An Affair With History (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} historic_affair) wrote,@ 2008-06-20 17:35:00 |
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Title: An Affair With History
Authors: GoldenGardenias and SunsetDawn20
Rating: PG to NC-17
This Chapter: PG
Summary: This is the second chapter of our Pirates of the Caribbean/Master and Commander crossover fic; filled with various pairings. To learn more, visit the site for this story. HERE
This Chapter: Captain Norrington is still having speech problems. And another awkward meeting between he and his knew lieutenant is interrupted by a young blacksmith.
A/N: Blue parts are written by GoldenGardenias, Brown by SunsentDawn20.
Previous chapters can be found here.
It was a hot day in Port Royal. The air was heavy and thick, almost unbearable. Most people stayed in their houses if they could afford it and those who couldn’t simply looked miserable. Just like James, who was walking along the docks, deep in thoughts. But it was not the hot air or even his heavy clothing that made him brood but the letter he had hidden in the pocket of his coat. A letter he wrote the night before. A letter he would have to deliver soon or preferably have delivered by a messenger. To a man he barely knew. A man he was determined to keep at a great distance. A man whose eyes had frightened him.
He was so lost in his thoughts of the day before and his embarrassing meeting with the new Lieutenant that he walked straight into someone standing in front of him, looking at a ship. James wanted to apologize, but once again found himself unable to speak as he looked into those mysterious eyes he so desperately wanted to forget forever.
Tom was not a clumsy man by nature, but it seemed around his new Captain, he was unable to be anything but. This moment was no exception. Because of the unbearable heat, and working over the glare of the water, most of the other sailors had shed some of their layers, as to be practical. Some were merely in their breeches, other's in shirt or vest. Tom was in his shirt, breeches, stockings, and shoes. Attempting to still look semi formal with his shirt a bit undone, and his skin glistening with sweat.
The moment he realized it was James who'd run into him, he attempted to turn swiftly and salute his commanding officer. Only to stumble over a coil of rope that he's just finished piling, and sending himself over the edge of the dock and into the water. The other sailors and officers found this highly amusing. Clapping and cheering for him, and as he surfaced, blushing brightly, they began to laugh, going back to their work all the same. He looked up at Captain Norrington from the water, taking a breath before saying.
"I'm sorry sir. I shouldn't be so careless." He said, blaming it on himself, avoiding the fact that James had been the one to startle him in the first place. He grabbed hold of the dock, pulling himself to slop up like a fish on deck.
James was still so shocked at seeing (and almost drowning) the other man that he simply froze and couldn’t even move to help him. By the time he was half ways working properly again, Tom was already out of the water, completely drenched and obviously just as embarrassed as James himself. There were a million things James wanted to do that moment, like offering help, or apologize, because, honestly this fiasco had nothing to do with the other man’s clumsiness, or just greet Tom properly for that matter, something he hadn’t done once since they had met. And at least half a dozen of other things that were completely unthinkable and revolting.
Instead he just stared at the other man, desperately trying not to let his gaze wander lower than Tom’s hair – which seemed to be the only part of his face that was safe to look at, considering the other options were those deep frighteningly intense eyes, those very red lips, and slightly flushed cheeks – God, this was a nightmare. So James, not trusting his voice, did the first decent thing that came to his mind – he reached into his pocket and rather unceremoniously held out that carefully constructed letter to Tom.
At this point, Tom was certain James would never speak to him. He stood quickly, attempting to brush himself off... rather uselessly. He took the letter, and nodded his head.
"Thank you, sir." He said, before opening it, and reading it. Then reading it over... and once more just in case. He looked up quickly, eyes bright and hopeful. "Really? Oh, I'd be delighted Captain. It's a great honour. I ... I... Thank you!" He was grinning reaching out and taking hold of James' hand shaking it firmly. "And I was so positive you could not stand me! With the way you cannot bear to look at me... I..." He let out a breath. "I was so worried. I thought perhaps my scar... but... then... um... I'm sorry, I'm rambling. It's just... such a weight off my shoulders to know that... you don't... you know... hate me already..." He could feel his cheeks flushing again.
It was positively endearing how this young man started to ramble and blush at an invitation to what would undoubtedly be one of the dullest evenings of his life and James found himself fighting the small, shy smile that desperately wanted to make an appearance. He was saved from that though as Tom grabbed his hand to shake it. It was such a simple gesture but it made James unable to breathe. Touching that hand felt like he had been hit by a jolt of lightning, and he found himself wanting, craving, needing that touch and more.
He couldn’t take it anymore and swiftly pulled his hand away as if it had been burned. This was terrible, why couldn’t he act normal around this man? And it only got worse when he spotted an all too familiar figure approaching them with determined steps. Will. It was too late to do anything about it except pray that this meeting would pass as painless as possible – a feeble hope considering how all the others went since that catastrophic afternoon James regretted for two reasons. Firstly because he let it go so far that he ended up with a very aroused and very beautiful blacksmith in his arms and secondly because he was strong enough to defeat his desire to protect Will.
“Jam- Captain Norrington. May I… may I have a word?” Will asked as soon as he was near enough. This could not be happening. No, not now, not with Tom there, James thought. He would see. How could he not see the desperate longing and broken light in those brown, innocent eyes of Will? It was so obvious. He would see, he would know everything. James could not bring himself to think why he cared so much.
“No, Mr. Turner, you may not. This is not the best time to discuss… the sword I ordered from you. But I will come to you tomorrow morning if you think it’s so urgent that you have to disturb my conversation with Lieutenant Pullings.”
He didn’t really mind that the word “conversation” was the exaggeration of the year, because frankly, he hadn’t yet said a single word to the young man but all James cared about that moment was to make Will leave as soon as possible, hopefully without him doing anything stupid.
"William Turner?" Tom smiled softly, holding out his hand to the blacksmith. "I was told you were the man to go to for any commissions." He said, attempting to be as friendly as possible, even though his feathers felt a bit ruffled around the lad.
He didn't know why, though. The lad was not much younger than he... though prettier by far, he was sure. No wonder James could spare words for Will, but not bear to look at his scarred face. Something in his eyes changed as he looked between the two. Ah, there it was. He felt a pang of guilt pass through him for the emotions he'd poured out for a man who most obviously had higher sights set on chocolate eyed puppies, not an old salted sea dog.
"I should... change..." He finally managed, looking down in attempt to hide the feeling that he'd just been slapped. He looked like what could only be described as a kicked puppy, looking up at the two between long brown lashes. "May I take my leave, sir?"
In his, not at all unfounded, worry over Will doing something terribly stupid, James didn’t notice Tom’s sudden mood-swing until he heard that simple and very common sentence spoken in a tone that spoke of too many and deep emotions. James fought the urge to make Tom stay, what would that be good for? He would only embarrass himself more than he already had. But it hurt to think that he had not only offended the young man with his rudeness numerous times in less than two days but now had also managed to hurt him unknowingly.
He wanted to apologize for whatever he had done but he couldn’t possibly have done anything in Will’s presence so just nodded slightly, partly hoping that he would have a chance later to make up for his mistakes and partly desperately trying to be happy that his own foolish reactions made anything dangerous impossible in the future.
Tom looked at the note a moment, before moving away to grab his things, leaving it behind on the crate where his things had been. "Sir." He nodded, then looked to Will, "Mister Turner, it was a pleasure to meet you." He said politely. In truth, he was a smart man. He got the feeling James was uncomfortable with the Turner boy in public. And even though he knew he should not feel as he did for James especially now... but yet, those feelings were still clear as day. And he was mentally beating himself up about it.
All the same, he'd left the note as a way for James to escape, if he saw fit. He bit his lower lip, unable to stop the memories of life aboard the HMS Surprise. How Jack would brush against him just so, or stand with their sides pressed together as they'd look over a map... Or how Jack would always seat him to his right, and touch his fingers every time he filled their glasses. He could also not forget the sounds Jack and Dr. Maturin made in the great cabin, just next to his cupboard. Which Jack was fully aware of.
James didn’t see, but felt how Tom’s eyes darkened and was sure without having to look or ask that the other man was harbouring deep pain. James, being a man who had his own memories to fight away every moment of the day and even in his dreams, knew how it felt like to be caught in the strangulating web of the past. But he also knew there was nothing he could do – memories were personal, they could be told, but never shared, their weight could not be lifted by another person, and not even by love. Memories made solitary.
“You may go, Lieutenant.” he said as indifferently as he only could. This was how it was supposed to be.
Tom gave a curt nod, not able to meet James' eyes this time, nor even look at the blacksmith. He moved between then, unable to help the shiver that passed through him as he brushed past James, who followed Tom from the corner of his eyes till he disappeared in the crowd, trying not to feel too guilty.
“James…” he heard Will say softly, almost pleadingly.
“Will… I told you, this is not the time, and definitely not the place to discuss this.” he sighed. “We’ll talk tomorrow, I promise.” he added more softly. He felt sorry for the boy, so sorry for hurting him. But it was supposed to be this way. This world was a cruel place.
It took Tom everything he had in him not to run straight to Fort Charles. Once safely locked away in the tiny room he called his office, he began to strip out of his wet clothes and moved to the chest in the far corner to fetch dry ones. He pulled a mirror from the mess of the trunk, attempting to push his loose hair back without having to retie it. His eyes caught site of the scar on his face. In truth, it was nothing terrible, and did not take away from his looks in the least. But yet he felt it did.
He could still remember how Jack had stayed by his side as battle raged around them, and he was stuck on the ground with blood in his eyes, and his face throbbing in pain. He'd been distracted, hearing Aubrey call to him to push forward, and the sabre had come out of nowhere. He'd moved back in time, narrowly avoiding the loss of his eye, his face had been bandaged for near a month.
He threw the mirror into the chest, grabbing what he needed, and began to dress quickly... an anger to his movements, perhaps more along the lines of frustration. His body was not lacking scars, sword and knife wounds, bullet wounds, debris from cannon fire, even a few lash marks from his time as a midshipman with an over zealous Captain. But none had changed how people looked at him. There was a time, he was flocked with girls in England, though he had never thought twice about any of them.
The last time he'd been home, it had been quite different. Those who were so quick to flirt, could not even look at his face. It was as if he'd been marred in some horrible fashion. But the sailors had not cared, Jack had not cared. They merely looked at him with more respect in their eyes. But it was as if Port Royal was the same as England. The women would keep their eyes off him... and his own Captain could not bear to look him in the eye. He found that he missed the Surprise all too much. He missed Jack's stupid jokes, or the doctor's lack of nautical knowledge, or how Hollum was always so unsure of himself, even Barrett's cockney accent that he could scarcely understand at times... he didn't feel like he belonged here.
Authors: GoldenGardenias and SunsetDawn20
Rating: PG to NC-17
This Chapter: PG
Summary: This is the second chapter of our Pirates of the Caribbean/Master and Commander crossover fic; filled with various pairings. To learn more, visit the site for this story. HERE
This Chapter: Captain Norrington is still having speech problems. And another awkward meeting between he and his knew lieutenant is interrupted by a young blacksmith.
A/N: Blue parts are written by GoldenGardenias, Brown by SunsentDawn20.
Previous chapters can be found here.
Two
It was a hot day in Port Royal. The air was heavy and thick, almost unbearable. Most people stayed in their houses if they could afford it and those who couldn’t simply looked miserable. Just like James, who was walking along the docks, deep in thoughts. But it was not the hot air or even his heavy clothing that made him brood but the letter he had hidden in the pocket of his coat. A letter he wrote the night before. A letter he would have to deliver soon or preferably have delivered by a messenger. To a man he barely knew. A man he was determined to keep at a great distance. A man whose eyes had frightened him.
He was so lost in his thoughts of the day before and his embarrassing meeting with the new Lieutenant that he walked straight into someone standing in front of him, looking at a ship. James wanted to apologize, but once again found himself unable to speak as he looked into those mysterious eyes he so desperately wanted to forget forever.
Tom was not a clumsy man by nature, but it seemed around his new Captain, he was unable to be anything but. This moment was no exception. Because of the unbearable heat, and working over the glare of the water, most of the other sailors had shed some of their layers, as to be practical. Some were merely in their breeches, other's in shirt or vest. Tom was in his shirt, breeches, stockings, and shoes. Attempting to still look semi formal with his shirt a bit undone, and his skin glistening with sweat.
The moment he realized it was James who'd run into him, he attempted to turn swiftly and salute his commanding officer. Only to stumble over a coil of rope that he's just finished piling, and sending himself over the edge of the dock and into the water. The other sailors and officers found this highly amusing. Clapping and cheering for him, and as he surfaced, blushing brightly, they began to laugh, going back to their work all the same. He looked up at Captain Norrington from the water, taking a breath before saying.
"I'm sorry sir. I shouldn't be so careless." He said, blaming it on himself, avoiding the fact that James had been the one to startle him in the first place. He grabbed hold of the dock, pulling himself to slop up like a fish on deck.
James was still so shocked at seeing (and almost drowning) the other man that he simply froze and couldn’t even move to help him. By the time he was half ways working properly again, Tom was already out of the water, completely drenched and obviously just as embarrassed as James himself. There were a million things James wanted to do that moment, like offering help, or apologize, because, honestly this fiasco had nothing to do with the other man’s clumsiness, or just greet Tom properly for that matter, something he hadn’t done once since they had met. And at least half a dozen of other things that were completely unthinkable and revolting.
Instead he just stared at the other man, desperately trying not to let his gaze wander lower than Tom’s hair – which seemed to be the only part of his face that was safe to look at, considering the other options were those deep frighteningly intense eyes, those very red lips, and slightly flushed cheeks – God, this was a nightmare. So James, not trusting his voice, did the first decent thing that came to his mind – he reached into his pocket and rather unceremoniously held out that carefully constructed letter to Tom.
At this point, Tom was certain James would never speak to him. He stood quickly, attempting to brush himself off... rather uselessly. He took the letter, and nodded his head.
"Thank you, sir." He said, before opening it, and reading it. Then reading it over... and once more just in case. He looked up quickly, eyes bright and hopeful. "Really? Oh, I'd be delighted Captain. It's a great honour. I ... I... Thank you!" He was grinning reaching out and taking hold of James' hand shaking it firmly. "And I was so positive you could not stand me! With the way you cannot bear to look at me... I..." He let out a breath. "I was so worried. I thought perhaps my scar... but... then... um... I'm sorry, I'm rambling. It's just... such a weight off my shoulders to know that... you don't... you know... hate me already..." He could feel his cheeks flushing again.
It was positively endearing how this young man started to ramble and blush at an invitation to what would undoubtedly be one of the dullest evenings of his life and James found himself fighting the small, shy smile that desperately wanted to make an appearance. He was saved from that though as Tom grabbed his hand to shake it. It was such a simple gesture but it made James unable to breathe. Touching that hand felt like he had been hit by a jolt of lightning, and he found himself wanting, craving, needing that touch and more.
He couldn’t take it anymore and swiftly pulled his hand away as if it had been burned. This was terrible, why couldn’t he act normal around this man? And it only got worse when he spotted an all too familiar figure approaching them with determined steps. Will. It was too late to do anything about it except pray that this meeting would pass as painless as possible – a feeble hope considering how all the others went since that catastrophic afternoon James regretted for two reasons. Firstly because he let it go so far that he ended up with a very aroused and very beautiful blacksmith in his arms and secondly because he was strong enough to defeat his desire to protect Will.
“Jam- Captain Norrington. May I… may I have a word?” Will asked as soon as he was near enough. This could not be happening. No, not now, not with Tom there, James thought. He would see. How could he not see the desperate longing and broken light in those brown, innocent eyes of Will? It was so obvious. He would see, he would know everything. James could not bring himself to think why he cared so much.
“No, Mr. Turner, you may not. This is not the best time to discuss… the sword I ordered from you. But I will come to you tomorrow morning if you think it’s so urgent that you have to disturb my conversation with Lieutenant Pullings.”
He didn’t really mind that the word “conversation” was the exaggeration of the year, because frankly, he hadn’t yet said a single word to the young man but all James cared about that moment was to make Will leave as soon as possible, hopefully without him doing anything stupid.
"William Turner?" Tom smiled softly, holding out his hand to the blacksmith. "I was told you were the man to go to for any commissions." He said, attempting to be as friendly as possible, even though his feathers felt a bit ruffled around the lad.
He didn't know why, though. The lad was not much younger than he... though prettier by far, he was sure. No wonder James could spare words for Will, but not bear to look at his scarred face. Something in his eyes changed as he looked between the two. Ah, there it was. He felt a pang of guilt pass through him for the emotions he'd poured out for a man who most obviously had higher sights set on chocolate eyed puppies, not an old salted sea dog.
"I should... change..." He finally managed, looking down in attempt to hide the feeling that he'd just been slapped. He looked like what could only be described as a kicked puppy, looking up at the two between long brown lashes. "May I take my leave, sir?"
In his, not at all unfounded, worry over Will doing something terribly stupid, James didn’t notice Tom’s sudden mood-swing until he heard that simple and very common sentence spoken in a tone that spoke of too many and deep emotions. James fought the urge to make Tom stay, what would that be good for? He would only embarrass himself more than he already had. But it hurt to think that he had not only offended the young man with his rudeness numerous times in less than two days but now had also managed to hurt him unknowingly.
He wanted to apologize for whatever he had done but he couldn’t possibly have done anything in Will’s presence so just nodded slightly, partly hoping that he would have a chance later to make up for his mistakes and partly desperately trying to be happy that his own foolish reactions made anything dangerous impossible in the future.
Tom looked at the note a moment, before moving away to grab his things, leaving it behind on the crate where his things had been. "Sir." He nodded, then looked to Will, "Mister Turner, it was a pleasure to meet you." He said politely. In truth, he was a smart man. He got the feeling James was uncomfortable with the Turner boy in public. And even though he knew he should not feel as he did for James especially now... but yet, those feelings were still clear as day. And he was mentally beating himself up about it.
All the same, he'd left the note as a way for James to escape, if he saw fit. He bit his lower lip, unable to stop the memories of life aboard the HMS Surprise. How Jack would brush against him just so, or stand with their sides pressed together as they'd look over a map... Or how Jack would always seat him to his right, and touch his fingers every time he filled their glasses. He could also not forget the sounds Jack and Dr. Maturin made in the great cabin, just next to his cupboard. Which Jack was fully aware of.
James didn’t see, but felt how Tom’s eyes darkened and was sure without having to look or ask that the other man was harbouring deep pain. James, being a man who had his own memories to fight away every moment of the day and even in his dreams, knew how it felt like to be caught in the strangulating web of the past. But he also knew there was nothing he could do – memories were personal, they could be told, but never shared, their weight could not be lifted by another person, and not even by love. Memories made solitary.
“You may go, Lieutenant.” he said as indifferently as he only could. This was how it was supposed to be.
Tom gave a curt nod, not able to meet James' eyes this time, nor even look at the blacksmith. He moved between then, unable to help the shiver that passed through him as he brushed past James, who followed Tom from the corner of his eyes till he disappeared in the crowd, trying not to feel too guilty.
“James…” he heard Will say softly, almost pleadingly.
“Will… I told you, this is not the time, and definitely not the place to discuss this.” he sighed. “We’ll talk tomorrow, I promise.” he added more softly. He felt sorry for the boy, so sorry for hurting him. But it was supposed to be this way. This world was a cruel place.
It took Tom everything he had in him not to run straight to Fort Charles. Once safely locked away in the tiny room he called his office, he began to strip out of his wet clothes and moved to the chest in the far corner to fetch dry ones. He pulled a mirror from the mess of the trunk, attempting to push his loose hair back without having to retie it. His eyes caught site of the scar on his face. In truth, it was nothing terrible, and did not take away from his looks in the least. But yet he felt it did.
He could still remember how Jack had stayed by his side as battle raged around them, and he was stuck on the ground with blood in his eyes, and his face throbbing in pain. He'd been distracted, hearing Aubrey call to him to push forward, and the sabre had come out of nowhere. He'd moved back in time, narrowly avoiding the loss of his eye, his face had been bandaged for near a month.
He threw the mirror into the chest, grabbing what he needed, and began to dress quickly... an anger to his movements, perhaps more along the lines of frustration. His body was not lacking scars, sword and knife wounds, bullet wounds, debris from cannon fire, even a few lash marks from his time as a midshipman with an over zealous Captain. But none had changed how people looked at him. There was a time, he was flocked with girls in England, though he had never thought twice about any of them.
The last time he'd been home, it had been quite different. Those who were so quick to flirt, could not even look at his face. It was as if he'd been marred in some horrible fashion. But the sailors had not cared, Jack had not cared. They merely looked at him with more respect in their eyes. But it was as if Port Royal was the same as England. The women would keep their eyes off him... and his own Captain could not bear to look him in the eye. He found that he missed the Surprise all too much. He missed Jack's stupid jokes, or the doctor's lack of nautical knowledge, or how Hollum was always so unsure of himself, even Barrett's cockney accent that he could scarcely understand at times... he didn't feel like he belonged here.