To Say Goodbye
Disclaimer: This is the first Pirates of the Caribbean fic I have ever written, so please be kind. To those of you whom have received author alerts and were thinking they were going to get a dose of To Survive, I'm sorry ducks as tomatoes are thrown in readers' wrath. It is still being worked on, and will be ready for viewing soon. I hope.
Summary: what's that quote from Pocahontas? "I would rather die tomorrow, than live a hundred years without knowing you." This is what I thought was going to happen in that cave, as seen through Jack's eyes – you all know the scene, Barbossa's death ... I shall say no more, save that there are two character deaths which did not occur in PotC. A/N: Please reserve all rotting tomatoes for the Mary-Sue's – I hate tomatoes, anyway...
The events of the film, you will realise, have been altered for my own means – had it been done in the way of the film, it would not have worked.
So, yeah, small break from LotR in the form of this one-shot, written in first and present. Thought I'd set my brain a small challenge...
Will fleets up the treasure pile, sure as a mountain goat. He stops behind the chest, looking anxiously to me for the piece I hold for my short-lived immortality.
I slit my palm, coin in hand, paying no heed to the sting as the blade parts the skin. The heat of blood spreads, and my fist clenches, ensuring the gold is thoroughly coated before I throw it up the pile at Will. The coin twists in the air, a sharp gleam of gold, flashing red. I see Will's hand snake out and snatch it from its course, his fingers wrapping about the precious metal, grasping it tight. I entrust the task of eliminating the curse to his own eagerness to be rid of it. The gold no longer requires my attention.
But Barbossa does.
He realises exactly what is about to occur, and his face contorts with a long-harboured malice, eyes burning with abhorrence for we three and what we have done. The mutineer draws his pistol. Defeat dances in his eyes, yet there resides in them a stony defiance. He fixes his hardened orbs on me for a moment, his pistol pointing to the side. He will not go alone.
The sound of flesh being slit, then the clatter of a dropped coin...
Running footsteps. It's Elizabeth, adorned in Royal Navy garb, picking her way lightly yet hastily over the rocks that present a pathway over the water.
An evil flicker plays over the face of my nemesis, and his eyes follow the alignment of his weapon. My blood turns to ice as I realise what he intends to do, andI draw my own pistol.
A resounding crack...
That's it. The one shot I have carried for the past ten years of my life is spent. Barbossa's features twist with surprise then pain as it fully registers with him. But his pistol smokes...
My eyes shoot up to Will. He is not looking to us, but across the steppingstones. His handsome face is suddenly ashen and etched with pure horror. His mouth opens soundlessly as he beholds what could only emerge in a lover's darkest nightmare.
Her eyes are wide with shock, confusion creasing her fair brow for a moment. She stands stock-still, her spine bent over slightly. Long fingers touch below her breastbone hesitantly, then come before her stunned eyes.
The silence is shattered by the tumbling of metal, striking the stone platform it rested upon and flying into the air, as Will practically throws himself down the slope of gold. He slips as he hares over the slick rock, but he catches himself, fast as a cannon.
Elizabeth's knees buckle, her slight frame crumpling – but she is caught by two strong arms before she strikes the ground, and Will lowers her gently, going down with her, cradling his love in his tender embrace. His mask of composure cracks when he sees the spreading bloom of the red rose. He rips his sleeve off, pressing the material to the wound. I can see the tears gather in his stricken gaze...
She looks up at him, her pain shining in her eyes as the fingers of a slender hand wrap about Will's. His hand shakes violently as he locks his own digits with hers. He caresses her face with a bloodied touch, lips trembling as he fights to hold back.
Elizabeth emits small gasps of agony, her jaw quivering as she strains to control the pain. She swallows down a sob, and from between her quavering lips manages to utter words which I find heart-wrenching to hear... 'I love you.'
Will's eyes are thrown into abstract by the collected tears of his heartbreak. Drops spill down his cheeks as a sob rattles from his throat. He sooths her ghostly white cheek, a trembling smile alighting his features, though he cannot hold it. 'I know.' Barely audible, but poignant all the same.
Elizabeth extends a willowy arm, placing an elegant hand at the back of Will's neck, pulling him down. He complies with her wish, and their lips press together, two lovers saying goodbye. There they stay for an apparent eternity, neither willing to let go...
A small part of me aches horribly as the hand slips limply down the young man's shoulder to rest in her lap. Will draws back a little, surveying the alabaster face, whose long eyelashes lie like those of a doll upon the white skin. I can see it in his face, how broken he is. I knew when I first met him – despite my jesting – that he loved her, and I come to realise now that his devotion to this woman he could never have was deeper than all the oceans of this world combined.
He buries his face in her neck, as though trying to hide from the pain, and only when that seems to fail does he voice his hurt. I have never heard a man cry like this before, so openly. The sound of his shattered spirit crying out his grief tears at my soul, and I cast a glance at Barbossa. He lies against his precious heap of horded loot, now as good to him as mud. A smile contorts his face as he melds his yellow stare with mine. 'No more apples for her, either,' he wheezes. His throat cracks in what I can only assume is a laugh. I feel sickened by it, repulsed by the very air he breaths ... but that soon ceases.
There is no other sound save that of my own heart.
I look back over to Will and Elizabeth, alarmed by the sudden silence, which managed to steal over me like a thief in the night. He lies next to her, holding her in his love. The knife rests with deceptive innocence, leaning into his palm as his slackened grip has released it from its service.
"I would die for her."
'I know.'