TITLE: Rooting for whom?
AUTHOR: Madmogs
FANDOM: Pirates of the Caribbean
GENRE: Vignette, implied UST
RATING: PG
WARNINGS: None
PAIRING: Gillington, possibly.
DISCLAIMER: PotC does not belong to me.
SUMMARY: Gillette takes exception to the conduct of Jack Sparrow at the end of PotC.
A/N: The Gillette in my head is not French and not Irish. He's a former English public school boy (Eton, *naturally*) with all that that implies.
And this is for Angharad, for listening endlessly to my plot ramblings.
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"That man," Lieutenant Simon Gillette pronounced as he slammed the door of the Lieutenants' cabin behind him, "is intolerable - utterly intolerable."
He had spent the entire afternoon doing his assigned duties with an appearance of composure that he had sweated blood to maintain, and it had done nothing - nothing at all - to temper his outrage at the sheer bloody-minded brazenness of Captain Jack Sparrow.
"Oh? And which man would this be?" a voice asked from the bunk at the far end.
Gillette glowered around the cabin, glowering, and found that the only one of his fellow lieutentants who was in occupation was Lieutenant Groves. The eternally annoying slacker-than-a-furled-sail Lieutenant Theodore Groves. Not exactly his idea of a sympathetic or sensitive audience. Still, he had started the conversation now, and even an inattentive listener was better than none.
Groves was lying on his bunk with his hands behind his head and his boots on the blankets, with a dreamy, thoughtful look on his face.
"Captain Jack Sparrow, if you please!" Gillette stalked over to his own bunk and positively hurled his hat up onto it, and then with an exclamation of annoyance hurled his wig after it. "Making a mockery of our Commodore and our fleet, and now we can't even chase him back!"
Groves pulled himself up into a sitting position, putting his hands behind his head again. "There's always tomorrow, old chap. After all, we do know where he's going."
"Not any more." Gillette wheeled round, pacing the six strides' length to the end and then back again. "Not since those stubborn, mutton-headed ship-builders set foot on board. I sent them to check her over, and do they? No. 'You can have 'er back in three days time and not a minute sooner.'
You'd think they wanted the man to get away!" He started pacing the other way, grimacing at a sudden outbreak of hammering abovedeck.
Groves sighed, and gestured to Gillette's bunk. "Please, sit down, Gillette. You're making me seasick." Gillette paced on, ignoring the feeble exaggeration. "So what did the Commodore say, then?"
The Commodore, in fact, had given him one of the looks he reserved for fools and time-wasters, and merely said, 'Well, give them three days then,' as though the answer was obvious, and gone back to his work. Gillette flushed at the memory of the implied rebuke.
"We wait three days."
Groves shrugged. The sentimental idiot probably *wanted* Sparrow to get away. "He's just a pirate. What's so-?"
"'Just a pirate'. That scoundrel stole the Interceptor - and then *sank* the Interceptor - and then his shameful, shameful behaviour this morning. 'Rooting for you' - of all the callous, crass-" Gillette reined himself in with an effort before his temper could overwhelm him entirely. "It is neither good manners nor good breeding to talk like that," he managed in a clipped disapproving voice. No gentleman - no *English* gentleman (for in Gillette's mind there could be no other kind of gentleman) - would ever dream of drawing attention to another gentleman's discomfort. And certainly not in a public place. And never, ever in front of the lady who had caused that discomfort.
"Really?" Groves frowned. "I thought he was just being sympathetic."
Gillette shook his head at his colleague's utter want of sensibilities. Groves had been a Winchester boy, which in Gillette's mind explained all too much. "It was humiliation, pure and simple. That - that cad would have done anything to take advantage of the Commodore's feelings, just to discompose him. It was shameful, no less - and after Miss Swann had the nerve to treat him so badly in a public place!"
Groves looks at him curiously, raising an eyebrow in unconscious parody of his superior. "She did want to save the fellow's life, you know - it is rather understandable. Do you know, Gillette - from the way you talk I'd almost think it was you who'd lost a fiancee, rather than the Commodore."
Gillette stopped dead. "I would *never* have treated him so lightly!"
The hammering above stopped suddenly, and even the sea itself seemed to stand still as Groves sat suddenly upright, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.
"You don't mean that," he said weakly. "Do you?"
Gillette stared at him, feeling himself starting to blush violently. Then he turned on his heel and plunged out of the Lieutenants' cabin, the door slamming violently in his wake.
END.
AUTHOR: Madmogs
FANDOM: Pirates of the Caribbean
GENRE: Vignette, implied UST
RATING: PG
WARNINGS: None
PAIRING: Gillington, possibly.
DISCLAIMER: PotC does not belong to me.
SUMMARY: Gillette takes exception to the conduct of Jack Sparrow at the end of PotC.
A/N: The Gillette in my head is not French and not Irish. He's a former English public school boy (Eton, *naturally*) with all that that implies.
And this is for Angharad, for listening endlessly to my plot ramblings.
-------------------------------
"That man," Lieutenant Simon Gillette pronounced as he slammed the door of the Lieutenants' cabin behind him, "is intolerable - utterly intolerable."
He had spent the entire afternoon doing his assigned duties with an appearance of composure that he had sweated blood to maintain, and it had done nothing - nothing at all - to temper his outrage at the sheer bloody-minded brazenness of Captain Jack Sparrow.
"Oh? And which man would this be?" a voice asked from the bunk at the far end.
Gillette glowered around the cabin, glowering, and found that the only one of his fellow lieutentants who was in occupation was Lieutenant Groves. The eternally annoying slacker-than-a-furled-sail Lieutenant Theodore Groves. Not exactly his idea of a sympathetic or sensitive audience. Still, he had started the conversation now, and even an inattentive listener was better than none.
Groves was lying on his bunk with his hands behind his head and his boots on the blankets, with a dreamy, thoughtful look on his face.
"Captain Jack Sparrow, if you please!" Gillette stalked over to his own bunk and positively hurled his hat up onto it, and then with an exclamation of annoyance hurled his wig after it. "Making a mockery of our Commodore and our fleet, and now we can't even chase him back!"
Groves pulled himself up into a sitting position, putting his hands behind his head again. "There's always tomorrow, old chap. After all, we do know where he's going."
"Not any more." Gillette wheeled round, pacing the six strides' length to the end and then back again. "Not since those stubborn, mutton-headed ship-builders set foot on board. I sent them to check her over, and do they? No. 'You can have 'er back in three days time and not a minute sooner.'
You'd think they wanted the man to get away!" He started pacing the other way, grimacing at a sudden outbreak of hammering abovedeck.
Groves sighed, and gestured to Gillette's bunk. "Please, sit down, Gillette. You're making me seasick." Gillette paced on, ignoring the feeble exaggeration. "So what did the Commodore say, then?"
The Commodore, in fact, had given him one of the looks he reserved for fools and time-wasters, and merely said, 'Well, give them three days then,' as though the answer was obvious, and gone back to his work. Gillette flushed at the memory of the implied rebuke.
"We wait three days."
Groves shrugged. The sentimental idiot probably *wanted* Sparrow to get away. "He's just a pirate. What's so-?"
"'Just a pirate'. That scoundrel stole the Interceptor - and then *sank* the Interceptor - and then his shameful, shameful behaviour this morning. 'Rooting for you' - of all the callous, crass-" Gillette reined himself in with an effort before his temper could overwhelm him entirely. "It is neither good manners nor good breeding to talk like that," he managed in a clipped disapproving voice. No gentleman - no *English* gentleman (for in Gillette's mind there could be no other kind of gentleman) - would ever dream of drawing attention to another gentleman's discomfort. And certainly not in a public place. And never, ever in front of the lady who had caused that discomfort.
"Really?" Groves frowned. "I thought he was just being sympathetic."
Gillette shook his head at his colleague's utter want of sensibilities. Groves had been a Winchester boy, which in Gillette's mind explained all too much. "It was humiliation, pure and simple. That - that cad would have done anything to take advantage of the Commodore's feelings, just to discompose him. It was shameful, no less - and after Miss Swann had the nerve to treat him so badly in a public place!"
Groves looks at him curiously, raising an eyebrow in unconscious parody of his superior. "She did want to save the fellow's life, you know - it is rather understandable. Do you know, Gillette - from the way you talk I'd almost think it was you who'd lost a fiancee, rather than the Commodore."
Gillette stopped dead. "I would *never* have treated him so lightly!"
The hammering above stopped suddenly, and even the sea itself seemed to stand still as Groves sat suddenly upright, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.
"You don't mean that," he said weakly. "Do you?"
Gillette stared at him, feeling himself starting to blush violently. Then he turned on his heel and plunged out of the Lieutenants' cabin, the door slamming violently in his wake.
END.