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Author: Guede Mazaka
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Elizabeth/James, Elizabeth/Jack, Will/James, Will/Elizabeth.
Feedback: Good lines, bad ones, etc.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Notes: Film noir AU. No specific time period in mind; staying true to genre and not to history. Port Royal didn’t have a devastating earthquake. Cameo by Jacques.
Summary: Escape and its varied forms.
***
“She’s still around? My God, I’ll kill Jack my damn self for being so stupid.” Anamaria paused her coffee-making to bang the door shut. Then she shook a reproachful spoon at Will, who let her because he was very, very drained and had to prop himself against the wall so he wouldn’t slide down. “Should kill you, too.”
“Don’t, Anamaria. Please.” Will thumped his head against the wall and closed his eyes, trying to fight off the headache clawing up his spine. “You can scold later, all right?”
She growled and slammed down a cup, then sloshed the coffee in so hard that Will almost expected it to break through the bottom of the mug. “No, it ain’t all right. Jack’s got a long memory, damn it.”
“And I’ve had a shitty night! First it’s fucking Jack Sparrow who finally tells me the truth about my father, and then Elizabeth Swann takes a fucking swing at my head. And it’s still only eleven, and I have goddamn Commodore Norrington showing up in an hour!” The explosion came out of nowhere. Literally, because as far as Will knew, he was still slack against the wall, sorting out things with muscles as limp as over-soaked noodles, and whoever was doing the rude yelling was someone else. But no, he and Anamaria were the only ones in the room.
He slapped a hand over his face and let his knees collapse so he went down. Sat his ass on the floor, so if nothing else, he didn’t have as far to fall.
The only sounds were the slurp of cream, the tinkling of the sugar spoon against the rim of the bowl. Anamaria’s sigh and his own slurring heartbeat in his ears. His drumming stupidity.
Elizabeth had taken a swing at him. From behind, so she hadn’t known who he was—and Will thought he’d seen recognition in her face—which was all the more damning, because that could only mean one thing. She’d believed she’d been protecting Jack.
Well, that pretty much deep-sixed the coercion theory for good. Whatever she was up to, she wanted it, and wanted it good. And though Jack set Will’s back against the wall like nothing short of a hurricane hurling a house at him, the man didn’t strike Will as cruel or malicious. “Your father is your father…”
“Sorry, Will.” The words were so low the clatter of Anamaria’s heels over the floor almost covered them up. But then she squatted down to hand him his coffee, and he could see that her face was…quiet. Sad and quiet.
It didn’t matter what the emotion was, but Anamaria would do it in full Technicolor fury. Normally. Seeing her so subdued hurt; Will’s fingers clenched around the mug. “Don’t be. I’m just an idiot, after all. I mean, what was I thinking? Was I going to swoop her away like some hero?”
“Well, you’ve always liked those the best.” A half-smile tugged at Anamaria’s lips as she referenced Will’s much-mocked taste in films. Her hand came to rest on his knee, then squeezed it before moving to his shoulder. “Can’t blame you that much. The way you and her met, it was kind of a lead-on.”
“Never knew you could be sweet,” Will laughed, though he was grateful for her attempt to make him feel better. Even if that did consist of transferring the blame to Elizabeth, which wasn’t entirely fair.
And God, what was he supposed to do about Norrington now? It was obvious that Elizabeth didn’t want help—didn’t want anything from Will, and would probably want even less from the man she’d thrown over. But short of Swann telling that to Norrington’s face, the man wasn’t going to believe that.
Actually, even if Elizabeth did tell James, he still might not believe her. Considering how incredibly upset he’d been…it was a mess.
“God, she’s lucky. Gets to go off and leave the rest of us in the shit.” Will leaned back just enough for him to be able to bring the mug to his lips.
The coffee whooshed through his system, washing away accumulated fatigue and blindness from the day and jump-starting his mind into something resembling practicality. Perfect timing, because there was a knock at the door.
“The hell…?” Frowning, Anamaria gestured for Will to stay down and went up front to answer it.
While she saw to whomever, he finished off his coffee and listened: her voice, muffled answer, more of her but more annoyed, another muffled answer. Then, loud and clear:
“I should slap you to China, girl.”
“I didn’t come here to fight.”
Will stared into his empty mug, hoping to find an explanation there. Unfortunately, that only worked when he was dead drunk, and he hated hangovers so that didn’t happen often. In the end, his newly-revived commonsense prodded him into standing up, taking the mug to the sink and rinsing it out, and then going to confirm that it was who he thought it was.
Elizabeth Swann was dressed down from the last time he’d had the chance for a good look at her, but she was also dry so her hair curled softly over her shoulders. It just about evened out.
She had to stand on her toes to look over Anamaria’s shoulder at him, but once she did, she smiled. Small and uncertain, very much not the blinding ease he’d seen from her before. “Ah…hi. I’m…I didn’t hit you, did I?”
“No. I’m pretty good at ducking.” Thanks to Anamaria, who was currently rolling eyes and lifting hands to heaven as she wheeled off to leave them to it. Will would’ve been a little worried by that, except at the last minute she gave him a quick smile—not the kind that meant hell, or heaven, but the kind that meant she’d still be around to help with the aftermath. Which, in his opinion, was probably worth more than the other two.
Once Anamaria was out of the way, Elizabeth came further into the garage so she was in the dim light cast by the lamp. She curiously scanned her surroundings, taking it all in with intelligent, thinking eyes. “You’re a mechanic.”
Since his hands didn’t seem to know what to do, Will put them in his pockets and braced his hip against the wall. He admired the way the light wove through Elizabeth’s hair, turning it sunshine even though it was well into the night. “Yeah.”
“I was wondering about that. You didn’t seem to match the car—I mean, your clothes—oh, this isn’t going to come out right no matter how I say it.” She seemed genuinely aggravated with herself, restlessly pacing the room and pulling at her hair. Then she stopped and turned back, presenting her front to him. Her throat was a creamy column, nearly glowing, and her eyes were liquid and…worried. “Thank you for giving me the ride. Without asking for an explanation.”
Will couldn’t quite keep the irony out of his smile. “You’re welcome. Anyway, I’ve been getting enough explanations ever since.”
Though none of them made up for the only one that mattered, only she could give that one. A flicker of that knowledge went through Elizabeth’s eyes as she blushed and dipped her head. She really was being too quiet, considering how people talked about her.
“I’m sorry if the police, or anyone else, has been giving you a hard time because of me. I didn’t mean to—I didn’t think.” Hand to her face, she peeked out just enough to throw him a look of weary self-reproach. “I never think. That’s what my father always told me. He didn’t mean it as an insult; he only wanted to protect me.”
And what exactly was it about him that made people spill out their verbal guts into his lap, Will wondered. First Norrington, now Elizabeth…maybe he should just surrender to the irony and become a priest. At least that way, he wouldn’t have nearly so many encounters with trouble.
That thought only lasted for a minute before he shrugged it off for its stupidity. He didn’t need Anamaria to tell him he didn’t have the temperament for the religious life; he liked intimacy with other people too much to give it up, even though it kept making his life hell. Even though he was shit at keeping it.
“You’re probably wondering why,” Elizabeth went on. Now she was drawing herself up, readying a defense against an attack she didn’t realize wasn’t coming. “I can’t stand it. People all say I’m wild, I’m a bad girl—I just want room to move.”
“I hear you didn’t leave a note.” Sympathy, however, went more ways than just to a pretty face. Things had to be said, Will was the only one who was in a position to say them, and he’d never get a decent night’s sleep again if he didn’t. “I hear your father misses you. And I—” he had to grin a little “—I know your fiancé misses you.”
She stiffened and stared hard at him. “James? He’s—Jack said—”
“He’s been looking for you. Not doing a good job of it, but then, he doesn’t know this end of town,” Will told her, tone as neutral as possible.
A shiver went from Elizabeth’s chin down to her toes, then ran back up so her arms jerked as she raked her fingers through her hair, tousling it. Then she turned away, but not before Will saw her face crumple a little. “I didn’t know what to say,” she whispered, holding a hand to her mouth. She whipped back around to look him straight in the eye and repeated herself. “I didn’t know how. How do you tell them—because I love them, both of them, but I can’t live where they can. And they can’t live where I need to.”
He hated to disappoint, but Will didn’t have an answer for her. In fact, he’d be surprised if she did find one—a good one—short of climbing some mountain and digging up a hermit. So he changed the subject. “So what are you doing here?”
Her shoulders jumped a little as she recollected herself, dropping her hands and then leaning against the wall so her fingertips were five inches from Will. “Oh. I asked Jack, afterward, because he seemed to know you too, and he told me a little about your father. He said if you were anything like Bootstrap, you were owed…something.” Wryness touched Elizabeth’s mouth. “Jack wouldn’t specify beyond that. He said I needed to figure it out for myself.”
“And what are you doing with him?” Will could smell alcohol and sweat and that peculiar prickling scent that he’d always figured was plain adrenaline, soaking out the skin after everything had slowed down. Or come to a crashing end, depending on the situation.
Elizabeth shrugged and splayed her fingers against the wall, idly moving them in a strangely rhythmic manner. After a second, he figured out that she was playing shadow-piano. “I was standing on the dock one night, a little too drunk and thinking about how my life was going to close down and choke after marriage, and…well, he showed up. He’s getting me out of here; we couldn’t do it right away because the police are checking everyone going in and out. But there’s a back way of some kind…I’ll be gone by tomorrow morning.”’
Those last words practically lilted out of her mouth, so hopeful and reaching, and Will suddenly felt his chest tighten on him. Bile surged and fell in the back of his throat—he was jealous. “Lucky.”
His bitterness startled her. “What?”
“Oh, what? You think you’re the only one that can dream? Well, you’re the one who can bankroll it.” He twisted away and stared at—at the engine peeping from beneath a propped-open hood. Because he loved messing around in those, but he wasn’t so blind as to say they were beautiful. They weren’t. They were oily and sharp-edged and rough and ugly, beautiful only in the way they came together in function. It was a good reminder. “Should’ve left the ring, by the way. That’s why they’re looking for you, mainly. Not Norrington, but his parents.”
“Those miserly cunts.” Derisive as Anamaria, Elizabeth lifted her left hand, pointedly held it so Will could see its unadorned state and then dug out something small and glittery from her purse. She flipped it at him hard enough for it to sting when he caught it.
Big white pearl, diamonds clustered all around. It really was a piece of work. “Weighs a ton.”
“I swear, I damaged my wrist trying to hold it up. Stupid antique.” But her eyes softened a bit as she stared at it. “Listen…I know I’m in no position to ask, but…would you do me one last favor?”
“Give this back?” Will guessed.
Elizabeth’s eyes danced. “Oh, no. It’s up to you what you do with that—Jack says it’s worth a million, easily. And I’m sure you know ways of making it unrecognizable so you can sell it. No, what I want—just let my father and James know, somehow, that this is what I want. That I’m sorry. That I’m happy now.”
“Tall order.” Will regarded the ring a little longer, then tucked it away in his pocket. He already knew what answer he was going to give, and when he looked up, it was obvious she knew as well.
She looked sorry about that, too. It made her seem fragile as she reached to cup his cheek, then to pull him down, but there was nothing delicate about how she kissed him. Slower, yes, and much less rushed than the first time—and better. Honest. Sweet. Harsh.
And not, in the end, what he wanted. The papers had gotten one thing right: she was a star. But she wasn’t the one he’d been wishing on all these years.
Someone knocked at the door. Will jerked away, then remembered. “Damn!”
“What?” Elizabeth was already withdrawing, curling up and throwing on the armor he recognized so easily from Anamaria—Anamaria, who was answering the door. Norrington answered back, and Elizabeth’s face blanched. “Oh, God.”
“Into the back.” Will went on reflex and seized her by the arm, dragging her into the backroom. He pushed her in and snapped off a few last words before he shut the door. “Go out the other door—that’ll put you in the alley. Left end gets you to the street.”
The lock clicked shut on her ‘thank you.’ And then Will had just enough time to slump against the door and ask himself what the hell did he just do before Anamaria came around the corner with Norrington in tow.
* * *
Thankfully, Anamaria refrained from asking uncomfortable questions and just got Will and Norrington settled in chairs before she retreated upstairs to the bedrooms. The engagement ring was a lead weight in Will’s pocket, pulling at his pants till he feared James might be able to see the outline of it against the fabric.
God, he was being paranoid. “So…”
“Did you find her?” James had showered and changed sometime between the morning and now, but he still looked like eager hell. When Will parted his lips to speak, the other man leaned forward like a hound straining at the leash.
So Will closed his mouth. Thought very carefully about what he had to say and how he was going to say it. “I talked to people. I don’t know where she is, but I can tell you now, under any oath you choose, that she left of her own free will. She’s sorry about how abrupt it was—about any pain she caused, but she doesn’t want anyone to come after her.”
That rocked James back. He stared at Will, emotionless and intense, head tilted at a very slight angle. It was eerie.
It didn’t last long. “That can’t be all.”
“Look—” Will started, but Norrington was out of his seat and Will had to throw up his arms.
But they hit air. The other man stopped himself just short of Will, muscles twitching with the effort. Norrington’s jaw shook as he drew an unsteady breath, then went still as he returned to his seat. “What about the rumors about Jack Sparrow?”
“Elizabeth’s doing what she wants. It doesn’t matter—”
“It does to me! What—what could he possibly have—he’s a wanted criminal!” James’ eyes had gone unfocused with rage and his hands, though intercepted at the last second by Will, were pressing Will hard. His fingers were stretching past Will’s hands, straining—then knotting in Will’s shirt. “What could he have?”
It was frightening to look at Norrington, eyes white-green lightning in a bone-pale, bone-hard face. It was…there was no way the man was like this normally, was like this with other people, Will suddenly realized. If he was snapping now, it was because he had to hold himself together in front of everyone else. And if he wasn’t holding himself together in front of Will, then it was because he didn’t think Will was worth the effort of being polite.
A snarl crawled up Will’s throat. He pushed back, and kept pushing till he was on his feet, with the chair between him and Norrington. “You’re missing the goddamn point. She wanted it. Whatever it was—is—she wants that. Not you. And frankly, I can’t blame her because you’re being such a—”
Later, Will never did figure out whether James was actually taking a swing at him, or whether it was just the shadows tricking his eye. Anyway, it didn’t matter because he reacted and he did so with a punch that caught James in the shoulder. And then Norrington was slapping Will’s arm away and kicking the chair aside, expression a rictus of broken temper, and Will knew damned well he was outnumbered.
Jesus, he’d let the lady go and here he was, still acting like her knight. Blocking Norrington’s next blow and then dropping low, rushing the man in hopes that he could be caught off-guard.
And Norrington was. They went down in a crash that jarred Will’s knees, elbows and back, so the other man had to be feeling it even worse. But Will’s instincts wouldn’t let him stop there; he breathed past the stunned blurry vision and scrambled till he had Norrington squarely pinned. “What the hell is wrong with you? You asked why—because she doesn’t want to marry you! Because she doesn’t want to live the way you do, the way her father does, because she wanted to leave! I told you! What else do you want, a heavenly revelation?”
“I want her apology! On her knees and—oh, God.” Norrington growled that like a pitbull about to set upon another dog. Then horror suddenly flushed through his eyes and his head went back. Hit itself a few times against the floor before Will, anger grinding to worry, grabbed at James to make him stop. The man did, but then tried to buck Will off. “Let go.”
“Not until I think you’re sane again.” Will realized he was panting hard enough to feel the burn in his throat. He raised one hand to wipe the sweat out of his eyes and then put it back on James’ shoulder to keep the man down. “And I’ve got a question. Why the hell are you dropping this all on me?”
His other hand was cupping the side of James’ face, which was twisted in a harsh grimace of disgust at many things. One breath, two breaths lifting Will, and then James rolled his head to the side with eyes closed. “Because you seem to be the only one that doesn’t blame her.”
“That’s really fucking funny, considering what you just said.” God, with the racket they’d made, Anamaria had to have heard. Though Will could perfectly understand if she just decided she’d done all she could and left him to work out things himself. She wasn’t his mother—she was his friend.
At the moment, James seemed like he’d never known what that was. He merely nodded, eyes still shut, and took a long, ragged breath.
Will sat back and waited for him to speak again, but when a fifteen-count had passed and nothing had been said, Will’s patience came to an end. He was tired—he regularly stayed up later than this, but the past few hours had felt like they were whole days in and of themselves, and he was exhausted. His head hurt, his back hurt, his knees felt like murder…he didn’t want any more excitement and change. All he wanted now was a good long nap, and in the morning he’d take care of everything else.
“You’ve got some pride,” Will said.
Self-loathing drained what little color was left from James’ face. “I know. I just—you have seen her again, haven’t you? Talked to her? She’s nothing like what people say, everything like what they say—she’s something you can’t buy. She’s a gift. And I thought—I thought that I was the lucky recipient.”
It looked like Norrington was going to be quiet now, so Will carefully loosened his grip. When the other man didn’t seem to register that, Will leaned back and started to get off. That got James’ attention enough to make him sit up and—he really seemed to like taking people by the shoulders. Or maybe it was just Will, since Will apparently was his designated whipping-boy as well.
No, that was unfair. Pride was a funny thing, and it could shatter in funny ways. And though Norrington couldn’t help the style of his unbringing, it did seem like he was trying to anyway. He kept apologizing to Will, and he sounded sincere about it. Even if he then went and did the same kind of thing again.
“When she left, it was like losing a piece of the sky.” The day had taken its toll on Norrington as well, to judge by how he was slumping over Will. His hold on Will’s shoulder was more for support than to really keep Will in place, a minor plea while the major one rested in James’ downcast eyes. “God, I’m sorry. I am being—this isn’t your problem.”
“It might as well be now.” Will sighed and rocked back onto his heels, watching the other man. Previously stiff and well-groomed with pomade, Norrington’s hair was now falling into his face. It took years off of him, bringing him almost to Will’s age. “I was telling the truth. And you know, if you didn’t know her well enough to notice she wasn’t happy—”
“Why do you think I’m so upset? I can’t figure out whether I ever did love a real woman, or only a mask.” James glanced up so Will could see the naked hurt in those eyes, which really were rather remarkable. If it had worked out, Norrington and Swann would’ve made a very pretty couple.
But Will did have to wonder how happy they would’ve been, marrying under false pretenses and then having to live together. How long would it have taken them to dig out the truth from each other? Probably well after they’d wasted their capacity for adaptation and compromise.
“Just let her go,” Will finally told James. He flicked a lock out of the man’s eyes to get his attention, but the piece of hair swung right back. Vaguely irritated, Will stroked it back.
His fingers were trapped against James’ temple as James stared, wide and wondering and unsure, at him. Then James moved his hand to Will’s wrist, and then to join his other one on Will’s shoulders. He hissed in about a quarter of a breath before pulling Will forward.
And Elizabeth was there in echoes. James’ teacher, maybe. But it was already diverging and going into James’ own taste, smell, way of moving his lips and his tongue and his hands where they squeezed on Will. No surprise that he pushed faster and harder than Elizabeth had, moaning even before Will got his hands up between them. Head tilted, eyelashes long enough to occasionally graze Will’s face, James shifted to hook an arm over Will’s neck just in time for Will to nudge the other man over.
No, it wasn’t easy. Will hated being a gentleman when things were this sweet, but he could also taste desperation in James’ mouth, and he’d lost his liking for that. So he slid his hands to James’ shoulders and brought his weight down on those so James stayed back against the floor while Will pulled away.
“Look, I can’t do this for you. I’m not her. I’m not your—your private detective, or your guide in the slums, or anything, really. Except Will Turner, and that’s not what you want.” Will resisted the urge to lick his lips, which were starting to feel as sore as the rest of him. “Go home. Go to bed. And tomorrow, start looking for someone else.”
Then he got off of Norrington before James’ reaction was fully visible and walked out. The cars were waiting for him, familiar and reliable, so Will unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves, then ducked beneath a hood. He made enough of a rattle so that he didn’t hear Norrington leaving, except for the sound of the door closing.
And after that, Will did shower and go to bed, though he didn’t sleep for a long, long time.
* * *
Breakfast wasn’t exactly awkward, but neither was it something that Will wanted to repeat. Nevertheless things had to be laid out on the table and looked at, so he got settled with his pancakes across from Anamaria and prepared himself.
She shot first, of course. She always did have better reflexes than him. “Never met your father, but I ran with Sparrow for a while, and Sparrow always talked kindly of him. Said he was the one real friend Jack had ever had.”
“What did you do? I mean really, Anamaria. What footed your bills?” He drizzled syrup over the plate, then reached for the powdered sugar, whereupon he found that they were out. Grocery shopping later, he supposed.
“Oh, this and that. Alcohol. Guns, sometimes. Sugar—depended on which trade embargo we were running.” Anamaria had all but finished her own plate, and was now daintily scraping up the remaining bits with her fork. The tines traced swoops through the plate’s syrup coating, which gradually filled back in, like lines drawn in the sand at the waterline. “Filling a need, Jack called it. Never got into the harder fields—cocaine, what-have-you. That’s why he had to stop. Some of his men wanted to.”
It wasn’t the usual story heard around here, and she didn’t tell it in her usual scathing style. If anything, Anamaria sounded…respectful. Which more than anything completed Will’s opinion on Jack, because there was very, very little in the world that Anamaria would not only respect, but let it be known that she respected it.
“Elizabeth said she and Jack will be gone—they should be gone by now. Morning, she said. Didn’t say where.” Here, on the other hand, was known and grayish in the dawn light and not at all what Will wanted. Frowning, he forked up food while he thought things over in his mind.
Hopefully Anamaria wouldn’t take his next suggestion as a sign of his continuing obsession with Elizabeth, because he didn’t have one. He just wanted to leave. He wanted to get out and go where the lines between districts and people and classes weren’t so damn…well, familiar to him. There were separations everywhere, but they weren’t all the same, and now Elizabeth had shown him, however indirectly, that often they were localized. Maybe he couldn’t find a place without any cages, but at least he could keep moving through them.
“I want to go.” Will saw the protest and the confusion warring on Anamaria’s face and held up a hand quick to forestall it all. “No, listen. I stayed here because of my parents, but…I don’t think I can really stand it here. Not now. And it has—well, Swann gave me the idea, but otherwise it’s got nothing to do with her.”
She shut her mouth and crossed her arms over her chest, silently inviting further explanation.
Well, Will wasn’t really sure what she was looking for, since he’d said just about everything he thought he needed to say about himself. “Ah…hey, didn’t you say once your family was from New Orléans?”
One corner of her mouth went up. “Yeah.”
“Wanna show me around the city? Since I’m, well, hopelessly romantic and apt to get into trouble and all,” Will wheedled, starting to smile himself.
Shaking her head, Anamaria got up, but not before Will had glimpsed her smile. She picked up her dishes and headed for the sink to do the scrubbing. “Damn straight you are. Shit, if I weren’t ‘round to watch you, you’d probably do something ass-stupid like fall in love.”
“Not much chance of that,” Will snorted. Then he laughed and stood himself, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Jesus. If I were even a little less moral, I could’ve at least gotten some sex out of it. But no, I’m the nice guy, so I get to stay put with the frustrated hard-on.”
Someone knocked at the door. Anamaria’s head shot up, shoulders dropping, and she held that tense-cat pose for a long second. Then she bent again to her scrubbing, pausing once to wave a sudsy hand at Will’s dishes. “I’ll take care of that. Go see who it is.”
She had some peculiar instincts—accurate, always, but damned peculiar. Nevertheless, Will refrained from questioning her on her odd tone and got up to do as she’d said. Considering everything else that’d gone on in the past few days, it couldn’t possibly be anything shocking to him.
* * *
It figured that Will would be as dead-wrong about that as he was about everything else. Norrington was back on the step, one eye ringed with the same rich blue-black as the skin of a plum. But aside from that, he looked surprisingly good. Less skeletal, less wrung-out and more put-together.
“I’d rather not talk here,” the man said, staying well out of Will’s range. “Can we—are you free for a short drive?”
Will blinked to stall for time while he considered his options. Given the background of the situation, ‘a short drive’ could mean anything from a brisk, business-like chat over coffee to a nice new bed at the bottom of the bay. While he didn’t figure James for the latter type, he already knew that the man could snap in some very unpredictable ways.
His hesitation must have shown despite his care, because James offered a small, strained smile and a clarifying statement. “I don’t intend to hurt you in any way. I simply want to talk. On neutral ground, so…”
“Yeah, last night wasn’t exactly…” Will muttered, scratching at the back of his head. He frowned and took a closer look at James’ black eye. “And it doesn’t seem to have gotten any better for you.”
The other man winced, then turned so the dawn light flushed his pale-colored suit with rich color. His smile turned a little wistful, a little contrite as he stared over the road. “I know you were talking to Elizabeth just before I came.”
And Will stiffened like an old corpse. It figured that the one time he could use a weapon, he’d leave the gun upstairs and the wrenches too far for him to grab.
One of James’ eyes flicked over to glance at him, then returned to gazing at the road. “She stayed, it seems. Listened to us. And dropped by later to give me a much-needed scolding and…and a good-bye.” He absently massaged at his bruised face. “Which was considerably sweeter than this.”
“Yeah, she seems to specialize in that.” After all, she’d sucker-punched Will in her way about as hard as it looked that she’d hit James. Maybe Swann wasn’t even a girl; the old dockhands still murmured stories about sirens and their songs, which after one hearing would leave a man discontented with everything. Make him just drop his life and walk off into the unknown.
But then again, that feeling had been building in Will long before he’d ever stopped to give a girl a lift, so he couldn’t lay all the blame on Elizabeth.
“If this is a bad time, I can come back later,” James quietly said, eyes flickering to Will again. “I really would like to speak with you.”
Somehow, Will still doubted that that was all, but his commonsense must have been too worn-out by previous events to raise a finger, because he found himself replying, “No, I can go. Let me—uh, inform my partner.”
God knew what he told Anamaria, since his mouth and his brain had definitely suffered a disconnect by that point. Pure reflexes got Will into his coat, since the breeze was up, and out the door, and by the time his reason returned, he and James were miles away. Parked on top of a relatively deserted cliff, watching the sun gild the waves.
James was leaning against the back passenger door, hat off and tie loosened. He didn’t look at Will, who was sitting with his legs out of the open front passenger door. “I’m sorry for the way I’ve acted towards you. It’s been grossly unfair; I’ve been using you as a scapegoat.”
Will opened his mouth to reply, but shut it when he saw that the other man wasn’t yet done. That was a relief for him, since he’d never been especially good with that kind of response.
“You were…I don’t know. I don’t—I never act like how I did. If you’d seen me anywhere else, with anyone else, you wouldn’t have recognized me. I treat my house servants better than I treated you, and I’m almost certain that a few of them helped Elizabeth run.” Then James glanced down, fumbled with his pockets to produce his lighter and a cigarette-holder that had seen barely any use, though the date engraved on it was some years ago. He offered one to Will, who said to hell with being well-scrubbed and took it. When James lit up, he coughed a little. “I acted like my father.”
Those words were almost clouded by the smoke and the slight choking, but Will caught enough of them to reconstruct their meaning. He sucked on his cigarette and gave the self-hatred now in James’ face a good, long look.
“I’m sorry,” James repeated, smoking his cigarette quick and fast.
“If it makes you feel any better, your suspicions weren’t completely wrong.” Shrugging, Will knocked off the accumulated ash from his cigarette and dragged till it was half-gone. “And I seem to get that response from a lot of people. I must look like a good listener, or something.”
James wasn’t even half-done with his smoke, but he stubbed it out on a nearby rock with a savage twist, then flung the butt off the cliff. His face briefly twisted in one hell of a self-recrimination jaunt. “That doesn’t excuse me. Elizabeth was right to leave.”
“Right for her, but—for God’s sake, you can’t hold yourself responsible for other people. I met her, too, remember? And I have a hard time believing that any man could match her. Well, maybe Sparrow, but he’s ‘dead’ and a legend to boot, so he’s different.” Being a confessor certainly wasn’t a job Will had ever wanted, but if he had to be one, he might as well give it a good try. When James swung back his way, Will grabbed for the man’s hand. “And look, you apologized. That’s a hell of a lot more than I get from most people. You exploded on me, I helped your girlfriend blow out of town—just call it even.”
For a second, James simply stared at Will. “You’re entirely too good for this.”
And then Will’s back hit the front seat, various car parts gouging into him while his legs did some stupid flailing around the man that was squeezing between them. His hand flapped around till he found the top of the seat—took a bit because James’ tongue was one damned good distraction—and then he tried to yank himself up, to push the other man off. By that time, however, James had his hands fisted in Will’s coat and limbs were tangled, so all Will really accomplished was flipping them half-over. Then he had to slam a palm against the dash to keep from falling into the foot-space; James took that as a sign to scoot further into the car, going completely under Will. The hands crumpling Will’s coat reknotted themselves beneath it, clawing at Will’s back.
Tasted much better than last night. And now James was completely focused, mind fully on the task at hand, so even though he clearly hadn’t done this much, he more than made up for it with his concentration. It was flattering in a weird, sad way. Sad because it was that much more obvious that James was mostly trying to have sex with a woman: his knees and thighs ground what felt like an impressive piece of work into Will’s leg, but completely missed Will’s own reluctantly rising cock, and he kept running one hand down around Will’s side to Will’s chest, fingers slightly curved like he was expecting breasts.
Eventually James had to stop for air, and that was when Will got his hand between them. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I have no idea.” He had very green, very wide eyes. “I just—you aren’t expecting anything. Do you know how rare that is? You never seem to be surprised that I’m—angry, or sad, or—or desperate for something that—”
“It’s called being a person,” Will muttered, running his tongue over his lips. They were already tender.
James shifted beneath him so one knee finally slid up against Will’s prick. Will made the tactical error of groaning at that.
Brow furrowed, James repeated the motion and watched with something suspiciously close to delight as Will melted a bit. “Did—do you like that?”
“Oh, Jesus.” Whatever forces or gods Will had offended, he was now offering sincere apologies. Because this was just too much. “Look, I can’t—”
The green burned lighter. “This is not about her. For once,” James hissed, pulling Will back down.
And it was back to fucking up everything, only this time Will was very much not in control. Apparently James learned fast from his mistakes, because now he was trying everything and anything, hands running all over Will like the man’d never come across another human being before. He had Will’s shirt flapping open before Will had even regained his breath and was taking devastatingly tentative licks at Will’s chest.
“You did say to find someone else,” James said. Possibly. Will’s hearing wasn’t transmitting much besides rustling and moaning and the shiver of skin moving against skin. Stupid things that they were, Will’s hands had gotten into the front of James’ trousers.
“Have you thought about this at all?” Will snapped back, just as his fingers finished working James’ fly open. Like a true hypocrite, he followed up his words with a stab at diving down James’ throat.
He was, admittedly, more furious than sympathetic now, and so he wasn’t very gentle. In the back of his mind there was some notion of bringing James to his senses by making it hurt, by showing the rich sheltered prick that the real thing wasn’t his flowery stilted nonsense, but hard and imperfect and rough. But when he ground his knee down, James bent up into him and moved like a calling, when he bit at the pale throat it pressed into his teeth…when his fingers held up the tube of grease he’d left in his coat pocket, James closed his eyes and let his knees fall apart. Then Will broke.
Then he calmed down a little, just enough to slick his way into the man’s tight-silk body, to pet uselessly at the bruises and red marks he’d just left all over James. There were scratches all down Will’s back now from James’ nails, and they itched against the sweat-sodden fabric of Will’s shirt, which clung till Will’s movements ripped it into shifting. James’ face was squeezed into a pained grimace, but his hands kneaded Will’s hips like a baker working dough, and he wouldn’t allow Will to let up the pace. It was hurried, and raw, and apparently, that was what James wanted. So Will gave it to him.
When they’d both come, Will seized the steering wheel with one hand and hung above James, panting and waiting. The other man was still recovering from his spasm, trembling slower and slower while Will stroked his cheek. “I think I feel better being who I am around you, than the who I pretend to be around everyone else,” James answered. “Aside from the…false accusations and the…but that wasn’t all of it.”
“No. You were nice a few times,” Will acknowledged. “But you know, if it takes being around me to make you be that, then it’s just as much pretending as what you do around everyone else.”
He didn’t want to say it, but he had to, if only for his own sanity. He wasn’t a saint, and he was tired of settling for second-best. Maybe it wasn’t about Elizabeth now, but it still wasn’t about Will Turner and James Norrington.
James seemed to understand that. His eyes closed again, and he turned his head to kiss Will’s hand, but didn’t otherwise touch Will. “Did I ever thank you? Properly?”
Will swallowed hard against the rise of clenching pain from gut to throat, then pulled out and got off James. “Just…take me back. It’s too damned complicated now for that.”
And James nodded in acquiescence.
Anamaria was waiting on the curb, one hand to the sky so she could check her new gold nails while she leaned against her and Will’s car. Bulky shadows in the back seat showed that, as always, she was one saucy step ahead.
“I’m sorry,” James said one last time, staring straight ahead while Will slid out the door.
“So am I.” Will thought about saying something else, about maybe giving the man the same kind of kiss Elizabeth had given him, but he didn’t feel up to it. It wasn’t in him, and anyway, by the time he’d figured that out, James’ car was a dot on the horizon.
The sound of heels on concrete made Will finally turn from the road. “Come on,” Anamaria said, taking him by the arm. “Don’t wanna be late for this.”
“Nah.” But Will couldn’t help staring back down the road.
* * *
About two months later, he stepped out of the whirlwind that was New Orléans life to mail an envelope. It had nothing in it except a bulge in one corner, but after a moment’s hesitation, he did put down his real return address.
Six months after that, he walked outside to see James standing on the curb, dubiously eying the street vagrants that were watching his beautiful new car like vultures. There was a familiar piece of paper sticking out of James’ coat pocket, and the man was wearing two engagement rings on the fourth finger of his left hand.
“It’s making odd clicking noises.” James stiffly gestured at the hood.
And it took a moment for Will to get it. Then he snorted and shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “I’m not in the car-repair business any more.”
“I know. You’ve earned a bit of a name for yourself.” The other man darted a quick but thoroughly assessing look at Will’s suit, which was fresh from the tailor’s. “My mother insisted on having nothing but your ironwork for her new summer house.”
Will had to ask. “Did you go after her?”
With a shrug, James stepped away from the car and up to Will. “As far as I know, she’s dazzling New York. But I haven’t seen her.”
“This isn’t going to work,” Will muttered, reaching into his pocket. He brought out two cigarettes and a lighter.
When he bent forward to light James’, the man grabbed his hand. “Are you going to look at the car or not?”
A slight grin crept onto Will’s face, and he could see a corresponding sag of relief in the set of James’ shoulders. “For old times’ sake, I suppose I could. It’s close to five, and there’s a nice Creole place around the corner—”
“Yes. And not for old times’ sake,” James instantly replied, burning holes through Will with his eyes. He squeezed Will’s hand once before dropping it and stepping back, but he didn’t stop looking at Will. It made the cloudy day suddenly bright.
***