My mom declared that this means I'm a diabetic. So she did my blood and it turns out that I was in the middle of the range for normal blood sugar levels. She of course declares that this means I'm a diabetic.
Because my blood sugar level was normal.
Yeah, I love living with crazy people. Makes life interesitng.
I wrote a short little PotC fic in the meantime. Still working on a Cordy ficlet which will be out tomorrow, I swear.
Author: Regala Electra
Summary: Elizabeth is not a pirate.
Pairings: Will/Elizabeth (minor suggestion of Jack/Elizabeth)
Author's Notes: Story of horizons, dreams, and the sea. God, I can't stop myself from using nautical themes. Blame it on illness. And if it's good, then that's just a bonus.
Elizabeth is not a pirate. She is not becoming a pirate. She is sure of this, as sure of the rising sunlight over the horizon.
But she sits perched at the window, relaxing in her cozy, if not large, home, and watches the ocean every morning, the sun breaks over the waters, a wide swath of golden light, the sea glittering like tempting diamonds. She'd never been much for jewelry and after, well, she'll not be wearing a necklace for a long time, if ever.
There is but a ring on her finger, a lovely golden band, and it is worth more than any treasure.
Treasure, no she doesn't think of that either. If she did, she'd be no better than a pirate, and she is not a pirate.
She's met them up close and while some proved to be everything she had once hoped for, she still dreams of Barbossa's cabin, his cackle thrumming in her ears, the sick smell of a feast full of food just turning, and the sight of his rotted skeletal form. And where one skeleton burns in her dreams, more follow, and she sleeps uneasily, dreading the nightmares.
So yes, she's lost her romantic image of piracy.
Staying in Port Royal is the good choice, the safe choice. Will does not ask her if she wants anything else.
They speak of Jack fondly and none too often.
She knows Will walks down to the piers and watches the sun set over the horizon. She turns her head to look at his sleeping form, feeling older and wiser and not at all her age.
She understands him because they desire the same things. She goes to bed early on the nights when his eyes are distant and lets him take those walks. In return, he often pretends he's sleeping so she might watch the sun rise in the guise of privacy.
Privacy, piracy, her control over her thoughts is a losing battle.
She has nightmares of the Black Pearl, but oh, she also has pleasant dreams. Dreams of a rocking wooden floor beneath her feet, the sway of the waves wild and exciting, the salt tang of air, the sure feel of the mast, all those curves and slopes of the sides, she can see them when she closes her eyes. She knows ships well, she'd made damn sure of that, studying all things nautical when she was younger, but the experience of it, that is what replays in her dreams.
Yet often, she dreams about being at the helm, and sees Will and Jack with her, feeling a sense of rightness that is better than the sensation of calm safety.
The dreams turn to things that once would have offended her very sensibilities as a lady. Of Jack's wild eyes and his confident smile, his skin tanned dark and well from open days at sea, and she remembers lying so close to him and she had met the man beneath the myth for just one second on the beach. Jack likes to pretend that is everything his myths claim to be, but she wonders if he realizes the man is better than the myth.
And the man is better than the dream.
Will wakes, from a deep sleep that she envies, and she smiles freely, knowing she is fortunate.
His shirt is opened and his golden skin shines in the early dawn light. She cannot help but blush, he flashes a grin at her and she cannot believe how immodest her thoughts have become.
"You are a vision, Miss Swann," he says, and she cannot imagine a day without him.
"I believe I am married, Mr. Turner," she answers, loosening and peeling off her robe, her body flush naked underneath, "and I told you to call me Elizabeth."
"I am sorry." She pauses at the bed, waiting for his response. "You are a vision, Mrs. Turner."
"For that," she pulls away the bed sheets, carefully poising herself above his body, kneeling most securely, "I should simply get dressed and leave you be."
She does not carry out her threat, as Will pulls her down for a lengthy kiss, and she knows she will always long for his touch.
"Elizabeth," he groans against her cheek, his hands smooth down the planes of her body, "I am sorry."
She breaks away long enough for a content smile, arching her eyebrow, "I believe this is the part where we make up. Shall we give it go?"
They chuckle for a moment before they are consumed with other matters and it is true. Elizabeth is not a pirate.
Her husband one day may long again to traverse the seas. Her dreams of Jack may be an omen for her future.
But she is not a pirate yet.
At least, not on this day's horizon.