname, at first. After that, we had relatively little chance for him to grow used to ‘commodore’, and he knew what Admiral Norrington brought to mind.”

Elizabeth smiled faintly. “I thought he was a bit blinded by paternal pride when he began to transparently push us closer together - in you, not me. I thought he wanted you for a son enough to overlook that you would be ill-suited to his daughter.”

“Do you think he would approve of… this-“

He broadly waved a hand over himself.

“If he approves of me, I don’t doubt he does. He’s probably grateful - probably would be grateful - to you for turning pirate just to take care of me.”

“I thought of him when I did.”

She smiled.

“I can only hope it does not disappoint him to see me doing wolfhound-ish activities on your account,” James added, with a small stressed-sounding laugh.

“I can only hope his vision is limited,” said Elizabeth, affronted.

“I’m beginning to itch for that.”

There was a small pause.

“Don’t worry,” he said, with no change in tone. “I’m as surprised as you are.”

“....by what?” she asked in bewilderment.

“I had assumed I would have been engaged more often by now.”

She had completely misinterpreted his itching and was momentarily disappointed, but the notion of James in battle overcame that quickly.

“Ooh, I’m so sorry,” she said with a sly smile. “I promise when we return there shall be lots and lots of ships to raid and wayward pirates to shepherd.”

She kissed his throat and upward, finding his lips with satisfaction.

“I miss the fear,” he said, staring up at the ceiling. “God, I miss the fear.”

Elizabeth pressed her face against his neck, momentarily taken aback by that - feeling her cheeks flush and her pulse pound in her temples.

“Oh, God, James,” she whispered.

“What is it?”

He lifted his head in concern. Elizabeth turned her face up to look at him, flushed and breathless and visibly self-conscious of it - then, meeting his eyes to be sure he saw, deliberately rolled down her shift.

“Ah-”

He made a delighted sound and pulled her up for a kiss.

“Further down,” she complained.

“Ah- oh, yes, of course, you poor creature-”

She urged his head to her breasts with her hands in his hair and over his face, slipping her fingertip into his mouth, ruffling his hair, murmuring insistently.

“I want-“

“Not as much as I do -”

“-to be bloodied for you-“

“Ohhh-”

“Will you let me-“

“I shall direct you myself, my love-”

“Your scourge-“

“My darling Captain,” she repeated, feeling the blood rush to her face again. She cupped his face in her hands and just barely tilted his head back to look at him as she glided possessively into his lap, letting her skirt gather around her hips. She released him and moved her hands to his, lifting them to her mouth to kiss his knuckles, then turned them over to kiss his palms.

“Your hands are so rough,” she murmured. “And so strong. I know you will do great things for me with these hands-”

“This- this is what I wanted-“

“Hm?” she queried, taking his fingertip into her mouth and meeting his eyes so that he would know how she felt, how overcome she was with wanting him.

“When I said I would be your dog-”

“Oh, darling, I know,” she said, releasing his finger, and going to the next one. Holding his hand against her face, and bringing the other to her waist, she shut her eyes and said fervently, “Every soul on this ocean is going to fear you - the corsairs who think themselves above all law and order, even the most basic of decency to his fellow man - how they shall dread you again. The East India Trading Company knows damn well what to expect, and you’ll confirm their worst suspicions. Every fat merchant too rich for his own good, every Spanish galleon, every navire français, they’ll bring back their stories of you, James, you shall blacken the Norrington name, you shall haunt it, you shall be better known than your miserable excuse for a father ever was - he’ll come to regret throwing you away on this backwards, lawless place, they’ll wish they kept you in their pocket for the war effort, but it is too late, your fate is quite decided, you have fallen to pirates and the Pirate King; you are mine, my darling, my Captain - they shall know you are the man who holds the heart of Davy Jones to ransom. And I - you shall be my wolfhound and my love - you shall hold my heart too - how does it feel to be the most powerful man on the ocean? I’ll show you. Let me give you that - oh, James-”

He wanted his mouth free to murmur whatever crossed his mind. He slipped the hand on her waist further down.

“Tell me more.”

For a moment she could not even speak, though she was far from silent. Then she swallowed and said, her voice trembling, “You’ll be - every inch - the exact man - I always wanted you to be-”

She took a shallow breath.

“And James- soon I shall have every inch-”

“And more.”

He grinned terribly and intensified his efforts.

It was much too difficult to talk, not even to tell him how infamous and dreadful he would be - she would have to picture it. James with windswept hair, bleeding from minor cuts, probably not soaked with wine - she would have him in black, she thought, so that wouldn’t show. A single earring; a woman’s earring, decadent and incongruously pretty against the aura of menace she knew he would project. James was well-built, tall and broad; all in black, no less, he would stalk more than he would stroll. A long coat, perhaps, would whip in the wind behind him. He would wear boots in black leather, and tarnished silver dog’s heads would be on them, and on his belt, and his hand - beringed, and she would put the rings on him herself, she thought of that too - would rest on a pistol at his hip, while he directed defeated sailors to await judgment with a lazy, confident gesture with his sword.

And he would bow to her when she emerged to pass that judgment - he would catch her by the waist and she would take him by the lapel and she would dip him - she would force him to drop to one knee and she would kiss him. She would taste blood on his tongue, some blow to the face causing his teeth to cut the inside of his cheek at some point - she would smell blood and sweat on him. She would taste it on him later - and everyone would know, they would look at them and know they were in love, know as soon as their victory had been attended to properly that they would have each other at once - spread the story in England and Jamaica and Cuba and Spain and everywhere else where there be sailors that the Pirate King and her dog are dangerous and indefatigable and very, very deep in love.

She could not form the words to tell him all of this, but she managed to gasp out: “You shall be - positively - the most dreaded man in the Spanish main -”

And it struck her as a familiar thing- had she said it to him before? - when she realized she had said it to Jack, when she had seduced him with drink til he had passed out, and what that had possibly meant about her feelings towards Jack even so early as that, and she pushed that out of her mind. She had manipulated Jack to her own ends then; she had meant nothing, she was certain of it. To James she knew she was being sincere, if for no other reason than that she intended to be the most dreaded person, and it suited her to have James be as dangerous as she.

When it was over, he wiped his hand on the sheet and kissed her again, enjoying the weight of her joyously exhausted body on his as he lay back again.

“Did I please Her Majesty?”

His voice was low and rumbling beside her.

“I thought of you,” she said softly, resting her hand wonderingly on her face as she looked at him. “I mean of what you’ll be like, when this rescue mess is over, when we’ve got the Empress back and are doing what we’re meant to be doing. I was seeing you… cleaning the blood from your sword… in my mind’s eye just as you bid me finish,” she said, and she bit her thumb and grinned at him.

He laughed a low, tired, throaty laugh and nuzzled her throat.

‘Such high expectations to live up to.”

Her pleasure was still very near to her, and the slightest touch of his lips to her neck made her freeze up and let out another little cry of his name.

“I shall do my best to exceed them…”

“Yes,” she said faintly. “Very - just so.”

“What were you thinking of?”

He was in her hair again, breathing deeply.

“You,” she said, after thinking of how best to describe it and failing to come up with anything so succinct as that. “Winning battles for me - with me - how handsome you are going to look all in black - how good it is going to feel when I kiss you in front of captured crewmen. Flaunting to all the world how much we -” Her breath caught; she still struggled with openness on this account. “- love each other.” She kissed his temple, which was where her lips fell when she turned her head. “Oh, James, everything you do to me is - is wonderful, but I - I can’t wait until you are - properly situated-”

“Once we’ve finished this, I intend to prioritize that.”

He turned his head to kiss her properly. At least they had that much. She took out her frustrations in that kiss.

“Then we shall be - as good as married - in every way that matters -”

“Yes-”

He was beginning to push her atop himself again, to get a better look at her. When he looked up at her again there was a warm wonder in his eyes and a smile playing around his mouth.

She met his look with a soft smile of her own, wistful and wanting.

“I barely feel satisfied. I want you all over again and I’ve just had you. I begin to live and breathe wanting you,” she complained.

“It’s all right. I’m never leaving you again.”

Elizabeth tenderly settled back down again, lying atop his chest as if she were reluctant to leave even that much.

“All in black, hm?” he teased, rubbing her on the small of the back. “The better to match you, I suppose.”

“I don’t know that I will never let you wear a color again, but it is difficult to imagine you in one - I assume blue is right out, and don’t think red is wise - so black, in different textures. Besides: you have very dark hair, and very green eyes; black will look excellent on you. And you are enormous, so you might as well make the most of that.”

“Ah, yes. Looming.”

“And they’ll tell stories,” she said, stretching out on top of him, “of the man-eating Pirate King and her werewolf consort, I am sure…”

“Oh, my God- is that why I’m resigned to the beard-”

“Perhaps it is. And perhaps I just like the way it scratches when you’re between my legs.”

“With the rest of this insanity, I suppose sea werewolves were only a matter of time.”

He slipped his free hand down toward her thighs and lightly rubbed the inside of one of them, as though in response to her comment about scratchiness. Elizabeth whimpered.

“That is not fair, you know how wet I still am -”

“I’m making up for time wasted.”

“I’ll say,” she said gingerly.

“So much for morbidly cool, eh?”

“Shall you fixate on that for the rest of our lives?”

“Perhaps. It did hit rather close to home.”

“How so?” she asked, snuggling closer.

“I have always been adept at ignoring certain inclinations,” he said, adjusting himself for her comfort.

“So why take offence to it now?”

“I had assumed everyone did something of the sort.”

“Good God, no-”

“Why not-”

“Because,” she said imperiously, though she did not have a ready answer. “Because I would have gone mad if I had tried and I had a very large, very empty bedroom - does that satisfy your curiosity?”

James paused.

“...ah,” he said. “That’s not what I meant, but. Well. That much is understood.”

“Is it? Do be honest. I can demonstrate, if you like, if you require it,” she said, innocently widening her eyes.

“Oh, no. No, no, no-”

“No? Absolutely certain?”

“I was thinking of going between your thighs next, let us not grow hasty-”

That knocked the wind right out of her.

“Oh-” she said wretchedly.

“I was not always this way,” he said, curiously defensive for a man who had just brought her to shuddering ecstasy. “I grew disgusted with myself-”

“How could you do that, when you did such lovely stuff with your Lettie? That should have made you feel proud of yourself-”

“Well, you see, that was with Lettie- and for Lettie, at that-”

“I don’t follow.”

“It was one thing when it was one woman- quite another when- oh, God, never mind-”

“I can’t never mind, you have to tell me.”

“I was sixteen, seventeen, on double pay and already a drunk. What do you think I did ashore?”

“James,” she said, exasperated. “If not for the complications - of which you’ve spent half the night informing me - and the certainty of social ruin, girls wouldn’t behave any differently. You can surely remember me at that age - trying to spend as much time as I possibly could with Will, and - well, with you, you may recall.”

“Would you have been sitting at the gambling table with a bottle in your hand and a girl in your lap, with her hand in your trousers?” he asked, in a very flat voice.

“Oh,” said Elizabeth, with an involuntary shiver. “Hell yes.”

“...ah,” said James. “Poor example-”

“You must face it, James, you are no less a degenerate than the rest of us,” she said, sounding bored, but really thinking about how much she’d have liked to have sat in James’ lap in Tortuga with her hand in his trousers - how unfortunate he could not handle a bottle.

“No.” he said, “I’m probably worse-”

“Good. You are a pirate, and you are my consort, besides - I require worse.”

He closed his eyes in a mixture of resignation and amusement, pushing his hair back with one hand.

“Pity I can’t rely on the scar any longer,” he mused. “It was such a petty thing, but it had its uses for being worse.”

She kissed him on the temple, and, watching his face, and going slowly for his comfort, slid her hand down the front of his trousers again.

“...ah,” he said, opening his eyes. “There you are.”

They finished opening rather wider than usual.

“And there you are.”

“That’s… all right, give me a moment to think this through-”

“May I help you think?” asked Elizabeth, the moisture from sucking on her lower lip glistening in the low candlelight when she parted her lips and continued to stroke him.

“Do you want me between your thighs or not-”

“Of course I do-”

“I- oh God, Elizabeth-”

He closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath.

“We don’t have to-” she said hastily, upon seeing him upset.

“What- oh, no, no, darling, it’s-“

He grit his teeth.

She laid her hand on his waist, to be safe, and slid off his lap and to the side of him.

“...I think I’m making a bit of a mess.”

“No, no, you can-”

He reached for her hand and, after a couple of awkward groping tries, laid it on the partially open front flap of his trousers again. She smiled ruefully and slipped her hand inside.

“Thank you, James, but I’m afraid that’s not what I meant. You can say what you like about forceful emissions, but at least you do that all at once and have it done with.”

“-ah. I'd noticed, without thinking of it.” His voice was hoarse.

“James, are you all right?”

“Mmm. Yes, I'm just a bit- compromised-”

“Do you mean this?” she asked with a squeeze.

“YES, THAT-”

She smiled, taking his hand as though to hold it, and guiding it instead to the state of her thighs.

“So we are even.”

“You poor creature. I thought I had relieved that.”

“Hardly at all.”

“Mm. Suppose I’ll have to try harder-“

“Or perhaps…”

Elizabeth bit her lip, glancing down at her hand, and then met his eyes with a growing smile. James leaned up on one elbow and returned the grin.

“You’re thinking of something.”

“I think you know what I’m thinking of,” she whispered.

James very nearly made a joke about what they could name the resulting child, but if she felt safe with the idea…

What was a child but something else to fight for?

“Are you certain?”

“Don’t you want to?” she asked, touching his face. “The timing is just too perfect- you are ready, I am ready… and I want you, and you want me…”

She smiled distantly, her mind on something else.

“...yes?” James asked.

“Nothing,” she said, looking into his eyes again abruptly. “As I said. We’re both - ready, and willing, and wanting-”

“If you’re not ready,” he said, putting his hand on her thigh, “I won’t hold it against you.”

“I am,” she said, with a short laugh, looking down at his hand and rubbing it. “It’s just…. I was ready to do this with someone else. I don’t think about him as much as I used to, but he’s here on this ship now - right now. While I’ve been in your arms. I forgot him. I forgot he was there.”

“... right.”

James bit the inside of his cheek.

“I can't grudge you that-”

“I don’t know how I could have done that-”

“I would hope it is because you love me,” James said softly.

She looked at him, startled into silence. Her eyes were very bright.

“....I think it is,” she said, squeezing his hand. She wiped at her face, suddenly.

“Elizabeth…”

He pulled her toward him and put his arms around her shoulders protectively.

“Oh, I ruined the moment-” she groaned, and laughed tearily.

“Possibly for the best. Imagine if I had gotten you with child.”

“I don’t know if I mind the thought of it. Children - with you,” she admitted in a small voice, with a sheepish laugh.

“...I certainly don’t,” said James. “For a moment, I was nearly… looking forward to it.”

“But I truly, truly think…. We should terrorize the seas first.”

“For the greater good, of course-“

“Oh, I think not,” said Elizabeth, sidling up closer to him, and resting her hand on his thigh again. “For our reputations. For each other. And because it’s fun.”

“...and the greater good-“

“I shall leave that to you,” she said, kissing him. James allowed himself to fall back against the bed and take her with him, perhaps a bit physically unsatisfied but personally content.

“I will do my best to fulfill it, then-“

“So, James,” she said, a little muffled.

“Hm?”

“What was the - other thing you were suggesting -”

“Mm. I had a few thoughts.”

“It’s so late that by now, it’s most likely early,” said Elizabeth, with something that could only be called a giggle. She nuzzled his throat. “Tell me while we still have a chance to make something of the night…”

“I could have a go between your legs, though I don’t know what you’d derive from that,” he admitted.

“What would you derive from it?”

“...I don't know. I've never done it, it was always more of a… two-man sort of business-”

“I don’t mind being that for you,” said Elizabeth, more than a hint of mischief in her smile.

“You’re missing a rather vital point of friction,” James teased.

“Touch me then,” she murmured, kissing his bearded chin and moving her lips along his jaw, running her hand up his thigh and gently squeezing. “Let’s not be wasteful.”

He ran his hand down her back and around the curve of her hips and her rear.

“Like this…?”

“I thought more that - while you are having your go - if perhaps I am not being satisfied…” Elizabeth leaned her head against his shoulder, far enough back to look at him and smile.

He thought this over.

“Oh- oh, no, I don't think the position would work for that, love-”

She looked briefly disappointed, but curiosity won out.

“What is the position?”

“Front to front-”

“Oh, I thought it was - nevermind-”

“You thought- oh, good lord, Elizabeth, I would be afraid of accidentally-“

“Don’t want a little risk?” she asked, rubbing him with her hand.

“Do you? It’s not… the most comfortable-“

“I think you could make me comfortable,” said Elizabeth softly.

“We don't- you need grease of some kind for-”

He cut himself off, mortified, and covered his eyes for a moment before pushing that same hand back through his hair, exhaling hard.

“We don’t have to do that one,” said Elizabeth, the bluntness of her tone momentarily breaking the soft intimate atmosphere they had built to at present; and, surprising herself with that, she laughed, further breaking up the mood.

“Oh, thank God-”

“Doesn’t appeal to you?”

“Not particularly.”

“I could…. Get on top of you…”

His eyes widened.

“That's… dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” asked Elizabeth, eyes widening in mystified delight. “How?”

“Again, the risk of an accidental entry-”

“James, everything fun is a risk-” she pleaded.

“You could take me into your mouth-”

Her mouth opened.

“That is to say, if you wanted to-” James said, too quickly.

“James! You are distracting me - of course I want to, but -”

“Yes?”

“I wanted to do something where we….both…. You know.”

“We’re a little low on options now, sweetheart.”

He touched her cheek.

“Let’s do what we did in Tortuga,” she argued.

“Which part-”

“On the beach, after the storm,” she said, touching his thighs encouragingly.

“Oh- ah. Was that- did you enjoy yourself that much?”

“Ohh, James,” she said- biting her lip in remembered delight. “You really don’t know, do you? That was - my first time, I suppose, in the most liberal sense - Will had never… He wanted things to be very proper, I think. I was already quite fallen - breaking off the engagement with you, being sullied by Barbossa - and spending all of my time with Will teaching me to use a sword, I never saw another invitation from the moment Will and I became engaged. But he was so stubborn. I think he had something to prove. We didn’t…. There was kissing, but it was all standing up. Leaning against a wall, at most… He didn’t want me to touch him. Well, let me correct that - I am certain he wanted me to, as he wanted to touch me. But he wouldn’t let me.”

It was an unexpectedly sad, if distantly sad, burst of speech, and Elizabeth had to take a moment to return to the topic at hand. But she did, with a mischievous smile, pulling James’ hands to her breasts again, as though to relive the moment.

“It was… the first time I had ever been touched here. The first time I had ever felt a man stirring, or at least been sitting on him. The first time… Oh, James, the first time I ever knew pleasure outside of what I had taught myself-”

“Oh, thank God,” James blurted.

Elizabeth could not contextualize this response.

“I’m sorry, come again?”

“I didn’t realize- I was mostly just- pleased to have you.”

“James, you had your mouth all over me,” she said, flushing as she realized what she’d said. “- of course I enjoyed it.”

“Enough to recall-”

“I recall it often,” she said, with reverence. “It was such a beautiful night.”

“Oh-“

James moved his hands up from her breasts to her face again, beaming and a little ashamed of it.

“Yes, James?” she asked, smiling.

“I… I am glad to have pleased you,” he said, grinning a little helplessly.

“Mm,” she laughed. “Can we do it again?”

“Yes- oh God, we're going to have to wash after this, aren't we-”

“We can just fill a basin and wipe down with towels, it doesn’t have to be complicated-”

“I know that-”

He pulled her down and kissed her.

Elizabeth kissed him back eagerly, sliding into his lap. Though in Tortuga, they had both been fully-clothed, and it was only her jumps and her shirt he had removed from her - this was different, and she broke the kiss with an abrupt, loud noise.

“Elizabeth?”

He pushed himself up in alarm.

Elizabeth pressed her hand sheepishly over her mouth, barely situated in his lap. She dragged her eyes agonizingly to his and took a moment to pull her hand away, resting it on his shoulder, and whispered, “...that’s wonderful. Sorry, James.”

“What was that-”

“What was what?”

“You cried out-”

She felt her face grow hot. “Because it’s-” She grit her teeth. “- Can’t you tell?”

“I wasn't certain. I feared I had hurt you-”

Elizabeth groaned as much in exasperation as from physical sensation and pressed her face against his shoulder to prevent herself from rolling her eyes.

“-or done something wrongly-”

“James.”

“Yes?”

“God help me, you are so dumb.”

“You stopped, and I feared-”

“I am… trying to get my bearings,” she said, privately hoping that she could stay quiet this time - not merely because she feared being overheard, when Will was on board, but because she did not want him to stop and check her for injury every time she made a sound.

There was a better way to prevent his fretting over every detail, and she implemented it as she might a defensive maneuver - simply began kissing his throat and gently gliding her fingers through his hair to pull his head back to give her better room to do so, before she began to move against him once more. She could still not help but whimper, but he couldn’t possibly mistake it for discomfort when it was his name she was whimpering, while clinging to his impossibly broad shoulders.

“Lisbet- how's this-”

“Oh, darling, lovely-” Somehow the nickname provoked shyness from her, in spite of the circumstances. Elizabeth pulled her head back enough to look at him, but only barely, and she smiled with an obvious self-consciousness.

“James - touch me-”

“Like this-”

He slipped it downward, between them.

“Oh God-” she moaned.

“Ah, there we are,” he teased. “Good girl-”

Elizabeth shut-up kissed him, rocking in his lap perhaps just enough to make the cot squeak at them. James pushed his free hand back through her hair and gripped at the nape of her neck, forcing the kiss deeper.

“Call me - call me Lisbet again-”

“If you want to be Lisbet in bed,” he said as he dragged the kiss down to the edge of her jaw, “I shall never call you anything else-”

“No one else has - ever called me that-” she managed, though she could no longer catch her breath. She clumsily tried to kiss him.

“You were never theirs as you are mine,” James retorted, meeting her mouth in a rough kiss and then refocusing his oral attentions on her breasts. Elizabeth threaded her fingers tightly through his hair, more tightly than intended or realized. She did her best to keep the volume down, but it was difficult - she was not accustomed to inhibiting herself, and her natural inclination was to cry out his name - over and over. She pressed her lips to the top of his head, first in a sincere kiss, and then to keep her voice smothered.

It was indeed a dangerous place to be - more than once James forcibly gripped her hips or her ass to slow her movements, lest he enter her - but the need for caution had its uses beyond the practical. It was an unnecessarily lengthy period of time before they finished, melting into the sheets in each other’s arms, incapable, momentarily, of speech, and filthy, and trembling, and besotted with each other.

Elizabeth rubbed his stiff shoulders with one hand as she clung to him, unwilling to unwind herself from him just yet. James curved one hand back to entwine his fingers with hers and squeezed gently.

“...how are you managing?” he asked, in a quiet voice.

The response she murmured sounded delicate in tone, but the precise language used, about precisely what manner of woman she was becoming under his tutelage, was not.

“That, historically, has not been enough to dissuade me.” James pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed it.

“We are a smart match again,” said Elizabeth with a self-satisfied yawn. “Former commodore turned pirate, former governor’s daughter turned --- pirate.”

She smiled against his chest.

“Oh, don't go on about that. Everyone will think I’m social climbing again,” James laughed.

“That’s what my maid said the night you proposed. A smart match.”

“Do you know what the rest of the garrison said the day before?”

“Oh, tell me.”

“‘Her? Good luck, Jamie, you’re going to need it.’”

Elizabeth laughed ungraciously.

“I doubt many of them are surprised by your latter fortunes,” he said as he closed his eyes again and crossed his arms over her back.

“It turns out, James, that you are even better a pirate-hunter than your reputation stated. You got me in the end, didn’t you?”

“Good heavens- I suppose, if you want to think of it that way-”

“You bagged the pirate king. Good job! And with such - “ yawn; “ - vigor, James, too…”

“Of course. I've a reputation to uphold, you know-”

“That’ll- show her…” Elizabeth murmured. “Heard you made her scream, Commodore.”

“A great deal of begging. I shan’t share the finer details in polite company.”

Elizabeth giggled into his chest.

“She’s a lucky woman, to tell you the truth.”

This broke the mood, though in the gentlest of ways. James looked pensively down at her for a long moment, with a faint, pleased smile.

“Do you suppose she is?”

Elizabeth still half-slept, responding without waking.

“What pirate… or woman… ever entered better custody? And though she evaded capture for so long, now there is nowhere else she would rather be, not in all the world…”

“You flatter me.”

“Mm, what a comfortable prison… So broad and strong.”

“I wish that I could have presented more impressively to you to begin with.”

“Didn’t matter,” she yawned. “Loved Will.”

“Mmph. I meant now.”

“You said, ‘begin with’.”

“After defecting, then.”

“Oh.” She smirked, slowly. “Didn’t matter… already loved you.”

“Ah. At least one of us is satisfied,” he said, relaxing and closing his eyes.

Hers, on the other hand, finally opened, blinking and adjusting to the dark; she hadn’t realized all but one of their candles had blown out. She poked him crankily in the thigh.

“Which one of us do you mean isn’t?”

“Oh, you seem quite pleased-”

“So do you, Captain.”

“In one way, at least. I'll settle quite happily for that.”

“What now,” she sighed, resignedly dragging herself up to sitting, realizing as she did so both how exhausted she was, and how sticky.

“Lie back down, it's nothing important.”

“We’re soiled,” she said amusedly.

“Oh, God.”

“It’s all right, love, it happens,” she said, gently teasing him. “It’s just as well for I’d be disappointed if we were clean.”

“Have you anything to clean with?”

“There may be a pitcher of water in here,” she said, a little unconcernedly looking about. “Let me…. Yes, I think it’s still there.”

“I would offer to clean you,” he said, with a yawn, “but I fear restarting the entire process…”

Elizabeth smiled back at him in the dark of the cabin, listening comfortably to the creaking and groaning of the ship - the waves beyond them - as she took up their last candle and made it to the pitcher. To save him from temptation, she took care of herself before bringing a fresh cloth and the water back to him.

“I’ll clean you,” she said generously. “I have no fear of anything.”

“I do,” said James, but he lay back with an unusually trusting gesture anyway.

She was probably less thorough than he would have tried to be, but the water was only so clean anyway; she did not see the point, and she wanted to sleep.

“When do you want me to set the phone alarm for,” said Elizabeth after she had finished and unceremoniously tossed another dry cloth at him to pat down with.

“When are we expected to make landing?”

He was visibly trying to pull away from the soiled patch on the sheets.

“I don’t know or care. After I’ve slept, I hope.”

“Have I exhausted you?”

“Thoroughly.”

Elizabeth slid into the bed, not caring about the state of it and rolling immediately onto her side. James leaned in to kiss her shoulder and put an arm around her, and she responded warmly, pressing her back against him snugly and embracing his arm with a sigh.

“You know,” James murmured, “even this- this is more than I ever hoped for.”

“You wanted to marry me, James,” she argued sleepily.

“I didn't think on this at all. It seemed too intimate…”

“It would have - “ She suppressed another yawn. “- happened eventually anyway-”

“To feel the warmth of your body against mine-”

“Mm.”

“I'm happier than I think I have ever been.”

“I’m glad I brought you off, too,” she said, patting his hand.

“Elizabeth- that's not what I meant, I would have been quite content without-”

“I know, my love.” Elizabeth laced her fingers with his and pulled his arm tightly around herself, tucking his hand against her breast as she settled in contentedly with a little wiggle. “But it was… mm… lovely just the same...”

The chances were very good that the conversation did not end there - not on his part, anyway - but Elizabeth closed her eyes, and soon heard not a word of it.

#pl: the black pearl #jackquest 1748 #potcsuggestions #long post #ch: her majesty if you're nasty #ch: firing squad #norribeth

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shadowsong26fic · 6 years

Text

The Handler AU

As requested by @tigerkat24.

(I do also have fulltext for one scene in here, which will be posted and linked here in the near future, probably tomorrow, after I clean it up some.)

Right. So. A couple of notes before I get started:

1) This AU prominently features Lavinia, and also super self-indulgent. Gonna say that straight-out. This is me and my OC and a bunch of tropes I adore. It is not the most self-indulgent piece I’ve ever put together, but it’s probably up there. I say this because, while I am pretty much past the point as a fan/content creator/whatever where I’m ashamed of my self-indulgent BS, I understand that it might not be everyone’s cup of tea, especially when it’s as obvious as this piece is. And I like people to know at least in general terms what they’re getting into when they open a piece of mine. So, you know, bear that in mind as you move forward.

2) Because of the way I work/develop AUs/OCs/etc., there are certain personality traits/satellite characters/plot points that are common to all/most of Lavinia’s storylines (...yeah, it’s a Thing I do, with OCs yeah but also with OC-free AUs and AUs of AUs and ‘hey what if I changed this plot point here, or put OC B in this situation instead of that one, or stuck Canon D in...look, y’all have seen my Distaff variants, you know the kind of thing I’m talking about; I don’t always stop at a single layer of canon-divergence, but then there has to be a thread connecting everything, or it becomes a totally different story/character, right? ...I’m not sure I’m explaining this very well. ...anyway, back on topic). As a result, despite being an AU of a completely different AU, this outline is therefore somewhat spoilery for a future Precipice arc. I mean, I’m pretty sure I’ve hinted at where I’m going with her in the fic proper and/or bonus content, or at least I’ve tried to, (plus, I know I’ve mentioned some things here on tumblr about particular narrative/character tropes I like), so it’s probably not too surprising? Or, at least, I hope it’s not. If it is, I need to get better at foreshadowing… Anyway, it is still technically a spoiler. To the point where I considered sitting on this (and a couple related AUs) at least until a particular event from Arc Seven that makes said future storyline about as clear as it can be until it actually happens. But…I decided ehhhhhh, why not (plus this was requested). But, you know, if that is something you want to avoid, might be best not to read this outline until after Arc…nine, I think? Just as a head’s up.

3) This is essentially a Kallus-centric Rebels fic (though, as mentioned above, also prominently featuring one of my OCs). And, other than that one bit in the Valdemar AU I wrote a month or so ago, this is the first time I’ve actually written Rebels content. (…granted, I’ve plotted more things--the closely-related Pellaeon AU features Rebels stuff pretty heavily, as does the middle arc of the Valdemar AU, which started as ‘Anakin would do really well as a Herald actually’ and has now turned into a massive three-part kudzu plot of a niche crossover and I should really redo that outline properly at some point, plus a few other things…) Anyway, the point is, I’m not necessarily super familiar with the conventions/etc. of this part of the fandom, and I apologize for any off-voice bits.

Okay! Now that I have warned for spoilers, inexperience, and self-indulgent BS…welcome to the Handler AU.

Oh, one more thing I want to mention—because this is, as stated above, super self-indulgent, Kanan is still alive because I said so. He got pretty crisped in that explosion and therefore missed the final battle, but didn’t actually die.

(Imperial records may have listed him as dead for a while, because No One Could Have Survived That, but he did survive.)

(How? IDK, maybe Ezra actually was able to do something from the between-place in this version.)

(Point is, we still have Kanan.)

(Ezra and Thrawn are still on a road trip with a bunch of space whales, though.)

ANYWAY. On to the good stuff.

It all kicks off like two months after Yavin.

Some timeline notes:

Because timelining anything in Star Wars is A Project, I am making some executive decisions here.

We’re approximately a year after the Rebels series finale.

(Meaning Jacen is like 3-4 months old, depending on exactly how pregnant Hera was at the time.)

This is also about how long Zeb and Kallus have been explicitly dating.

(There was SO MUCH PINING going on for a while there.)

(But it took that long for either of them to actually do anything about it.)

(Kallus figured out pretty early on that he was interested, but didn’t really think he deserved this/had earned it yet/that Zeb could possibly be interested in him, and therefore decided to bury his feelings Like A Goddamn Professional Okay.)

(Zeb took a while longer to clue in, and then couldn’t figure out if this was just him or what--see above re: burying things; worked a little bit too well--plus he has his own issues to work through.)

(And then there were some frantic Confessions and so-glad-we’re-alive sex and…)

(Yeah, this is a thing now.)

(Exactly zero people who have spent any time with these two dorks at all are surprised.)

(As is so often the case, the last people to clue in that this was A Mutual Thing are the two idiots involved.)

(There may or may not have been a pool or three going.)

(Hera won at least one of them.)

So. Kallus has made himself useful wherever he can since openly defecting, really, but generally works analyzing intelligence reports and training field agents for potential undercover missions. Even if his specific information is getting more and more out of date (few, if any, of the codes, etc. that he knows are still valid at this point), some things aren’t going to change that quickly, and his background is useful here.

Anyway. He gets called in--

“We’ve been approached by a would-be double agent deep in Imperial territory; received three transmissions in the past few weeks. So far, everything we’ve been sent checks out/has been useful, but.”

“But you’re wondering if this agent is an ISB plant.”

“Exactly. She calls herself Vector.”

“She?”

“Yeah. The scrambler she’s using is doing its job, which means we can’t actually use a voice print to ID her, but vocal pattern analysis got us that much. And that she’s likely Coruscanti, Human, and under thirty. That’s about all we know.”

He goes over the data and the recordings from the first three contacts and nothing jumps out as a red flag/any of the tricks he’s familiar with.

On the first call, there’s some dancing around; as if Vector’s trying to make sure of who she’s talking to. What he’d expect from either a plant or a genuine defector, really. Not particularly helpful.

The other two are fairly brief/straightforward, and start the same way each time--This is Vector. I have a data file for you. Do as you like with it. Also not particularly enlightening, given the question he’s been asked to answer.

The data itself, though, is--interesting. Not easy to access, for the most part, and not necessarily all from the same source. Parts of it are the kind of thing ISB would use as bait, but just as much of it is not. Some of it provides useful context for intel the Alliance has received from other sources (some covert, some not), which is not the kind of thing an ISB plant would send.

So, he goes back to his superiors and tentatively reports Vector as probably genuine. He wants to be on hand for her next transmission, though, to be sure.

(He wonders, idly, who they had evaluate his initial transmissions like this, or if using an established codename and protocol was enough…)

(He’s Concerned it might be the second.)

(There are some worrying gaps in Rebel Intelligence’s security that he can only do so much to patch.)

Of course, there’s a slight problem with that. Vector’s transmissions haven’t exactly been regular--the second one came four days after the first, and then it was nearly two weeks to the third.

And when they do come, they’re very brief, so if Kallus is, say, busy with a training exercise on the opposite side of the base…

(Or otherwise occupied in a supply closet.)

(He does have, y’know, a life when off-duty.)

(...which is something that still sends him into weird brainspirals of “how did this happen” and “i don’t deserve this” and “when is it going to blow up in my face” on occasion, but that is a separate problem. One that he buries. Like A Goddamn Professional.)

(no that’s not a habit of his why do you ask.)

IN ANY CASE, this means that it ends up being her sixth message, close to three weeks after Kallus is initially brought in, before he’s able to listen in live.

(Transmissions four and five, after he reviews them, don’t really change his analysis, but still.)

Transmission six comes in while Kallus happens to be in the tiny corner of the current base that Intelligence has claimed.

It starts like the others did--This is Vector. I have a data file for you. Do as you like with it.

Once the file transfer initiates, he responds.

“Vector, this is Fulcrum.”

(Okay, technically, he probably should be using a different handle now, since it’s really supposed to be for field agents only and he isn’t one anymore. And there are similar shared code names for Intelligence agents primarily on base duty, or he assumes there are, but even after over a year of not using it, it’s still the first one that comes to mind. Reflexive, almost. And now it’s going to stick.)

There’s a beat of silence from the other end, and Kallus is briefly concerned that he misjudged the situation, that she’d going to panic and cut the transmission.

But, “I can’t leave the link open long,” she says.

(Part of him thinks she sounds...almost relieved? Like she’s been waiting to be challenged like this, and the longer things went on without a test, the more nervous she got.)

(He can understand that worry. That sense of just waiting for the other shoe to drop.)

(And, yes, other Rebel Intelligence agents probably could have tested her like this, and if he hadn’t been around as a resource they almost certainly would have, but given that he knows exactly what to look for, the Powers That Be had decided to leave it in his hands.)

“Of course,” he says, and asks her a few questions, rapid-fire.

(He’s less interested in the specific details of her answers--and he’s not really asking her questions about her identity--then how she approaches answering him. Not necessarily something he can explain, which is part of why he didn’t coach any of the other officers and get this taken care of on transmission four or five, but just trying to get a sense of her.)

(One thing he does is privately revise the estimate of her age--he thinks she’s younger than the previous guess, probably twenty or so. Sabine’s age, maybe, at the oldest. Which makes her even less likely to be a plant in his opinion; ISB wouldn’t put this much effort into setting up an agent that inexperienced, not on a mission this sensitive, even if she was inconceivably talented and precocious. As an in-person infiltrator, yes, absolutely; but for this many layers of intrigue...no, they’d want someone Experienced.)

She ends the transmission somewhat abruptly, after about five minutes, but he was more or less expecting that and anyway he has what he needs.

“Well?”

“She’s genuine,” he says. “I’m as sure as I can be of that.”

“Good to hear.” A pause. “...you’ve run undercover agents before, correct?”

Kallus shuts down the knee-jerk paranoid response as fast and hard as he can.

(There are almost certainly people in the Alliance who still don’t trust me but none of them are in this room. I know that. Calm down.)

“Yes, once or twice,” he says, cautiously. “For short-term assignments.”

“Congratulations. You just volunteered to be Vector’s handler.”

(Hence the name of the AU. AKA the one where Kallus adopts a baby spy who JUST HAPPENS to be Palpatine’s daughter.)

(...yeah, he didn’t really see that one coming.)

(...at some point, I should probably go through and outline Lavinia’s politics and her reasons for defecting in detail, but in the interests of focusing on Kallus’s end of things, which is much more interesting, a (hopefully) brief digression on the subject:)

(Lavinia was created and trained to be a spy/manipulator, to perform the kind of tasks and access the kind of information that Palpatine could as the avuncular Chancellor but cannot as Emperor, now that he’s thrown that mask away.)

(...apart from very specific, carefully staged moments, like with Ezra.)

(So, part of manipulating people means understanding them, which means Lavinia does a lot of research to put her targets into context, and in so doing comes across a wide variety of cultures/forms of government, at least in an academic context.)

(And that means that, once she starts thinking beyond “how can I survive until tomorrow” and starts thinking about broader impact/more long-range plans, it doesn’t take her very long to realize that her father’s government is...well, let’s call it deeply flawed.)

(What she does when she comes to that conclusion varies, depending on other circumstances--but she doesn’t necessarily defect right away. Mostly for practical reasons; in Masks!Verse, which this AU is a variant of, she has no Rebel contacts that she’s absolutely sure of.)

(Meaning, in this case, both “absolutely sure is an actual Rebel and not just sympathetic to their aims/politics” and “absolutely sure would be willing to work with me despite my parentage.”)

(And if she approaches anyone she isn’t sure of, it’ll get her or her contact or both of them killed. Defecting from a distance, while she can better protect her identity, has a much bigger risk of interception, which, again, would get her and/or her contacts and possibly a lot of other people killed. Or worse.)

(Basically, she doesn’t think defection is a viable option for her--there are some other reasons for this, but those play a distant second to these concerns.)

(But then Alderaan happens.)

(And these concerns carry a lot less weight.)

(It takes her a couple months to figure out how to make contact with Rebel Intelligence, let alone how to do it safely, but she starts working on it at that point.)

(...I think that’s the salient points here. Like I said, I have a fair bit more about Lavinia’s politics/etc. and the ways/extent to which she’s willing to defy her father in various AUs, but that’s enough for this one, I think.)

So, Kallus can’t really argue with the assignment (even if part of him kind of wants to? Not because he thinks he can’t do it, but because he’s concerned that being another deep-cover informant’s handler is going to dig up a lot of stuff he’d really, really rather keep buried.)

(Look, he feels like he’s finally found his equilibrium. He’s even, somehow, approaching happy with his life for the first time in what feels like forever which, guilt-induced brainspirals aside, he doesn’t want to give up.)

(Besides, handling Vector wouldn’t be his only responsibility, and if he does start losing that equilibrium, he’s not sure how much his other work will be affected.)

(On the other hand...)

(On the other hand, there are very few people who have done what he did and survived long enough to make it back to Rebel lines.)

(Oh, there are other deep-cover informants, sure; but the majority of them are plants inserted by Rebel Intelligence.)

(And while, even leaving aside the technicalities involved with Senator Mothma and others among the leadership who had previously served in the Imperial Senate, there are plenty of defectors--up to and including General Madine and some other persons of very high rank--for the most part, once they make that decision, defectors grab what they can and run.)

(The ones that don’t usually don’t survive as long as he did.)

(Or, alternatively, they don’t identify themselves to the Alliance or even necessarily work directly with them; they perform internal sabotage rather than espionage.)

(Those embedded defectors tend to last longer, but not by much.)

(Which means that he’s probably the only person--certainly the only available person--who has been where Vector is. Who better to help her?)

(As for his own issues...well, he is a Professional, dammit. He can damn well compartmentalize. He’s very good at that.)

(...yeah, this is kind of a running theme for him. Sometimes it’s a good thing, sometimes it’s...very much not.)

(It remains to be seen how much it’ll help or hurt when dealing with Vector.)

So, he accepts the assignment, and goes back to his quarters to tell Zeb and collect a few things--given the irregularity of Vector’s transmissions, until he can talk to her again and set up a better protocol, he’s going to basically have to camp out in Intelligence.

(Which he’s not looking forward to, but it is what it is.)

Zeb is already there when he gets back--their current shifts don’t entirely line up, which is fine; they have at least a few hours overlap most days which is better than some pairs can say.

After several minutes saying hello...

“Did I miss anything interesting?” Kallus asks.

“That Skywalker kid came by a bit ago,” Zeb tells him. “Looking for Kanan.”

Kallus blinks, halfway through fixing caf for the two of them. “...aren’t he and Hera off investigating a potential supply line?”

(Which is, of course, far below Hera’s current paygrade, but she volunteers for that kind of mission on occasion. An excuse to spend private time with her family, while still technically being useful and not taking actual time off.)

“Yep,” Zeb says. “Apparently, this is the third or fourth time something like that has happened. They keep missing each other.”

"Well, I’m sure they’ll link up sooner or later,” he says. “Especially if Skywalker’s actively looking for Kanan.”

(He hasn’t actually met Luke yet at this point, but he’s heard the rumors. He has no real doubt of this fact.)

“Yeah, probably,” Zeb says. “I think Kanan’s been trying to track him down, too. He’ll be sorry he missed him.”

(...yeah, we’re going with Anakin-and-Grievous levels of contrived coincidence to keep those two from actually meeting for a while.)

(Partly because it’s easier than figuring out all the timeline/plot implications that might have (and I’m lazy, and that is the focus of another story), but mostly because I think it’s funny.)

Kallus nods. “...did he and Hera take Jacen with them, or...?”

(He hadn’t seen any evidence the baby had been left with them, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t happened.)

But Zeb shakes his head. “Nah, Sabine has him this time. Why? Something going on?”

“I have an assignment,” Kallus tells him.

“Huh. Extraction?”

(Logical assumption--the bulk of the fieldwork he does now, all-hands-on-deck situations like Lothal aside, is extractions. Occasionally helping sell an insertion, but generally the reverse.)

“No, not this time,” he says. “The agent who reached out, the one I told you about--I’ve been assigned as her handler.”

(He has long since gotten permission to discuss at least surface generalities of his work with Zeb, and they both know where the line is.)

Zeb’s ears flick a little, and Kallus can practically see him weighing the same pros and cons that he himself did earlier--and probably several others he hadn’t thought of.

“So, I guess that means you’re camping out in intelligence for a while?”

“Unfortunately,” he says. “Of course, there is a difference between being on-call and being on duty. And my schedule technically won’t change.”

Zeb perks up at that and grins before kissing him. “Well, I’m sure I an find an excuse to be in the area. Sometimes. Just in case. You know.”

“Mm.”

Fortunately, call number seven comes less than a week later.

This is Vector. I have a data file for you. Do as you like with it.

“Vector, this is Fulcrum.”

A brief pause. “Yes.”

“I’ve been assigned as your handler.”

(He figures the best way to deal with someone who’s probably twitchy and paranoid and otherwise on high alert is to be as scrupulously honest as he can. That doesn’t mean telling her everything, of course, but it does mean being straightforward, difficult as it is, and not outright lying.)

(If he can. So far, he can.)

Another pause. “I understand.”

(She’s hard to read on this one, whether or not she finds it suspicious. She might even be relieved again, that she’ll have a set contact point, rather than a whoever’s-available sort of situation.)

“There are some protocols I’d like to establish, for further contacts.”

“I can’t call at a set time,” she says immediately. “Or at set intervals.”

"I understand,” he said. “But I’m going to give you a more specific frequency to call.”

“Yes,” she says, and that definitely has a faint note of relief.

“Can you, if nothing else, send an all-clear transmission every two weeks?” he asks. “It doesn’t need to be at a set time, but so we can gauge--” whether or not you’re alive and uncompromised “--how concerned we need to be after a long silence.”

She pauses. “...I think so. Yes. I can do that.”

(Definitely young, he thinks, maybe even younger than Ezra--would be.)

“That’s all for now,” he says. There are others he wants to establish, of course, but those are the most important and her file transfer is nearly complete.

“I’ll be in touch,” she says; hesitates a second; “Vector out.”

(...well, she’s signing off officially now, rather than just abruptly terminating the connection. Progress. I think.)

He goes back to his quarters, and life settles into a new routine.

He keeps up his old duties--analyzing reports, training potential undercover agents, etc.--and also keeps track of Vector and her reports.

That last one proves...well, his early optimism wasn’t entirely misplaced?

Vector is very, very good at what she does. Her files are varied in their content, and sometimes not as useful as she might’ve hoped, due to timing or other resource concerns, but the quality of the work she does never comes into question.

But part of being a double agent’s handler is assessing how they’re holding up under the incredible stress of the position. And she is frustratingly vague when it comes to anything approaching anything personal about herself.

In addition, there are two additional protocols he wants to set up early on--first is a way for him to reach her.

“Just because I have access doesn’t mean I have influence,” she says. “I can’t seed disinformation for you. Not without getting caught.”

“That wasn’t what I meant.”

(Though, of course, he had considered the possibility--as well-positioned as Vector seems to be, how could he not?--but while he doesn’t completely rule out the idea, he files it away under “only as a last resort.” Better to leave her in place as long as possible.)

“But if there’s something specific we want you to keep an eye out for--or if we need to warn you about something...”

“Right,” she says. “That’s fine, then.”

The second, though...the second is where they run into real problems.

“I also want to establish an emergency signal. If you need extraction, or if you end up captured by Rebel agents.”

(He still wonders, sometimes, if staying behind when Ezra came to extract him was the right decision. It had seemed so at the time, but...)

(He’ll probably never know. And fretting about it doesn’t do any good.)

(knowing that doesn’t make it any easier to stop.)

“No,” she says.

“Vector--”

And she hangs up on him.

Exactly why she’s so reticent to establish something like that, he isn’t sure--he has some theories, but...

It’s frustrating, to be sure. Makes it harder for him to do his job.

(And it makes him worried about her--if she’s working without any kind of exit strategy, that likely means she doesn’t think such a thing will be possible. Which, on the one hand, shows her dedication to the cause, but on the other hand...on the other hand, if she thinks getting caught is inevitable, she might get sloppy with her own security and that might well turn into a self-fulfilling prophecy.)

(The other alternative, that she doesn’t trust him, or the Alliance, with her safety if things do go wrong, is...well, probably more distressing, in all honesty.)

(Though not, perhaps, altogether surprising.)

He decides to seek Kanan’s advice on the problem.

(Kanan, after all, knows best what to do with unruly teenagers.)

(...well, so does Hera, but Hera’s advice would probably be less applicable/harder to apply to his specific situation. Also, she has better things to do than help him do his job.)

(Which is the other frustrating thing, that he can’t handle this by himself.)

Kanan’s advice is pretty straightforward--be patient, and don’t push her too hard. You can’t help her if she won’t let you.

(This is part of why I wanted him still around, incidentally.)

(Because there is something utterly hilarious about Kallus going to Kanan for parenting advice.)

(And that’s exactly what he’s doing.)

(Even if he hasn’t quite figured that out yet.)

So, taking this in mind, he backs off. A little bit. Decides to start from square one, and build a rapport, and go from there to get some of the other basics that he wants established.

Standard interrogation technique, technically. Not one favored by ISB, obviously, or really encouraged, but even they knew it had its uses.

Vector is still cagey about personal details, but she does start to soften a little as several weeks go by.

He brings up the idea of an emergency code phrase again, after about two months of this kind of sporadic contact.

This time, she says she’ll think about it.

Things hold in this pattern for about a year, and then Vector makes a call, as usual.

Or, it starts like a normal call, anyway.

“You probably won’t hear from me for a while,” she says, as the file transfer is wrapping up and they’re about to sign off.

“Are you in trouble?”

“No,” she says. “Nothing like that. And nothing related to the work we’ve been doing. But things are going to be...difficult. I’m not even sure I’ll be able to get an all-clear message out for a while.”

He doesn’t like this at all. “How long?”

“A month,” she says. “Probably. Maybe a little more, maybe a little less. I’ll contact you as soon as I can safely.”

It is one of the longer months of his life.

But, as promised, the dedicated comm he has for her lights up eventually.

This is Vector. I have a data file for you.

“Vector, this is Fulcrum,” he says. “Good to hear from you again. Everything all right?”

“Yes,” she says. And she seems fine, and he breathes a quiet sigh of relief.

When he tells Zeb about it later, though, is where it gets...interesting.

“Glad to hear your kid’s okay,” he says.

“My--she’s not my child, Zeb,” Kallus says.

“Really.”

“....”

“Look, you talk about her the same way Kanan talks about Sabine, when she’s off blowing things up on Mandalore.”

“I...wait, really?”

“Yep,” Zeb says, and grins at him. “I mean, it’s not a problem. S’kind of what we do in this family, isn’t it? Take in strays. ‘Bout time you got in on it, really.”

Kallus just stares at him. “I...what.”

Zeb waves a hand in front of his face. “Alex. Babe. You all right in there?”

He shakes himself. “Yes, of course. Sorry."

“Ehh, don’t worry about it. I mean, it’d probably have been nice for the two of us to talk about kids in general before we started adopting our own strays, but--”

Really, sometimes Kallus thinks that Zeb likes the expression he makes when utterly poleaxed like that.

(He does. He thinks it’s adorable.)

(Also, Zeb figures this is a conversation they maybe should have, because they’re clearly both in this for the long haul and he saw this opening and...look, no one ever said Zeb was good at broaching delicate topics gently.)

“...do you?” Kallus asks, when he recovers. “Want children, someday?”

“I mean...yeah,” Zeb says. “If you do. I mean.”

“I hadn’t thought about it,” he confesses.

(Because long-range planning is hard; because they’re at war, because he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop, because he doesn’t deserve any of this and planning for a future he doesn’t deserve is just--a little much for him sometimes.)

“But...yes,” Kallus says. “I think so, yes. I would like to raise children with you. Someday.”

Zeb’s response to that is positive and enthusiastic and leads to things they will definitely not be discussing with their hypothetical children ever.

It’s a month or two after that that Kallus finds out who Vector is.

(…well, for a given value of ‘finds out,’ anyway.)

He and Zeb are babysitting--Sabine is back on Mandalore; Hera is on duty; Kanan was supposed to be finally meeting Luke but there was an issue at the spaceport and he’s stranded for the next few hours.

(Like I said. Anakin-and-Grievous levels of contrived coincidence.)

Zeb has just put the kid to bed, and Kallus is watching the news.

“You’re still watching that?” he asks, nudging Kallus to make room for him on the couch and drawing him to lean on his shoulder.

“I’ve told you before, dear, knowing what the Empire is saying, no matter how different that is from what they’re doing, has its uses.”

“Especially if you know how their propaganda is constructed, I know,” Zeb says, and nuzzles his ear. “Just thought you were almost done.”

Kallus smiles faintly and leans into the caress. “I am, I promise. I’ll shut it off in a minute. I just want to--”

He pauses. Rewinds the feed. Pauses it--pre-recorded coverage of some public event the Emperor’s kid had been at, with the newscaster commenting on the progress of whatever “public works” project it was supposed to kick off.

“…what is it? Something she said?”

(...something to do with whatever this “project” is covering up?)

“Hush,” he says, fiddling with a few buttons and calling up a printed transcript and skims through it before sinking back against Zeb, letting out a breath.

“Babe?”

“I think I know who Vector is,” he says.

Zeb stares at him for a minute, then stares at the paused footage--frozen on the Princess’s face, icy and composed.

“…her?”

“Her,” he confirms.

“Why…?”

“Little things,” he says. “The way she talks, some unique turns of phrase. And she fits the profile--young, Human, Coruscanti, close to someone powerful but essentially a civilian herself…and…when Vector disappeared on me last month, that coincided with a period where the Princess was more visible than usual.”

“Karabast,” he mutters. “When you put it like that…”

“It’s all conjecture,” Kallus points out. “I can’t prove any it. Not without digging deeper--which, if I’m right, risks compromising her cover--or asking her straight-out.”

(Which, of course, would also be a bad idea. It would probably seriously damage the trust he’s spent the past year and more building, and it might not even get him an honest answer anyway.)

“Right,” Zeb says. “…any chance someone else could put this together?”

Kallus makes a face. “Unlikely,” he says, though he doesn’t sound totally sure. “The recordings of our conversations are kept as hard copies only, for security. Not uploaded onto any networked drives. And a very small set of people have access to those copies. I doubt anyone could put it together without that access. Still…”

(Someone dedicated enough, who managed to access one of those recordings, or intercept a transmission along the way, or compromise the lines of communication from the other side…)

“Kriff,” he says. “Anything you can do about it?”

“Not really,” he says. “Other than brief Draven and keep doing what I’ve been doing.”

“Yeah,” he says, and studies the picture again; glances over at the morose look on Kallus’s face; feels his ears twitching. “Huh. Never would’ve figured the Emperor’s kriffing daughter to defect.”

Kallus jumps a little, drawn out of his thoughts, then rolls his eyes and gives Zeb a fond, exasperated smile (which was really the point, honestly; to needle him into a better mood), and rather dryly points out, “There was a time you would’ve said the same about me.”

“True,” Zeb says, and grins at him. “Guess it just goes to show, people surprise you all the time.”

“Indeed,” Kallus says, then reaches over to shut off the feed and changes the subject.

Six weeks after that, Vector goes quiet again. This time without warning.

When her two-week check-in goes by with nothing, he’s immediately concerned. She’s never missed a check-in before, not without warning. He decides to give her a day, and then ping her himself.

(He generally avoids doing that--only when he absolutely needs to speak with her about something time-sensitive that can’t wait for her to reach out.)

There’s no response to his message, either.

He reports the missed check-in, of course. Tries again the next day. And a third.

Still nothing.

(He knows a rescue won’t be authorized--technically, they don’t actually know for sure who or even where Vector is, and if his theory is correct, they cannot make a run on Coruscant for one agent, especially not one as visible as Princess Lavinia.)

(He keeps telling himself that. Over and over again. As he tries a fourth and fifth time to reach her.)

“Zeb,” he says, after a third full week has gone by since the last time he heard from her. “I need you to talk me out of doing something stupid.”

“Uh, sure, babe. What’s going on?”

He explains the situation as briefly as he can. “And I am this close to staging a half-assed unauthorized raid on Coruscant to extract her.”

“...nah, if we’re doing an unauthorized raid on Coruscant, it should be a full-assed thing.”

That...that wasn’t really the answer Kallus was looking for.

(In hindsight, he thinks, as he tries to redraw building plans from memory and plan this stupid, stupid venture, he probably should have gone to Hera if he really wanted someone to talk him down. Or possibly Kanan. ...no, Hera.)

(...it could be worse, though.)

(he could’ve tried asking Sabine.)

Fortunately, before they can actually run off and get themselves killed--

(or court-martialed)

(or in trouble with Hera)

--Kallus’ dedicated comm chimes.

“All clear,” he breathes. “That’s the all-clear. She’s...she’s alive.”

It’s nearly another week before he hears anything else, but finally a real call comes.

This is Vector. I have a data file for you. Do as you like with it.

“Vector, this is Fulcrum. Are you all right?”

(she doesn’t sound all right; it’s hard to tell through her scrambler, but she seems strained.)

“Everything’s fine,” she says. “I apologize for the delay, but things are settled now. My cover is intact.”

Which is good to know, but not what he asked.

“And what about you?” he says.

She doesn’t answer right away.

“Vector?”

“I’m here,” she says. “And everything is under control. You don’t need to worry about me. Nothing that--it wasn’t anything to do with this, I was caught on the fringes of something unrelated. It won’t interfere with my work going forward.”

Which still isn’t an answer.

(He’s pretty sure the non-answer is his answer, though. Damn it.)

(He knows the risks. Better than most. And he knows she knows them, too. It doesn’t make it any easier to hear, especially knowing that there is kriff-all he can do to help her.)

Into the silence, she says, “I’m your asset, Fulcrum. Not your friend.”

“......”

“I’m just--” She sighs. “I’m your asset. Not your friend. It’s...we should both remember that. It’s probably better, in the long run.”

And part of him is hurt; part of him is annoyed that he is being lectured on professionalism by a damned child; part of him is worried again--he did finally talk her into an emergency code phrase, in case of capture or other disaster, but here she goes again, hinting that she doesn’t have an exit strategy.

(Not like I did, either, he reminds himself. Can’t plan that far ahead. Not when you’re doing this kind of work. And even when Ezra came for me--)

(He buries it. Because he is a goddamn professional, Vector’s reproof aside.)

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” she says. “And I’ve had worse.”

“........”

All right, that he likes even less.

“Vector--”

“I have to go,” she says. “I’ll be in touch when I have something else. And I’ll do my best to warn you if I have to disappear again. Vector out.”

And, in the interests of “good Lord this thing is close to 6k already,” we’re going to skip ahead quite a bit, about a year and a half, to just after the evacuation of Echo Base.

For the first time in a while, the whole family (minus Ezra) is back on the Ghost together.

(Kanan, Hera, Chopper, Sabine, Zeb, Kallus, Rex, and Jacen.)

(They’ve all been in touch and met up fairly frequently, but they’re no longer a discrete cell and they all have their own, often separate, duties with the wider Rebellion. So, while the circumstances leading to it are awful, it’s nice to have an opportunity like this.)

Orders are to lay low, and make their way by a prearranged roundabout route to the fleet rendezvous five days later.

The first night, they mostly spend catching up and letting Sabine fleece them all at cards.

(Except Rex. Do Not Play Sabaac With Rex.)

(They had all forgotten that rule.)

Hera is sending occasional messages back and forth to Command, to confirm/make adjustments/etc., but otherwise things are fairly quiet after the frantic rush of the evacuation itself.

(Fortunately, none of them were injured in the escape. It’s happened before, when they’ve had to leave a base in a hurry. That was a week no one wanted to repeat.)

It’s their second night of drifting, and Kallus is just starting to fall asleep (Zeb is snoring beside him; the noise honestly probably should have been annoying but is genuinely comforting at this point, to the point where he has trouble sleeping without it) when his comm beeps.

It’s Vector.

More accurately, it’s her emergency signal.

He extracts himself from the bed and slips out into the hall to talk the call.

“Fulcrum.”

“It’s Vector,” she says, unnecessarily. She’s not using her usual scrambler this time, but a more standard vocoder, probably cannibalized from a stolen helmet. She sounds drained, and slightly breathless. “I’ve been burned. I got...I got away. I had more..." She stops, clears her throat. “I got away. I was able to remove my tracker and I’m as--I’m as sure as I reasonably can be that I’ve lost anyone following me by other means. I-I pulled as much raw data as I could onto a couple of portable drives on my way out, but I’m on a...I’m on a sliced public terminal right now, I don’t want to keep the line open long enough to send them in the usual way and I...I don’t know what the protocol is now. Please advise.”

“Where are you now?” he asks. There are so many other questions he wants to ask, needs to ask, both from a personal and a professional standpoint--is she all right; how did she get caught; how did she escape; how long has she been compromised--but they can wait until she’s been located and brought in safely. He sets them all aside, and focuses.

(Like A Goddamn Professional.)

“Ixaly,” she says. “I’m on...I’m on Ixaly.”

He closes his eyes, mentally traces their route through hyperspace. Ixaly is in this sector, it shouldn’t be far...yes. If he’s counted right--they’ll be doing a navigation stop shortly, and dropping out of hyperspace. From there--a few hours to Ixaly, unless he’s completely turned around.

“There’s a cantina,” he says, “in the Diira district in Central City. The White Shale. Can you be there in six hours?”

A brief pause; he can hear her breathing. “Yes,” she says, at last. “Yes, I’ll be there.”

“That’s the fastest I can arrange a pickup,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

(If he’s right about how close they are, it might not actually take him that long, but there’s a balance between getting to her as quickly as possible and budgeting in time for something to go wrong. He doesn’t want to risk being late and having her move on because she thinks he’s not coming. He may not be able to contact her if something goes wrong; not if she’s relying on sliced public terminals to reach out to him. And he has no idea when she’ll be able to make contact again, or how long whatever data’s on her drives will stay viable...so, six hours. He’ll have to trust her to stay alive that long.)

“I’ll be there,” she promises. “White Shale cantina, Diira district, Central City, six hours.”

“Exactly. You know how to reach me if there are any problems.”

“Yes,” she says.

“It’s almost over,” he says. “You’ve done well, getting yourself this far. Just hold on for a little while longer, all right?”

“I will,” she says; takes a breath. “I’ll see you in six hours. Vector out.”

The line goes dead.

Half a heartbeat later, he feels the familiar rumble of the hyperdrive cutting out, switching over to sublight engines.

He’s in his window now, he doesn’t have time--

As he heads for the Phantom, he runs into Kanan.

“...what’s wrong?”

“Vector,” he says, clipped. “She’s had to run. She’s not far--”

“Go,” he says. “I’ll let Hera know. ...take Zeb with you. In case you need backup.”

(Which he doesn’t really need, and it might well spook his contact if he brings a team--he has run extractions like this before, after all, and Vector is particularly cagey--but he nods.)

“I will. Thank you.”

“How long do we wait before sending our own rescue party?” Kanan asks.

Kallus does some quick mental math--six hours to the meet; going by Vector’s history, she may need some convincing to come along (like I did, until it was too late; but it’s already too late for her, isn’t it?); she might be wrong about having a tail; they might run into unrelated trouble...

“I’ll send word once we leave the system. If you haven’t heard from me in twelve hours, that’s when you worry.”

“Got it,” he says, and starts off towards the cockpit to update Hera, when Kallus realizes--

“Wait,” he says.

Kanan pauses, half-turns back to him.

“I don’t know who Vector is, not for certain,” he says, “but I have considerable circumstantial evidence that she’s Princess Lavinia.”

Kanan takes that in, then nods slowly. “Right. Thanks for the head’s up. I’ll pass that along.”

“Thank you,” Kallus says again, and the two of them separate--Kallus goes to wake Zeb and then get the Phantom prepped and underway; Kanan goes to tell Hera what’s going on.

(...and corral his son.)

(Jacen has developed this habit lately of hiding on the Phantom when he thinks it’s going somewhere Interesting.)

(Which is usually whenever someone other than Mamma is driving.)

(He likes going on Adventures with his various uncles and Auntie ‘Bine, okay.)

(They go on the best Adventures.)

(But retrieving one of Kallus’s deep-cover agents whose cover was blown like a week ago at most is maaaaaaybe not the best Adventure for a three-year-old.)

Fortunately, Zeb isn’t hard to wake and grasps the situation quickly. The two of them head for the Phantom--

And find Sabine sitting there waiting for them, spinning idly in the pilot’s chair.

“...Sabine--” Zeb starts.

“Whatever it is that’s got you two running around frantically when we’re supposed to be lying low,” she says, “I wanna help. You might need backup.”

On the one hand, Kallus is pretty sure they won’t. And his prior concerns about spooking Vector if he comes in with a team still apply.

On the other hand, Sabine is one of the best people to have beside them in a crisis, if things do go all to hell. She’s creative and generally carrying an array of weapons that defies the very laws of physics.

Besides, he doesn’t have time to argue with her.

“Fine,” he says. “But you follow my lead--both of you. Neither of you has been on an extraction like this before, and this is what I do. All right?”

“All right,” Sabine says. “Who is it we’re extracting, exactly?”

“A spy, working under the code name Vector,” he says. “She’s been feeding us intel for close to three years now. Her cover was compromised, and she had to run.”

Sabine nods. “Got it,” she says.

“And, if I’m right,” he says--because if he is, Sabine will have to know before they get there, “she’s the Emperor’s daughter.”

“...all right, then,” Sabine manages, after a moment of stunned silence. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

They detach, and the Ghost disappears behind them back into hyperspace as Kallus sets a course for Ixaly.

And now, since I’m sure y’all are wondering the same thing Kallus is--i.e., how did she get caught/how did she escape--let’s backtrack and leave Kallus’s POV for another brief digression--

It all comes down to a man named Vedric Greer.

Vedric Greer is a Royal Guard. He’s been in that elite unit for over fifteen years at this point, selected more or less straight out of the Academy.

He’s been the head of Lavinia’s detail since she was twelve.

(Before that, he had a variety of assignments; he never got stuck with Vader, for which he is profoundly grateful, but he guarded a few valuable objects/locations, and he was on Tarkin’s detail for a couple of years.)

See, here’s the thing about Royal Guards. They’re put through a lot of conditioning, both physically and mentally, to become living weapons who are absolutely loyal.

And he is. Vedric Greer is an absolutely loyal man.

The thing is, to be a Royal Guard assigned to any living being other than Palpatine himself--Vader, Tarkin, Mas Amedda, Lavinia, a few others--means to be equal parts bodyguard and prison guard. Such a Guard is at least partly there to protect his principal from external threats, of course, but if said principal steps out of line or he’s given certain orders, he becomes their jailer. Or executioner. Or worse.

When he’s assigned to someone like Tarkin, of course, that isn’t much of a problem.

But a lonely, precocious twelve-year-old kid like Lavinia? Who, whatever traits she may have inherited from her father, has them tempered by an actual conscience?

...yeah, it doesn’t take a whole lot for him to bond with her, just a little.

(Throw in the fact that he has a lover, an Imperial Archivist who survived Scarif by being transferred to Coruscant days before Tarkin blew it up...well. Maybe the cracks in his armor aren’t only to do with the little girl he’s been made responsible for.)

So. Vedric Greer is a Royal Guard, and that means he is a living weapon, and absolutely loyal.

But over the past seven years--and especially the last three--maybe, just maybe, that loyalty has started to shift.

(He doesn’t even realize it, at first; and when he does notice the traces of affection, of tangential loyalty in himself...well, he reasons that Lavinia is all but an extension of her father’s will, anyway. Right? And if he conveniently fails to see certain signs...)

(Reynard, his lover, knows way before Vedric does where this is going, of course.)

And then, one morning, his orders change, and all those little things come crashing down.

(It was such a simple thing that screwed her over; Palpatine seeds bait among his minions constantly, little nuggets of information so that, if there is a high-placed leak, he can track it back to its source right away. Standard counter-intelligence, really; and everyone, everyone, is under suspicion. Everyone is tested.)

(Lavinia is normally very good at spotting this sort of thing--she has a natural aptitude for espionage, she was trained by the best, and she puts just as much effort into surviving her father and completing her mission as he did into taking over the galaxy. How else would she have lasted nineteen years as her father’s daughter--let alone three as a deep-cover Rebel spy?)

(But this time--this time she missed it. And now he knows.)

And Vedric Greer has a choice to make.

It’s surprising, in the end, how simple it is.

“My lady,” he informs her, “you are undone.”

He helps her cut out the tracking device implanted inside her ribcage (which is also fitted with a killswitch, of course, in case she ever tried to slip her leash); she asks him to come with her; he refuses.

(He is not a Rebel. He is not disloyal.)

(What he is, is her protector. What he is, is--hers.)

“I’m so sorry,” she says.

“So am I,” he says, and, “Go. I’ll buy you as much time as I can.”

“Goodbye,” she says, and disappears.

He sends a brief message to Reynard--hoping he’ll know what it means (he will; he always knew this might happen), and prepares himself to meet his death.

(Or, at least, that’s what he believes is going to happen.)

(...look, as I said before, this is Self-Indulgent BS(tm). Like I’m really gonna let Greer die. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I have no earthly idea how he survives but he does. Because this is my self-indulgent BS, dammit.)

Okay. Back to Ixaly, and the actual rescue/extraction mission.

(…by which I also mean forward, since it’s like a week later.)

Our Heroes reach Central City about an hour ahead of schedule. After a brief discussion, Sabine disappears into the district to be on-hand for immediate help, if needed; Zeb, who doesn’t blend in as well, will stay with the Phantom; Kallus of course goes to the cantina to find his contact.

He heads there more or less directly, taking in as much detail of the city and the specific neighborhood as he can.

He’s been here before, but it’s been several years; there is a garrison in place, but the occupation seems comparatively light.

Which means there’s a not-unreasonable chance that this will go smoothly.

(Of course, as soon as he thinks that, he starts coming up with all the potential problems that could still happen. For one thing, he or Vector or Sabine might be recognized…)

Security on the cantina itself; mostly local talent, just as it was on his last visit. This is a fairly middle-of-the-road place; just dishonest enough that he and Vector should blend, not so dishonest that they’re likely to get caught in the middle of any…unpleasantness. Part of why he picked this place. That, the fact that it isn’t particularly difficult to find, and is fairly close to his ideal landing site.

(Not the official port, naturally; while Kallus doesn’t doubt that they could bluff their way through, he’d rather not try it on such short notice. They’d landed the Phantom on the city outskirts, about fifteen minutes away by foot.)

In other words, things are about as well-situated as they could be, under the circumstances. He has three separate exit routes at least tentatively mapped out, of varying efficiency and difficulty.

(And, if it came down to it, Sabine or Zeb could create one for him, of course, but he’d prefer to avoid that if at all possible.)

(In any case, best to have backup plans; he’ll pick the best route of the three once he has a better idea of what Vector’s capable of at the moment.)

(He’s almost certain she’s hurt, and he doesn’t know how badly, and she’ll never actually tell him, so that’s the best he can do.)

Inside, the cantina is fairly crowded--which is a mixed blessing; on the one hand, more cover for their activities/conversation, but on the other, more people to see them.

It’s a varied crowd; mostly local shift workers, a few semi-legitimate traders and mid-level bounty hunters. Most importantly, though, there are no troopers that he can identify, even off-duty. Excellent.

He gets a drink (to blend in, primarily) and finds a table in the corner where he can keep an eye on the other patrons and watch the door without being obvious about it.

He’s not kept waiting long.

She blends in pretty well--she’s managed to dress herself in a slightly-outdated local fashion, one that helpfully comes with a cowl that doesn’t quite hide her face, but does enough to keep her mostly anonymous from a distance and make dodging any security cameras easier.

(A few other women in the cantina are dressed similarly; not many, but enough that she doesn’t really stand out.)

She doesn’t head straight for him. She weaves through the crowd for a minute, hesitates by the bar as if she’s considering something, orders a drink. Her attention drifts over the crowd; she doesn’t linger on him, but her hand twitches a little.

(Ah. She spotted him, then. Good.)

(He isn’t really surprised that she figured out which Fulcrum she was working with. And it does make things simpler--there are a few signals he could have tried, but there wasn’t time, when she called, to pick one of them and be sure.)

(An advantage, if a counter-intuitive one, to using the legacy code name with her, he supposes.)

She starts moving again; doing everything right--wandering as if she’s looking for a seat, gradually making her way to a small empty table next to his.

(The whole thing takes probably less than two minutes. It feels longer. Then again, it always does--this isn’t the first time he’s met a contact like this, and that never changes. Doesn’t matter whether he’s the first or second to arrive.)

He taps out a quick signal on his commlink--contact made, everything’s on track so far--and waits.

“I have a data file for you,” she says softly. “Several, in fact.”

He smiles faintly into his drink. “Well done.”

The way the tables are laid out, they’re sitting next to one another, both with their backs against the wall. It’s a simple matter for her to slide the two drives over to him, and just as easy for him to make them disappear.

(Leaving together discreetly will be a little harder, but he’s been doing this for quite a while. They’ll manage.)

“I have transport off-planet,” he tells her. “We should wait a few minutes, not get up right away, but it’s best if we leave sooner rather than later.”

She shakes her head. “I'm not coming with you.”

(He wishes he could say he was surprised.)

He doesn’t turn to look at her, as much as he wants to. “If you’re concerned about reprisals…”

“I’m not,” she says. “Not really. It’s just…not a good idea.”

...and in the interests of “good Lord this thing is probably pushing 10k and it’s not even the full fic it’s an outline,” I’m going to skip the rest of this conversation. Suffice to say, he’s right and she’s wrong, though she takes some convincing, but they leave the cantina together like fifteen minutes later. Also, he confirms that his theory as to her identity was correct somewhere in here.

Anyway, like I said, he talks her down, and she agrees to leave with him.

Once out of the cantina, he can get a better look at her, assess how badly she’s hurt.

(He knows she is for certain now; she’s breathing carefully, shallowly, and a little too fast--but he could only see her hands and the vague shadow of her cowl before.)

“Are you all right?” he asks; even though the answer is obvious; she’s favoring her left side and very pale.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” she says.

A characteristic non-answer, but a step above denial. He supposes.

“All right,” he says. “Let me know if you need help.”

(There’s not much else he can do here and now, anyway; they have some supplies back on the Ghost, and she can get proper medical attention once they rendezvous with the fleet.)

“I will,” she says, which is something at least.

They make it two blocks before they run into a squad of stormtroopers.

It’s a routine patrol; and, even with a wounded asset to escort, it wouldn’t have been a problem under most circumstances. He could avoid the confrontation, or talk his way past.

But the squad sergeant stiffens in a particular way, staring at him.

“Karabast,” he mutters.

(You’d think, after all these years, this would stop happening so often. But, no, it’s still even odds that, out in the field, someone will recognize him.)

Lavinia takes half a step back. “I can--”

“They’re not here for you,” he tells her, then drags her behind cover a split second before the troopers start firing.

Then takes a minute to take stock.

This is...not an ideal position for a standoff. And while they might be able to fight their way through...

Best plan is to stay put, hold them off as long as they can, and call in Zeb and Sabine for backup.

Good thing I listened to Kanan, he thinks.

He takes out his sidearm, then pulls his holdout pistol from his boot and offers it to Lavinia.

But she shakes her head. “Father kept my focus narrow. I’d do more harm than good.”

“...right.”

Even less ideal. But it’s all right. He can handle this.

He takes his comm, switches it to the voice setting.

“Specter Four, this is Fulcrum. We’re going to need a slightly more dramatic exit than I planned for.”

“Copy that, Fulcrum,” Zeb says. “Could use an opening, Specter Five.”

“And to think you boys wanted to leave me behind,” Sabine says.

“Yes, yes, can we save the ‘I-told-you-sos’ until after we’re clear?” Kallus says, firing off a handful of shots to keep the squad at bay.

“She does have a point, babe.”

“Not on open comms, dear, how many times...”

(Honestly, the little bit of flirting is at this point half an inside joke, after the one time they legitimately forgot to switch channels, and half a way to quickly gauge how serious the situation actually is.)

(Plus, it’s fun. They like flirting.)

“Thirty seconds,” Sabine cuts in.

“Right,” Zeb says. “I’m headed to your position. ETA two minutes.”

“Copy. Fulcrum out.”

Two minutes, under these conditions, is a long, long time.

But, right on cue, thirty seconds later, there is a magnificent explosion, which gives them some breathing room, and then Sabine slides down the wall to land next to him.

“Not my best work,” she says critically, watching the cloud on the horizon, “but it’ll clear a path. Hi,” she adds, for Lavinia’s benefit.

“Hi,” she says, softly.

“...she doesn’t have a blaster,” Sabine says, turning almost accusingly to Kallus.

“Because I’ve never had one before,” Lavinia answers for him. “And this really doesn’t seem the time or place to learn.”

“Well, we’ll fix that later,” Sabine says.

“All right,” Lavinia says, then ducks down as Sabine positions herself better to start shooting back.

The next ninety seconds go much quicker, and then comes the welcome sound of the Phantom’s engines on approach.

It’ll have to be a quick exit, and for a split second, Kallus wonders about getting Lavinia up the ramp fast enough without Zeb actually landing--

But then he sees that Sabine has her jetpack.

(He has never been so pleased to see it in his life.)

“Take her,” he says, once the shuttle is in sight. “I’ll cover you.”

Sabine catches his drift right away, and nods. “Hold on,” she tells Lavinia, who blinks, but does.

And then they’re off.

Kallus just keeps firing at the troopers until, based on the noise it’s making, he judges that the Phantom is close enough that he can make the jump.

He’s--almost right.

He comes within half an inch of missing, then Lavinia’s hands shoot out and grab one of his wrists; Sabine grabs the other and the girls haul him on board.

“We’re good, Zeb, go!” Sabine shouts, while Lavinia drags Kallus the rest of the way in and slams the hatch shut.

We did it.

He takes a minute to catch his breath--he knows it isn’t really over; there’s still a great deal of work to do once they get back to the Ghost and then to the fleet proper.

But for now--they’re all alive, they’re all safe, they’re all at least as intact as they were when they got to Ixaly; the extraction was successful.

Kallus decides to let the rest of the problems wait, and take the win.

He picks himself up and heads to the cockpit, to give Zeb a quick hug and send word to Kanan and the others.

For all the drama and the worry when it started, today turned out to be a very good day.

And I think that’s a good stopping point, don’t you? There is definitely more, featuring (in no particular order) the worlds most #Awkward Road Trip; Kanan and Lavinia meeting; Kanan and Luke finally meeting; Zeb and Kallus adopting a kid or three; Lando; Jacen being precious; and so much more.

But, uh, see all my notes above about “how long is this thing now?!”

(And, again this isn’t even fulltext.)

(This is just the outline.)

...so, uh, yeah, if you made it this far, thank you and I hope you enjoyed my Self-Indulgent BS(tm). <333333333

#shadowsong26fic #shadowsong writes star wars #shadowsong writes self-indulgent bs #au outlines for the win #tigerkat24

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howsit-going-toend · 6 years

Text

Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down) Pt. 5

A Kwon Jiyong x Reader AU series featuring Kim Jiwon and Choi Seunghyun

Genre: Crime/Mafia/ANGST

Warnings: Swearing/Violence

Word count: 4,000+ (There’s A LOT going on here....)

Summary: You joined the police force years ago to help clean up the streets of Seoul and rid the city of organized crime. You’ve seen some shit. You’re surely prepared for anything…but how are you supposed to feel when the big bad crime boss you’ve been after turns out to be a familiar (to say the least) face?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

The police force prepares you to handle and respond to just about anything; to be a master of balancing action/reaction in any scenario under limitless amounts of pressure. When you wear that badge, you should be ready to tackle whatever is thrown at you no matter what. In the four years you’d held your position, you’ve proven your capabilities through and through.

But the look on Jiwon’s face rendered you almost catatonic.

It was the look a child gives to a parent upon catching them stuffing their face with cookies that the child had left out for Santa Claus. It placed a massive weight on your chest that you would have done anything and gone anywhere to remove. You just sat there staring back at him, knowing it was impossible to take back the last three minutes. Your silence was enough of an answer for him.

His face left yours for no more than a second to recall the mixed company. There was an undeniable shift in the room’s tension as he offered Chief Kim a polite nod. “I apologize. Don’t let me interrupt.” His expression had softened. But it was a smile of his that you knew all too well. You knew exactly what he was thinking when he heard that name, and it ridded your heart with a massive amount of guilt to see him smile through it.

“Jiwon…” You began.

“Here.” He offered the paper bag out to you. “I got you breakfast from the food court. Let me know if you don’t like it and I’ll get you something else.” You couldn’t bring yourself to play along and respond.

The forced smile remained on his face as he bowed to Chief Kim before exiting the room once again. You continued to stare at the door, speechless, until your superior cleared his throat, returning to his own unanswered question.

You squeezed your eyes shut before looking back to him. “I’m sorry about that.” You muttered. “I know that it wasn’t on record anywhere in the basement. That’s because I saw him face to face…he was there when I was hurt…he gave the man the orders.” Your gaze fell to your right leg as you said those words.

Chief Kim shifted in his seat. “This is the first I’m hearing about this.”

“I know.” You paused, still unable to maintain eye contact as your heart and brain continued to wage their war against one another. “But it’s true.”

“You…know him?” He stated it as a fact more so than an actual question.

He sighed at your lack of response. “Y/N. I know I don’t need to remind you of the protocol that comes into play here. Personal connections to a case like this…it shouldn’t be allowed.” Your eyes shot up to meet his before he continued. “I don’t want to remove you from your position in this. Your qualifications and passion exceed damn near everyone, and you are a fantastic detective.” His stern look bore into you. “But I will not hesitate to shut this whole thing down.”

You shook your head. “No. No, Chief, I assure you I can do this. I’m just still shook up from what happened… I will get over it. I promise you.”

The look on his face oozed skepticism. You took a deep breath. “Yes I knew him… Once. That was a long time ago…Clearly, he is a different person.”

He took a minute to silently mull over your words before nodding his head. “All right…I do want to see where you take this case. I know what you are capable of, Y/N.” He paused for emphasis. “But the second I see this becoming an issue, I am putting an end to it. That goes for Seunghyun too. Do you understand?”

You returned a firm nod with zero hesitation.

Speaking to your superior helped reignite your desire to succeed. You silently reminded yourself to shake every ounce of emotion off and maintain your professional demeanor. At least on the surface. Despite how desperately you may wish otherwise, you know that you can’t change the past. You had a job to do and there was no time to waste on your feelings.

After all, you now had someone else’s to worry about.

The amount of anxiety that stayed bundled in your chest when Jiwon reentered the room was ungodly. The room was absolutely silent aside from your IV pump’s beeping and the sound his shoes made as they scuffed against the linoleum flooring. Once he took his place in the metal folding chair beside your bed, he grabbed your left hand and held it without a word. He didn’t even look at you. You watched him intently, feeling sweat slowly begin to bead at your hairline. The weight on your chest felt heavier and heavier as the minutes passed by.

He might as well have been screaming at you. Anything but this…aren’t YOU the one that got shot? What the hell do you have to feel guilty about right now? You had all intentions of telling him. You were going to…eventually.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

He uttered the words monotonously as he stared down at your fingers. It wasn’t what you’d wanted to hear but it was something. You sighed and nudged the untouched paper bag full of food.

“Yeah. I’ll eat some in a minute.” You offered a small smile despite the fact that he still hadn’t looked at you. He nodded his head slightly before silence fell on the room once again, putting a fast end to his attempt at a normal conversation.

The truth was, Jiwon never actually met Jiyong. Ever. There was a lot about you and Jiyong that he never even knew. Whether it was due to pent up insecurities, or jealousy…he knew enough to start countless fights. Even though you never really believed you did anything wrong or gave him any real reason to be mad at you, you apologized again and again, until it was all brought to an end years ago. It was Jiwon’s decision that Jiyong’s name was never to be spoken between the two of you ever again. Today, of course, had broken all of that.

Beep…Beep…Beep…

He brought his left hand up to his lips, which he kissed before gently lowering it to your right knee. His thumb slowly moved back and forth. You felt yourself relax slightly at the affectionate gesture, holding onto the hope that that subject had actually been left in the past, for good. His eyes lingered on your right leg protectively.

“So…that’s what he’s been doing all these years.”

Your warm expression fell. You should have known better.

Your responding silence made him look up at you and hold your hand a little tighter. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to get us into this again… We finished that conversation a long time ago.” He forced a small grin that you did your best to match. Three years ago actually, but who’s counting?

“I just can’t believe this.” He let out a sigh and shook his head, bringing his eyes back to your leg. “That son of a bitch…”

Discomfort began to fill your chest again as you readjusted your hand in his. You didn’t know how he expected you to reply to any of this. Your mind had been filled with so much confusion; you were proud of yourself for even remembering how to blink. He muttered something to himself, but the room’s dead silence made it impossible for you to not hear him.

“He’ll get his soon...”

Your eyes widened reflexively. Without taking another second to think up an actual response, your face contorted into a wince. “Aish.”

Jiwon removed his left hand from its position with raised eyebrows. “Are you o-?”

You cut him off. “Will you get the nurse? I…I think this pain medication has worn off.”

One week later

“And so, ya know, that’s why I wanted to meet with you in person today. I wanted to be sure you heard it from me first.” Dongjoo folded his hands together. The young man said the words with enthusiasm but his eyes never stopped shifting anxiously between the two men seated across from him.

Jiyong said nothing. He merely tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes, as if trying to convince himself that this really was the same man he’s known for years. The same man who, in the beginning, had appeared on his hands and knees quivering before Jiyong and begged like a dog for “just one more day.” Who had gladly “organized” thousands and thousands of dollars into his little tobacco shop at the drop of a hat, because he feared the name, G Dragon. Who’d answered any and every cop or government worker that grew the least bit suspicious, reading all his lines without missing a cue. There’s no way this was the same man who had just so confidently informed Jiyong that he’s decided to move his business to America, and would no longer require his men to “look after” him and his store.

After entertaining the thought for a minute, Jiyong raised his eyebrows in amusement and returned his gaze to the grill. Dongjoo’s smile faltered slightly. His eyes darted back to Jiyong’s partner, silently begging him to say something. Taehee offered no assistance, only staring back at the man with the same mute expression he’d been sporting all night. A small smile found its way to Jiyong’s face as he grabbed a set of tongs to rotate the beef. The loud sizzle it made helped to disguise the audible gulp from his, now former, business associate.

Jiyong continued to stare at the meat with watchful eyes as he brought his elbow to rest on the table, allowing the hand holding the tongs to support his chin. Dongjoo watched him closely, feeling the nervous sweat begin to bead at his forehead. A chill ran down his spine as Jiyong blinked before locking eyes with him once again; that same smile painted across his face.

“Well, that’s too bad.” Jiyong finally said, casually. “I’ve got to say, I’m a little disappointed.” He pointed the tongs at Dongjoo in a playful manner. “America doesn’t deserve your good business.”

Dongjoo burst out in an exaggerated laugh, making it clear he’d been holding his breath. “Oh come on now.”

“No, no, honestly.” Jiyong raised his eyebrows and nodded his head. “You come on; no one runs a tobacco shop over there like you do. No question.”

Dongjoo shrugged his shoulders and laughed again, visibly relaxing. “You’re making me blush. Enough, enough.”

“I think that’s ready.” Taehee interrupted and nodded to the beef.

“Oh here let me cut it.” Dongjoo began to reach for the scissors beside the grill, before Jiyong beat him to it.

“Oh no, please, allow me.” He grabbed the tool with his free hand. “This calls for a celebration. The least I can do is serve you some quality barbecue.” He grabbed the beef with the tongs and carefully eyeballed where to slice it.

“America…now that’s exciting.” He said with his eyes on the grill, lining up the scissors into position. “How’s the Mrs. feel about that?” Slice.

Dongjoo flinched at the sound, while furrowing his eyebrows at the unexpected personal question. “Oh uh.” Slice. “She’s ready for the change I think.” Slice. He laughed lightly.

“You think?” Slice. “Oh, you better know. Don’t want any issues being caused in the marriage because of this. Moving to another country is no small step.” Slice. “What about your daughter?”

Dongjoo laughed nervously once again. Slice. “She’s, uh, she’s excited.” Slice. “She’s only five so, you know, she doesn’t really have much of an opinion.” Slice. He reached up to scratch the back of his head uncomfortably. They’d never discussed his family before.

Jiyong smiled wider. “Ah, kids.” Slice. “They just go with whatever you say.” He looked up at Dongjoo and served him a few strips of beef. “They trust you.”

Dongjoo did an awful job at disguising his discomfort. He hesitated in bowing his head to accept the serving, and quickly averted his eyes to his plate. But Jiyong wasn’t done.

“When do you leave?”

Dongjoo looked up with his chopsticks still in his mouth, having just taken his first bite. “Huh?”

Jiyong was placing a few strips of beef on Taehee’s plate; he looked up to make brief eye contact with his partner before turning back to the nervous gentleman across from him. “I said when do you leave? For America?”

“Oh, ha…ha, in about a month.”

Jiyong raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Oh, well why don’t we just ride this thing out for another month then?” He asked before taking a bite of his own serving. His eyes didn’t leave Dongjoo, who began to shift in his seat as he stared back down at his plate.

“I don’t, uh…you know, with moving and everything that goes into it, I won’t be really doing much business and just-.”

Jiyong cut off his word vomit with a laugh, waving his hand with a full mouth. “I’m fucking with you. Do what you gotta do.”

“Oh.” Dongjoo chuckled out of relief once again. “Thank you. I-… I appreciate that.”

The rest of the dinner didn’t get any more comfortable than that. Jiyong continued to eyeball Dongjoo, who continuously blotted the sweat on his forehead, which he insisted was due to his angle from the grill. Taehee continued to stare blankly between the two of them, only mildly confused, until they all got up to leave. Jiyong held the door open, and as Taehee passed, he grabbed him by the shoulder and muttered something under his breath. Taehee looked at his boss for just a moment, before nodding and walking outside.

Dongjoo walked a little too eagerly in the direction of his car, parked on the opposite side of the building. As he began to walk through the narrow alleyway to get there, he turned to bid a quick goodbye to the two men. “Thank you for everything, gentlemen. I wish you nothing but the best.” He made a hasty bow, which Jiyong and Taehee returned, before turning on his heels.

Just as he’d taken a single step towards the safety of his vehicle, he heard Jiyong’s voice once again. But this time it was closer. He turned around to see the crime boss walking towards him at a leisurely pace. “Now, now. What kind of a goodbye is that? We’ve been through a lot together, you and me. You’ve got to give me more respect than that, right?” As he arrived before him, Jiyong reached his right hand out with an honorable grin.

Dongjoo’s face flashed with worry before quickly covering it back up. “Oh, I’m sorry, GD. I just don’t want the wife to worry, you know? Of course, of course. I surely didn’t mean any disrespect.” He reached a clammy hand out to make contact with Jiyong’s. “No hard feelings?” He asked with a hopeful smile.

Just as Jiyong let out a small chuckle, Dongjoo’s eyes flashed to Taehee. He was standing behind Jiyong, far back by the alleyway entrance, with his back turned to both of them. It took him less than a second for Dongjoo to understand what was about to happen.

As he locked eyes with Jiyong, who was holding his now quivering hand with a firm grip, he had no time to think before his skull swung forward to collide with his own.

Dongjoo released the hand he’d use to shake Jiyong’s as he flung his head back in pain. “Fuck!” His vision was blurred while he tried to look forward, seeing four Jiyong’s coming towards him, each with darkened expressions and their right fists reeled back.

His nose shattered the minute Jiyong made contact, sending Dongjoo’s body immediately to the alley ground. His hands flew to his face as if trying to manually preserve whatever features that remained intact. He coughed and spat out dark blood that had rushed in from his nostrils. Jiyong stalked towards him slowly, like a lion playing with its dinner. Dongjoo’s vision was even hazier now, but his fight-or-flight instincts had kicked in full force, giving him the strength to turn over onto his stomach.

Just as he attempted to bring his arms and legs in to hoist himself up, Jiyong lowered his boot to the man’s ear, putting in just enough pressure to push his head against the pavement. Dongjoo let out a piercing groan. Placing more of his weight into that leg, Jiyong leaned down to get a little closer to his face. As Dongjoo’s exasperated breathing and whimpering for mercy got louder, Jiyong shushed him.

“You know… I expected more from you.” His tone was menacing. “I considered you a friend, really.” Dongjoo cried out, too terrified to even attempt to move. “America? Yeah, buddy?” Jiyong chuckled. “You and I both know that’s fucking bullshit. I just gave you chance after chance and you just continued to lie right to my fucking face.” Jiyong leaned forward and spat on the ground right by the man’s broken nose. “You want to know something? You really think the Yang brothers are going to protect you better than we can? That’s a riot. What did they tell you about me, huh? Who do you think we’ve been protecting you from? Huh?” Dongjoo only sobbed more, his body shaking as the “please, please, please”’s and “I’m so sorry”’s continued to flow from his mouth just as quickly as the blood ran from his nose. Jiyong sighed in frustration. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to kill you. No, that wouldn’t be right to do to a family man. Just know that I will never forget about this.” He lifted his boot and allowed the man to hoist himself up to his knees. Dongjoo coughed violently, simultaneously gasping for the air he’d been hoarding in his lungs.

Jiyong dug into his pocket and threw a handkerchief on the ground in front of him, along with some cash. Dongjoo flinched, recoiling his arms across his face before looking down to see the stitched piece of cloth and the paper bills. Trembling, he looked up to lock eyes with Jiyong, whose dark expression hadn’t changed for a second.

“Wipe yourself off and get that nose looked at. Don’t you go home to your wife and kid and let them see this pathetic sight.” Dongjoo only cried in response, to which Jiyong let out a sigh. “What? What are you still doing here? Go.”

He didn’t have to tell him twice. Dongjoo picked up the money, the handkerchief, and himself up off the ground and stumbled his bodyweight in the direction of the far parking lot. Jiyong waited for the sound of his whimpers to fade and be replaced by the sound of an engine before turning back towards Taehee. He approached the man and placed his hand on his shoulder once again. “All right. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“Jesus, he did all that just now?”

Taehee nodded at his partner before taking another swig of the beer in his hand.

“Damn, he’s really not playing around these days...” Wonhae replied, ensuring to keep his voice down, knowing that Jiyong wasn’t far down from them at the bar.

Five men: Gyechul, Taehee, Wonhae, Gwangbok, and Jiyong, all sat side by side. The place was a favorite spot of theirs, which they frequently visited after a long day. It was old, secluded in the outer edges of Seoul, and run by people they knew like family. No other bar could be safer for clientele such as themselves.

“Weeell, we all know fucking why.”

Taehee and Wonhae looked over at their partner on their end of the bar, Gyechul, who’d already had his fair share of alcohol for the night. He was staring up at the little box television set with his mouth agape, intently watching the news. “Look! Look look look, there she is now. Pfffft.” He mumbled and pointed up towards the screen. The local news was broadcasting a story about a cop who’d been shot in a “gang related incident” and had “barely made it out alive.”

Gyechul let out a chuckle, muffled through his teeth. “Hey, look everyone we’re in a gang.”

Taehee spoke up in a firm tone. “Gyechul. Enough…Be smart.”

The man turned from the TV to laugh in Taehee’s direction mockingly. “Be smart…pfffft. If I was smart that night I woulda jus killed that cop…but noooo I was following orders.” He waved his hands in the air as he lazily dragged out each word.

“You’re not fucking killing anyone.”

Taehee closed his eyes in a wince, knowing this was bound to happen. He turned to the right to see their boss staring across the bar right through the three of them to Gyechul. Everyone went quiet.

Gyechul chuckled again. “Pffff, whatever you say boss. You see this?!” He pointed to the TV which now showed an old mugshot of his, displaying him as a wanted criminal. “Now we have this to deal with…the fucking news is after me.” He slurred.

“There would have been even worse news if I let you have ‘cop killer’ thrown on your record. I did you a fucking favor.” Jiyong said coldly, silently refusing to look at the TV.

Gyechul stared his boss down. “Ya know what? Fuck you GD. Fuck you and your favors.” He mumbled with his finger pointed in Jiyong’s direction. He pushed himself up into a standing position, slightly swaying back and forth. Jiyong closed his eyes and took a deep, annoyed, breath.

“Gyechul, stop. All right? Let’s get you some water.” Taehee attempted to intervene again.

“Hey, hey, I’m fine all right? It’s him who’s got the fucking problem.” He pointed at Jiyong again before letting out a drunken laugh. He then dramatically gasped and stared out into space. “P-p-put the gun down! This-this is my final warning! … Bang! AH!!” He flailed his arms in the air, falling against the bar while gripping his leg, and bursting out laughing. Jiyong wasn’t the slightest bit amused. The second he stood up, so did the other three men.

“GD, it’s ok. He’s just drunk. He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s saying. We’ll take him somewhere to chill out.” Taehee and Gwangbok attempted to alleviate the situation while Wonhae grabbed his out of line partner by the shoulders.

“What? Do you think I look fucking worried?” Jiyong spat.

“Touchyyyyy.” Gyechul mused, poking his head around Wonhae’s to continue talking at Jiyong. “Ya know, I’ve never seen you like this over someone. Especially a fucking cop. What’s up with that?! Huh?” He yelled belligerently. Jiyong said nothing. He just stared at the bar while the other men continued to try to calm things down. But Gyechul wouldn’t listen. “You know…it’s almost like she’s that girl.”

Jiyong looked right at him.

“Gyechul, shut the fuck up!” Taehee yelled while Wonhae attempted to smack the man to shut up. But he persisted.

“Noooo, come on, you guys know the girl I mean. The one we all fucking know about but no one ever says anything about because GD will freak the fuck out on them.” He narrowed his eyes at Jiyong, who looked ready for slaughter. “It’s her isn’t it?” He chuckled. “She’s the only one that’ll make you so fucking soft like that.” He pointed to the TV. “Oh but…..” He grinned. “She doesn’t make all of you fucking soft.” He sneered before groping himself mockingly.

Jiyong was on his side of the bar in seconds, with his hands gripping his collar. Jiyong has always been a very stoic person, but right in that moment there was a raging fire in his eyes. The other three men nearly tackled them both to stop whatever was about to happen.

Taehee grabbed Jiyong and pulled him back while the other two men pulled Hyechul away. Jiyong’s chest heaved as he took a deep breath to steady himself. He took a second to close his eyes while he waited for Hyechul’s drunken slurs to pipe down. When they finally did, and it looked like their night at the bar had finally ended, Jiyong got up to leave.

“Hyechul.” He announced.

“Yeaah?” The man turned his head, barely able to maintain eye contact.

“You watch yourself.”

After arriving back at his private home, having had enough bullshit for one night, Jiyong poured him and Taehee both a glass of whiskey. Amongst his four major partners, Taehee was by far his closest and most trusted. He knew better than to push any further, in regards to Jiyong’s feelings, than just one simple question.

“You ok?”

“Yeah.” Jiyong muttered, taking a pull from his glass.

Taehee nodded his head and paused for a minute to sip from his own. “Well… How about some music?”

Jiyong grinned and pointed at him before springing up and pacing towards his record collection. “Yes. What’re you feeling?”

“Anything.”

Jiyong was suddenly as giddy as a child. He stuck his hands in his pants pockets, sticking his tongue out slightly and narrowing his eyes as he looked closely at every title. As he began to feel overwhelmed by the amount of choices, Hyechul’s words from earlier made his mind wander back.

He gently began to flip through one of the older stacks of records he’d gotten from his parents’ house. He smiled sadly as he browsed through classic American tunes from Dion, to Chuck Berry, Frankie Valli, and even the Righteous Brothers. Every album had unique memories attached, but they all had one thing in common.

As he flipped past a Frank Sinatra vinyl, a small 45 popped out and nearly hit the floor. Upon saving it and flipping the cover over, a small gasp escaped his lips. It was a 7” Elvis Presley record with “Love Me Tender” and “Any Way You Want Me.” He wasted no time in putting it on and letting one of his most cherished memories return to him.

“Man, I love Elvis.” Taehee chimed in as the song began.

“Me too.” Jiyong smiled as he swayed in place, staring at the cover. A warmth filled his chest as he read the small words that had been handwritten on the front in white marker.

Love me tender, love me true. All my dreams, fulfilled

For my darling, I love you. And I always will

As he traced his fingers around the small heart that had been drawn by the last word, he was hit with an insane idea. In one second, he’d wiped the smile from his face and restored his stoic demeanor to look at Taehee.

“We’re not going over business right now, but I need you to do something for me.”

Taehee sat up straight and alert.

“Get me the address for Jungbu Police Station.”

#g dragon scenarios #kwon jiyong scenarios #bigbang scenarios #g dragon au #kwon jiyong au #bigbang au #g dragon fanfiction #kwon jiyong fanfiction #kwon jiyong angst #g dragon angst #kpop scenarios

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panda-noosh · 6 years

Text

Bad At Love {P3}{Photographer!Keith x Prodigy!Reader}

Words: 5633

Summary: Keith Kogane was known for being the good-boy-gone-bad. You were known for being the emotionless prodigy that only ever showed up to school to stop her foster parents from getting arrested. Whenever you two are put together on a school project after briefly meeting during detention, you find your world tipping upside down as you realise that there’s more to life than science and logic.

Pairing: Photographer!Keith x Prodigy!Reader

Notes: p1 – p2 - p4 - p5 - p6 - FINAL ; so… we finally got some angst. But I swear this story won’t be overly-angsty. It’s actually more of a fluff story than anything else, so don’t fear.

Chapter 3

“You really should smile more.”

His voice comes out of nowhere, startling you just enough to make you look up from the volume you are reading. A thick, leather bound book that you borrowed from the library only days before – the library of the school you were currently sat in.

You had never before seen Keith step foot in the school library – especially not before school hours. It was rare that he was even in the building on time, so the fact that he had pulled himself out of bed nearly an hour earlier to come trotting into the library was a shock to you.

You narrow your eyes when they meet his. He has a bounce in his step as he approaches you, his camera raised and his backpack flung carelessly to the side of the door. The librarian doesn’t miss her chance to shoot Keith a dirty look, clearly not enjoying the bad-boys presence.

“What are you doing here so early?” you ask.

Keith sits down on the green, plush chair that is pulled up beside your own. You look over his shoulder as he does so, catching only a small glimpse of his camera screen – a picture of you is pulled up on it. You have your head down, absorbed in the large book which is sat in your lap. Your head is resting on your hand whilst your other holds the book steady on your knobbly knees.

You blush at the sight of the picture, narrowing your eyes.

“I got dragged out of bed early so my parents could go shopping,” Keith replies, clearly unaware to your knowledge of the sneaky picture he had taken of you. “And I knew you liked coming to the library, so I thought I’d come and find you.”

“How sweet of you,” you reply. “If you don’t mind, I’m gonna go back to reading.”

“Well, this is no way to treat your visitor,” Keith mumbles. “What are you reading?”

“A book you’ve most likely never heard of.”

Keith rolls his eyes, leaning his weight onto the arm rest to get a look at the scribbled mess of words that you are currently reading. He takes a moment, his eyes widening whenever he sees the complexity of the language used, how small the print is and how thick the book is.

“No pictures,” he mutters, and it’s not a question. It’s a statement that is littered with mild disbelief, and you can’t help but chuckle at the sound of his voice.

“No. No pictures,” you confirm.

Keith hollows out his cheeks and pulls back, leaning against the other arm rest so he can get a good look at you as you flip through the pages. “I read Harry Potter once when I was, like, 7 and that’s about as far as I’ve gone with reading.”

“That explains a lot.”

He pouts, nudging your foot slightly with his own. You smile over at him, the gesture unusual to you and you aren’t exactly sure where it came from but the way Keith replies with a cheeky smile of his own makes it seem like the right thing to do.

You still couldn’t pin point what he was doing here this early on a Wednesday. The snow this morning had forced you out of the house earlier than usual due to Ann-Marie’s anxiety that the roads would only grow worse as time went on. She would never even dream of letting you have the day off, meaning you were being shipped out of the house at 7:15am and you had arrived at the school gates by 7:30am. It was a little earlier than usual, but you were early most days anyway.

Keith, on the other hand, was quite the opposite.

Some days, he just simply didn’t show up, so seeing him now, huddled up beside you with a grin on his face even though the sun had barely risen and his sleepiness had barely been shaken – it was weird and you weren’t sure what would have prompted him to put himself through such a sudden schedule change.

“You’re staring at me,” Keith says. It’s only then that you realise you are, in fact, staring at him, though that statement alone doesn’t make you turn away.

You simply nod towards his camera, searching for anything else to say to him other than admit that you were wondering why he was here in the first place.

“I saw that picture you took of me,” you say. Keith immediately frowns, clenching his camera firmly in his hand. “It’s a crime to take pictures of people without their permission.”

Keith shuffles up in his green plush chair, rolling his eyes as a way to soften the embarrassment he was no doubt feeling right now. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh come on, Kogane!” you nearly exclaim. “I didn’t expect you to be the type of to play stupid.”

“I’m not playing stupid!” he objects. “I genuinely don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t take pictures of people-“

“Did your finger slip or something?”

“Y/N, there is absolutely zero pictures of you on my camera. I can guarantee you that much. You’re not exactly photogenic.”

You raise a brow, taking his comment as a joke. Judging by the way Keith tilts his head as he speaks, avoids your eye contact and keeps his grip tightening on his camera, it’s clear that he’s lying. Spending years learning human emotions, Keith wasn’t about to be let off easily.

He catches your sceptic eye and immediately shakes his head, raising a hand in your direction. “Drop it, okay? I’ve had a hard enough time actually getting out of bed at the crack of dawn – don’t make the day worse.”

You chuckle slightly, keeping your gaze locked on him. It was weird how easily flustered the boy got at such a simple call out – one he still insisted on denying even as the bell rang to signal the start of the day. You had spent months truly believing that Keith was nothing more than a sleezy, woman-using high school kid who didn’t know right from wrong – that was what the rumours had led you to believe, and yet here he was, flustered by a simple statement made by someone whose social abilities were far less superior compared to his own.

The two of you stalk out of the library together, you trudging behind him and continually commenting on how, “I can pose next time if you want.” Keith had decided to ignore you, giving you a small, “Oh ha ha,” before he was putting his headphones in his ear and waving goodbye to you from halfway down the hallway.

You walk into maths class with a smile on your face that day, an expression which has even the teacher, Mr Boyle, doing a double take. You ignore him, setting up refuge in the back of the classroom, feeling bubbly and excitable on the inside.

What a way to begin the day.

Apparently, sitting on your own at lunch had become a reflex after six years.

You hadn’t even thought twice as you got your food for lunch and sat yourself down at your usual spot – a small, circular table at the back of the cafeteria that was rarely sat at by anyone other than you. The odd time, a first year would sit there to wait on their friend from the food line, but they would scatter as soon as the seniors started jeering at them for sitting at the ‘loner table.’

You would then happily take their place, simply glad to have your table back.

It was only whenever a grumbling, clearly frustrated Keith started making his way towards you that you realised your mistake – you were meant to be sitting next to him today.

With a mouthful of chicken, you say, “Oh shit, sorry.”

Keith doesn’t even reply. Instead, he slams his tray of food down in front of you and sits down, immediately resting his head in his hands and tugging on the black hair that his fingers are wound through.

You swallow the chicken in your mouth slowly, keeping your eyes locked on the bothered guy in front of you. He looked more exhausted than he did this morning – you hadn’t seen him since then due to your lack of classes together. His hair was a ragged mess and his jacket had a fresh new hole in the sleeve. His eyes were smaller, his lips chapped.

“Everything okay?” you hesitantly ask.

Keith looks up at you through the gaps in his fingers before promptly going back to tugging at the strands of hair that fall limp against his forehead. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

It doesn’t take a psychology record to know he’s lying.

“I mean, it’s not,” you say, using your good-old-fashioned blunt method. Keith looks up at you again, narrowing his eyes as if to dare you to continue.

You do.

“Judging by the way you’re tugging on your hair and the way you stormed over here with particularly heavy footsteps, I’ve come to the scientific conclusion that you-“

“There is no scientific conclusion,” Keith scoffs, letting his hands drop. “I just – I had a bad day. That’s all you need to know.”

“Correct,” you mutter, placing a leaf of cabbage in your mouth. “I don’t need to know much more than that, but I’d like it if you indulged. Maybe I could help you.”

Keith smiles softly at you. “I’m afraid having an IQ of 160 isn’t enough to help me with this one. Thanks, though.”

You frown. What problem couldn’t be solved with science and math and common logic? You had yet to come across one.

“I don’t mean to be – uh – nosy or anything, but what exactly is the issue?”

Keith takes a moment to reply. He has his arms folded over his chest, his eyes cast to the table in front of him where his untouched salmon sits. You find yourself leaning slowly across the table, trying to catch his eyes with your own but he seems to be doing everything in his power to avoid the eye contact you find yourself wanting so desperately.

You had never before felt what it felt like to care for somebodies wellbeing – somebody outside of your foster families. But sitting here in front of Keith, inspecting the distress on his face, this is what it must feel like to actually care about somebodies feelings.

It was awful.

It made you feel weird, like you had an obligation to do something that was completely out of your control. You hated things that were out of your control.

Nevertheless, you can’t push the feelings away and you know there’s no point in trying. So you succumb to them, waiting patiently for Keith to reply to your question.

But he doesn’t. He simply inhales deeply, leans forward and begins to dig into the salmon on his tray, leaving you half-speechless in front of him.

“Is it really that bad?” you find yourself asking.

Keith looks up at you finally, narrowing his eyes and shaking his head slightly as he holds a forkful of salmon between his teeth.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“Lesson one for Keith’s social classes,” Keith says, his words slurred by the salmon. “You don’t ask somebody how bad their problems are.”

Your mouth shoots into a thin line, an embarrassed pink colour grazing your cheeks at the realisation that your lessons with Keith hadn’t even started yet and you were already messing them up.

You stay silent after that, choosing to finish off the chicken wrap you had ordered before you messed up anything else and maybe made your friends day even worse. That was the last thing you wanted to do, and yet the question of why he was in a mood was still itching at the back of your brain. Having spent years being able to solve any question which popped into your head, you felt a bit weak being unable to do so now, because the answer was all down to Keith and he wasn’t willing to give it to you.

Keith finishes his salmon before you’ve finished your wrap, even though you had started before him. Your appetite had shrunk with the curiosity coursing through your veins, and you had spent nearly the entirety of lunch time simply staring at Keith, trying to see what was wrong with him through silent inspection. Whether he noticed your gaze or not, you didn’t care.

He sighed when he finished, leaning back in his chair and wiping his hands on the napkin that sat on his tray. “I should get going. I have some pictures to take for the schools website and I need to get them done before my next class.”

You’re standing up before you know why, your wrap still in your hand. “I’ll go with you.”

Keith raises a brow, looking up at you as he stays seated. “Are you allowed to go into sunlight without combusting into flames?”

“Ha ha. Funny guy.” You stuff the finishing pieces of your wrap into your mouth, turn to Keith and say, “Let’s go,” through a mouthful of food, uncaring about how unflattering you look.

You didn’t know that as soon as you turned around, Keith smiled.

You knew you were never particularly good in social situations, but you thought that you could at least stand in the garden of your own school without feeling like the most stuck-out person within a half mile radius.

You hovered behind Keith as he took the pictures, and judging by the way nobody seemed to pay attention to the sprawled out kid on the grass, Keith did this often. Some of them even went as far as to say hello to Keith as if they saw him here on a daily basis. A few tried to say hello to you, but you simply nodded with your usual, monotone look on your face and hoped the conversation wouldn’t grow further than it needed to.

Keith lay in the grass on his stomach, camera pointed at the flower pots which lined the walls of the school. Benches were in the background, kids sitting on them and laughing as they ate the food they weren’t even meant to bring out of the cafeteria. Keith managed to capture the scene perfectly.

You took a seat in the grass beside him, folding your legs over one another as you made a job of picking at the grass.

“So you do this every lunch time?” you question.

Keith grunts as he rolls over onto his side to get a better look at the picture he had just taken. “Most days. I find the cosy atmosphere of this place really inspiring.”

You nod. “I mean, cosy atmospheres are usually created in small, dimly lit places. This is far from small, and it’s outdoors so there’s even more added space that the brain picks up on, even if you don’t realise it. Also, the amount of people in this place would make it seem more claustrophobic than cosy, so I have to-“

“What do you do when you get home after school?” Keith cuts you off. You look down at him, eyes narrowed with one brow raised in mild confusion at his question.

“Why are you asking?”

Keith shrugs, going back to his task. “I was just wondering. Like, do you sit and watch TV with your parents? Does your mum cook for you? Is dinner already on the table when you get in?”

“Dinner is usually on the table a few hours after I get home,” you reply. “During those few hours, I go upstairs and get changed, organise my school bag for the next day and play some music to myself. Oh, and I don’t have parents.”

Keith immediately stiffens in the grass, his camera suddenly shaking slightly as his grip tightens around it. You continue to play with the grass, not entirely bothered about having an entire conversation on your history with the parents you never knew, or the history of the foster houses you had been jumping between for the entirety of your seventeen years on the planet.

You can see Keith shooting you a small glance out of the corner of his eye, careful not to turn his head fully in fear of you catching him. There’s a concerned aura to him all of a sudden, as if he expects you to burst into tears at the mention of your parents – you find the mere suggestion absurd. You weren’t going to cry over people you didn’t know. That wasn’t how you worked.

“I still don’t know why you entirely care, Keith,” you continue. “Your life has to be a whole lot more exciting than mine.”

“I only asked so you’d stop spewing facts at me.”

You frown. “Oh, right. Was that not socially correct?”

Keith shrugs. “I don’t care so much about you being socially correct. You were proving me wrong. Nobody likes being proved wrong.”

A soft laugh immediately escaped your mouth, getting wisped away by the wind which is sauntering around you and Keith both. The grass the two of you are sat on is soaked by the snow that had melted from earlier that morning, meaning your trousers and Keith’s shirt were bound to be damp for the rest of the day, but you found yourself not caring. There was something about watching Keith up close – this close – that made you want to stay like this, just to admire the way he did things.

“Tell me more about your home life,” Keith asks, suddenly. Your eyes flick up to look at the back of his head, the only thing you can see as he presses his eye into his camera. He sounds almost timid as he asks you, clearly not knowing whether or not said question would be the thing to break the emotionless persona you had put on since the day he met you.

And there was a side to your home life that you didn’t like discussing – mainly the side that made people feel bad for you. You hated sympathy. Guilt from other people over something they barely knew anything about, because you barely knew anything about it. Until you were eighteen, them records were shut off to you. The only information you could really spill was from the records you had stolen when you were five and memorised – anything new that had come up since then was hidden away neatly, in a hiding space so tight that only certain members on your foster team knew where they were.

Either way, you find yourself feeling comfortable enough with your first real friend to tell him. You tell him about your parents, and how they couldn’t handle a child prodigy on their own. You had put them through hell from what you had gathered of the records – building things from scratch and making other children cry by telling them the science behind why the tooth fairy wasn’t real and making even adults cringe by explaining step-by-step how babies were made when you were only at the age of six.

You explained your foster mother – Ann-Marie – and your foster brother – Patrick – and how you had only lived with them for two months but they had done more for you than any other foster family you had been shipped to. You explain to him that you had only ever been with three foster families before – nobody else was allowed to take you, because according to the government, you were prized goods. If the person taking you wasn’t tip-top and an overall perfect human being, they wouldn’t risk letting you out of the centres you had been trapped in your whole life.

Which was why you were forever grateful towards Ann-Marie, for being that perfect person. She had dragged you out of centres that you used to get abused in, centres that held people who couldn’t care less about your mental well-being – most of them only left you alone because they knew you were smart enough to find some way to tell the police if they did anything bad to you or anything bad to anybody else in front of you.

Keith is silent once you stop speaking and you find yourself messing with the grass even more vigorously once the information is out in the open. It doesn’t seem right to have put so much sad information on him all at once, but it was out there now and there was nothing more you could do except hope Keith didn’t expel you from his life completely.

“But it’s all okay now,” you add on, just to soften the blow. “I’m good now. All good and stuff. Dandy.”

“That’s really fucking sad, Y/N,” Keith comments, finally looking into your eyes. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

You shrug. “I mean, I didn’t really. No, I did, but, like, I don’t remember it well enough to – to care.” Why were you getting flustered?

Keith sits up, placing his camera in his lap. “No, I get it, but it must suck knowing the reason behind your parents leaving you was because . . . Well, because of that.”

“I like to think of it as their loss, but my non-existent ego can’t do that.”

Keith closes his eyes, a ghost of a smile playing at his lips as your words, again, are used to defuse any tension he may have been feeling due to the information you had just laid out for him.

He shocks you whenever he sits down properly, folding his legs over one another and you’re even more shocked whenever he leans forward and takes your hand in his. The gesture is only small, but the feel of human skin on your own is enough to make your body flare up in a heat you didn’t think possible during mid-November. And yet here you were, cheeks firey red and your arms suddenly erupting into goosebumps and suddenly you’re almost sure you’ll never be able to breathe again.

“I’m serious,” Keith says, opening his eyes to meet yours. You narrow your own.

“You’ve become sincere.”

“You’re spoiling the moment.”

“I didn’t think we were having a-“

“Just sh and let me talk!” Keith hisses, kicking your ankle with his toes. You nod silently, pursing your lips as you continue to gaze into his eyes. “What I was saying was – I’m serious about what I said, Y/N. You didn’t deserve that, and those two people you referred to as your parents aren’t your real parents if they treated you in that way and gave up so easily.”

“Actually, going by biological history-“

“I know at the park I made it sound like I wanted you to change when I told you I would help you become more socially adjusted, and I didn’t realise how bad it sounded until I got home. But I just want you to know that, even though I’ve only known you for a short period of time, I like you a lot and I don’t want you changing yourself because of me. Being an introvert isn’t a setback and you shouldn’t need to change it if you don’t want to.”

You blink, desperately trying to cypher through the words he just said for any sign of sarcasm or any sign that this is all a joke and he’s actually planning on saying “Sike!” before kicking dirt up into your face and running off.

But no matter how hard you try and no matter how much you investigate his demeanour in this moment, there seems to be absolutely zero menace in the words he had just spoken. He was being genuine.

For once in your life, somebody was being genuinely nice to you, and it wasn’t just because you were intelligent, and it wasn’t just because you were the new foster kid on the block – he was being nice to you because he felt like you deserved it, and nothing had warmed your heart up quite in the same way.

You aren’t sure how showing affection and gratitude works, so you try your hardest to swing a guess. You clench your fingers around his own, gently squeezing his hand and giving him a small smile of your own, but it doesn’t seem like enough. Nothing could possibly feel like enough.

“Thank you,” you say, finally. “Thank you for – uh – reassuring me and being a – a good friend to me. I really appreciate it.”

Keith smiles back, pulling his hand into his lap. He takes a second longer to gaze at your blushed face before the bell goes off, signalling next class. The two of you clamber up, rubbing the wet patches off of your clothing before you swiftly say your goodbyes and head to your separate classes.

Suddenly, biology and ICT can’t come quick enough.

“Alright everyone!” Miss Shaw exclaims from the front of the classroom, her round hips and small torso becoming very prominent in the tight beige dress she was wearing. She had slid her cardigan off mid-lesson, revealing a nice pair of toned arms that you didn’t realise she had. Her body proportions continued to surprise you as the years went on. “The rest of todays lesson will be spent planning out your research projects, and every lesson up until the due date will be spent in the same way. This is mainly for the partners who can’t get to each others houses to work. You can spend your class time wisely, and I hope you’re spending your breaks wisely as well. This needs to be tip-top people! Now, go sit beside your partners and get to work.”

You pull your hood off of your head and straighten up in your seat as you watch Keith trudge up the steps to the row of desks you’re sitting on. He had put on his bad-boy persona once again, his hood pulled up on over his black hair and a scowl permanently etched on his features that softens whenever his eyes meet yours. You give him a warm wave that he repays by simply raising his hand in the air.

And then he’s sitting next to you.

“I trust you know everything we’re doing for the project already?” is the first thing he says, barely turning his head to look at you.

You grin. “Just call me your personal computer.”

Keith pouts, straightening up in his seat to get a better look at the map of ideas you had been working on throughout the entire lesson – you had basically created a textbook of facts on every animal classification, and even branching off to go into greater detail, that you could remember – and it was most of them.

Keith shook his head in awe, tracing his fingers over the ink. “I still feel bad for only being the photographer.”

You nudge his elbow with your own. “Is that why you were so huffy earlier on?”

Keith freezes, and you silently curse yourself. Not even two seconds in and you’d already said something that you weren’t meant to. You hadn’t know, when the words came into your head, that they were bad, but going off of the way Keith suddenly begins to nibble on his bottom lip and the way he leans back in his seat tells you that they were, in fact, inappropriate to say.

“I thought you forgot about that,” he replies, softly. “You should forget about that.”

His hesitance to tell you what’s wrong makes you even more uneasy. Of course, it made perfect sense for him to have secrets. Although you were never the type of person to hide things from people, finding no shame in anything you did, Keith wasn’t like you. He had healthy EQ levels, and that meant it was perfectly normal for him to thing of things he had done as shameful or unrepeatable.

You slump back in your seat, taking a highlighter off of the desk so you can doodle on your knuckles. “Sorry. My tongue went before my head again.”

“No it didn’t,” Keith scoffs. “You’re curious. I get it.”

“I’m curious but you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to. It’s none of my business what goes on outside of our friendship.”

Keith inhales deeply. “We both know that’s bullshit.”

You raise a brow, not looking up from the highlighter-yellow squiggle you had just traced down your knuckles. “We do?”

“I do, because you shouldn’t have to open up to me in the way you did outside and me not do the same. It’s not fair.”

“I opened up because I feel comfortable talking about what I spoke about. If you don’t, I completely understand.”

And you did understand. You understood more than he would ever know – understood the science behind secrets and the feeling of pressure people often felt whenever they were faced with this kind of situation.

But just because you understood, didn’t mean you felt any differently. You still wanted to know, wanted to be somebody Keith could go to whenever he needed to talk to somebody, but right now it seemed like you two weren’t particularly on that level.

And again, you understood, because you had been through this so many times with so many different people. They were all okay with your knowledge until it went against them in ways you couldn’t control. You had numbed yourself to the disappointment of being the only one in a friendship who trusted the other person.

Of course, you had hoped Keith was different. He had lasted the longest and he was definitely one of the only people you felt genuinely attached to, but if he didn’t feel the same way then there was nothing you could do to force him. If he wanted to hold some things back from you, then that was okay with you. It was only a matter of time before things crumpled and you went back to being the lonely-smart-girl that everybody spoke about.

At least you were prepared.

But until then, you would make the most out of your time with Keith and you would bask in the feeling of feeling things for the first time in a long time, because that was what you did – you made the most of things until your unexplainable brain ripped the joy out of your grip and made you feel numb all over again.

Keith’s POV

She was thinking.

I could see it in the way her eyes twinkled and the way her hands worked with turning the highlighter over and over in her hand on a continuous loop. I could see it in the way she stuck her tongue out from between her lips every once in a while, or she looked towards the board and squinted, even though there was nothing written on it.

She was trying to distract herself from whatever she was thinking of, but I had an idea that forgetting things wasn’t as easy to her as it was to everybody else.

I found her so intriguing when I first met her in that detention hall. A smart girl, quiet and well mannered who knew the basics of everything, and yet there she was – slumped over in a chair for an after-hours detention. It seemed like the most unlikely of things, and I had become mildly hostile. I didn’t believe it to be true – she must have been a bitch.

But she hadn’t been. God, she was far from it and it hurt me to think that I was hurting her with my lack of skills in opening up to people.

She did it so well. She told me about her parents so monotone and easy and she simply shrugged it off whenever I comforted her on it – she just didn’t care, and maybe that was a bad place to be in. Maybe not caring was a bad mindset to lock yourself in, but it was one I craved in this moment.

Things were getting harder. He was getting worse. She had disappeared all together and there was really nothing I could do about it. The phone calls were beginning to come through even when I was at school and I could no longer just ignore them – I would have to excuse myself from class to go and read his angry texts and I would reply back in low-caps and pretend to be calm when in reality I had a panic constantly clawing at my chest and making my heart race and my bones ache.

And the one person I wanted to tell was her. Y/N. Sat beside me now, acting like she didn’t have a care in the world because perhaps she didn’t have a care in the world. Her mind was occupied with scientific explanations to the meaning behind every little thing and math equations and synonyms for words that weren’t even in the English language.

Perhaps that was the reason I liked her so much – liked her more than I really should. She was intriguing and nice and care free, but at the same time she was this walking pile of surprises that I struggled to get out of my head whenever she wasn’t with me. She gave me comfort even if she didn’t mean to, because there was just something about the way she spoke to me – treated me like how I used to be treated – that comforted me.

She put me in my place if I needed to be put in my place, and that was why I actually felt under control whenever she was with me, even if my life was crumbling around me.

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