the Dalaverse

That squeaking sound you hear is the sugar rotting my teeth. A bit of Will/Elizabeth/James, since I've got a hankering for short'n'sweet poly at the moment.



Likeness


For all intents and purposes, James is not introduced to the Turners’ child until several weeks after his birth. Will and Elizabeth bring him to visit a party of the governor’s crowd after supper one evening. The infant is admired by several prominent man and their wives before James has his turn.

“He seems to take after the both of you in looks,” he remarks evenly, extending his index finger. John grabs for it, his grip firm for such a small hand. Considering all possible aspects of his parentage, James can’t call himself surprised.

Elizabeth raises a delicate eyebrow, curving her palm over her son’s brow. “Except for his eyes, of course. My mother’s eyes.”

“And mine,” said James and Will at the same time. They cast startled glances at each other over Elizabeth’s head.

She laughed, shifting the baby to her other breast. Both men rearranged their embrace in accommodation. “I do love happy coincidences. It doesn’t matter in the slightest, you know,” she added, echoing sentiments expressed months earlier, when James had first been drawn into their bed. He looked to Will again, still uncertain.

“No, it doesn’t,” Will murmured. His eyes never left the tiny pink face, but his hand closed over James’ forearm and squeezed lightly.

James let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He brushed his lips over the dark fuzz on top of John’s head, smiling at the soft, milky sigh, the tiny fingers curling against Elizabeth’s fair skin.

“Welcome to the world, John William Turner,” he said, the name far dearer to him than his own.

“Yes, she did have lovely blue eyes,” says the governor, gazing fondly down at his grandson. He waves Benjamin Kirk, the stern-faced notary, over from his pudding. “Mr. Kirk, my good man, have you seen young John yet?”

Elizabeth rolls her eyes in good humor. “This is why we’ll not leave you to be an only child, Johnny,” she remarks under her breath, bouncing him as he begins to fuss.

With some effort James manages to pry his finger from the baby’s grasp, responding to Will’s grin with the faintest curve of his mouth. He steps back against the wall to watch John graciously receive his public. Elizabeth is right; it makes no difference whose look John may have, whose blood, for it is certain that he has love more bountiful than any pirate's gold.