the Dalaverse

The fic I wrote a bit of yesterday -- Will/Elizabeth, post-DMC, finding some kind of common ground. Inspired by pseudoblue's lovely artwork. Title from The Song.



The Weight of Water


She was a heavy ship rather than fast, and according to Barbossa power was needed over swiftness where they were headed. Not trusting to either his or Tia Dalma's endorsement, Will and Gibbs went over her inch by inch before they would grant approval. At the very least, she wasn't like to fall apart before they reached such foreign shores as Will had never imagined.

There was only one cabin, which their captain claimed to no one's protests. He directed insinuations toward Elizabeth that made Will's blood boil, but she ignored him and slung a hammock with the rest of the crew. Cotton and Marty rigged a sort of screen for it; the results offered only the slightest degree of privacy, but she thanked them with real gratitude. Will took a berth halfway down the deck. If the original members of the Black Pearl's crew thought these arrangements unusual, they kept such observations to themselves. It was rather telling that the new recuits took no notice of the distance between Will and Elizabeth.

He was not so far away that he couldn't hear her moving at night. Over the snores and grunts of his fellow men, he picked out Elizabeth's sighs and restless shifting as easily as if she slept at his side. He might have thought she would dream the way she'd told him she dreamed after their first adventure, but she hardly seemed to sleep long enough for it. Often he would hear a frustrated humming noise that he remembered from fencing lessons. Now and then, after every other soul on the ship was silent, she wept very quietly.

When they had been at sea nearly a month -- only a fraction of the total, Barbossa assured them -- they took a French merchantmen, loaded with Indies rum. The carousing ondeck looked to last long into the night, but Elizabeth slipped off with a bottle and two glasses when it had barely gotten started. Will declined to join in a chorus of a filthy chantey and followed her down the hatch.

He found her sitting behind her sail curtain, neat and crosslegged, one glass half-full of rum. The second was at her knee, and though he was sure it had not been intended for him, Will knelt and took it.

Elizabeth looked at him, calm on the surface with confusion drifting behind her eyes. They hadn't been alone together in what felt like an eternity. They clicked their glasses together and drank, she with quick, nervous swallows, Will in careful sips.

After a moment Elizabeth said, "I haven't been sleeping well lately," as if this might explain something. As if she still needed to explain herself to him.

"I noticed," he said, and where before his sharp tone would have made her bridle, now she only bit her lip and looked down at her lap. Will gazed at her thin face, the shadows under her eyes, for a few breaths before he added in a much softer voice, "Where are we, Elizabeth?"

Her shoulders lifted in a shrug and her eyes were bleak when she raised her chin. "Here," she replied.

It was no kind of answer, and yet it was. Will nodded and took her hand. He overreached and the rest of her followed until she was in his arms, nose against his neck, arms clutched tightly about his ribs. He'd thought it might be different, but she fit into his embrace as she had since he'd gotten the courage from Jack.

As if she could hear the turn of his thoughts, Elizabeth let out a shaky breath and whispered, "I thought it would make me feel better, going after him. But it hasn't." He stroked his palm down her spine, making her shudder. "Will, I --"

He knew what she was going to tell him, and although he had waited all this time to hear it, he did not want to hear it tonight. He eased her back and touched his figertips to her lips, accepting both the disappointment and the relief in her exhausted eyes. With wordless agreement, they got to their feet and began to undress, removing boots and jackets and waistcoats. Elizabeth hesitated, plucking at the hem of her shirt, but Will turned away to settle into the hammock, and she was still wearing it as she climbed in beside him.

They squirmed for a bit as people who had never shared a bed with anyone were bound to, shifting limbs and accidentally jabbing each other with elbows and knees. Eventually Elizabeth was tucked comfortably against him, his right arm draped over her, her leg drawn over his. The silence would have been awkward if she hadn't fallen asleep almost immediately, her fingers flexing and relaxing on his stomach. Will covered them with his own, pressing his lips to the top of her head.

Before he closed his eyes, he glanced down at the bottle of rum. The ship gave a gentle lurch and it rolled away from them. One of the glasses tipped over with a thunk, its amber dregs sinking into the wood. He really ought to get up and move it all before the glass broke.

Elizabeth sighed in her sleep, her head heavy on his shoulder. Will kissed her hair again and left the mess as it was.