try_corsets | (no subject)

(no subject)

Enough is eventually enough.

It wasn't a lie, Elizabeth thinks to herself as she crosses the short stretch of beach, boots sinking into the sand. She ignores the soft hum of conversation on the evening breeze, too intent on her purpose to be annoyed at the way the fine weather drives many patrons outside. Not exactly.

Will had been busy in the forge all day, forcing them to wait until evening for their practice session. Swords had been followed by a tense supper, and when Will offered to read aloud or find some other amusement for them -- anything to get her actively engaged in their time together -- she pled exhaustion and a headache, a move as unlike her as her recent silence. Elizabeth had stayed in her room a total of thirty minutes before sneaking outside, unable to bear inaction another moment.

Eyes trained on the Pearl, Elizabeth considers her options. Uninvited boarding hadn't gone very well last time, so she opts for the more polite route. Mostly.

"Captain Sparrow," she calls out, a curious mixture of request and demand. "Jack, are you there?"

The trick is to get on board before anyone gets close enough to notice.

It was a lie.

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Having failed to engage Elizabeth's interest again, Will had retired to his room. A room which, as it happens and in common with most rooms in Milliways, looks out over the lake.

And he's looking out of the window thoughtfully when he sees a figure standing by the lake, addressing the ship.

And there's no way William Turner to mistake the way that person carries herself.

He stands by the window and watches.

The knuckles on Jack's hand -- his left hand -- show white as his grip tightens on the rope, but his grin flashes all the same.

"Presents? I love presents!"

A beat, and then he drawls,

"Come aboard if you're coming, Lizzie. I'll not say it again."

Elizabeth smiles with satisfaction, an expression which does not wholly reach her eyes, and sets about doing just that. With agility and grim determination, she lands on the deck before him and straightens, eyes on his.

"Hello, Jack." The greeting is admittedly unnecessary, and she fails to keep a note of triumph out of her voice. "I thought the burden of my presence might be sweetened by this."

A bottle of rum is pulled from her pocket; she'd asked for the best, and Bar never fails to provide for her favorite pirate.

He doesn't need to be close to the encounter to recognise a bottle, nor to know that it contains rum for the benefit of Jack.

Will doesn't drink much, but he had noticed the occasional remark about Elizabeth and rum, and never quite understood why.

Now she's left Will to bring a bottle of it to Jack, and he thinks he understands.

He reaches out and takes it from her, studying the bottle before he glances up at her again.

"Seems like you know me well, at that." Jack shrugs, and uncorks the bottle-- then offers it right back to her.

"Drink up."

And you know me better than I would like, Elizabeth thinks, accepting the bottle without a word. She eyes it uncertainly before giving in and taking a drink.

It's promptly pressed back into Jack's hands.

"Jack-"

Now that she's here, she's not sure how to begin. She gives an uneasy chuckle, almost apologetic for her lack of words, and walks across the deck, fingers trailing over repaired wood and pieces of rope.

Inevitably, she looks to the mast and capstan, and freezes. It's not the memory of Jack's death that steals her breath; rather, it's the memory of her own, when Jack left her to die in her dream.

Jack's gaze follows hers, unerringly, and there's a sudden dangerous tension to his silence.

Deliberately, he tips the bottle of rum up for a long swallow, then lowers it again, watching her.

She hears the swish of rum against the bottle as he drinks, and she's more aware than ever of the lack of salt in the air or on their skin; and she can't help but notice the gentle waves lapping the ship far more gently than the sea ever would.

This isn't right.

Steeling her nerves, she looks to shore and quietly asks, "Why haven't you told anyone what I did?"

His reply is both instant and pointed.

"Why haven't you?"

She slides him an impatient, flat look that seems to say, Why do you THINK?

"What purpose would it serve," she snaps without a great deal of heat, "before we are able to bring you back?"

Step by carefully placed step, she moves closer.

"You haven't answered my question," she points out, low and cajoling.

Jack glances pointedly around the deck before looking back at her.

"Doesn't seem as though I've gone anywhere at all, now does it, Lizzie?"

Despite her advancing on him, he's standing very still.

Elizabeth continues forward, refusing to look away now lest her eyes betray deeper emotions.

"Not yet," she manages through clenched teeth. "But we will bring you back to where you belong."

It's a promise and a prayer, wrapped in stubbornness and her firm belief that she and Will can make it happen. She's driven hard by the need to ease her own mind.

When only a small distance remains between them, she stops, dropping her eyes to his left wrist. She swallows and starts to reach out her hand, then quickly draws it back again.

Will tries to turn away from the window. he doesn't need to see this. He doesn't want to see this. But as before, he find himself frozen, staring.

His heart pounds audibly in the quiet of his room.

"Think again, Lizzie." There's real danger in the low, harsh sound of his voice-- and a promise of real violence, as well.

Jack looks down at her (again) from just a little distance away.

"I won't be so easily caught this time, savvy?"

His words hang ominously in the resulting silence. Elizabeth is equally still, her breathing loud in her own ears, and there's real sadness in her eyes when she meets his -- sadness, but also an unmistakable resolve.

"Despite the evidence presented by some, pirate is not synonymous with fool."

Very deliberately, she extends her other hand to the side, toward the rum.

He brings the bottle up between them with a single swift moment, still watching her.

Aside from that, Jack remains almost unnaturally still-- poised, even.

Waiting.

Careful not to brush his fingers, she pulls the bottle from his grasp and indulges in a long drink.

Someone laughs on shore, the sort of cackle that hints at too much alcohol and sets your teeth on edge.

Having made a sort of competition out of it in her own mind, Elizabeth refuses to be the first to look away, even as she struggles with the urge to turn and glare at the person laughing.

She can't remember the last time she laughed like that.

It's the laugh that makes Will wrench himself away from the view, leaning against the wall and staring straight ahead.

Laughter.

His heart is pounding so hard it hurts. Like it might tear out of his chest.

And somehow he can't make himself angry.

As she lifts the bottle, Jack puts all his weight on the line he's holding, using it to pull himself up. One step, a leap and a twist, and then he's standing on the Pearl's railing and leaning back against the lower quarterdeck wall.

Now out of reach, Jack hooks both thumbs into his belt and grins lazily at Elizabeth.

Face impassive, Elizabeth watches and wonders at the way his lazy grin cuts more deeply than his retreat. Long denied and trivialized guilt surfaces, mingling with her desire to move, to act, to solve this infuriating puzzle. He hasn't answered the query she thought so important, but suddenly that doesn't matter anymore. She nods: Have it your way. For now.

Jack has answered more questions than he realizes; or perhaps Elizabeth has simply found her own answers. Answers or not, she briefly contemplates pushing him from the railing to the lake below. That, she thinks, smiling to herself, would wipe the grin from his face.

The bottle of rum is still mostly full and makes a sloshing sound as she leaves it on the quarterdeck stairs. Jack gets another look, neither long nor meaningful, and Elizabeth quietly lowers herself over the railing and down the side of the ship.

She has things to do and a witch to see.

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