the Dalaverse

Fic, that was originally intended to be a Day in the Life of each of the Big Four, but narrowed to Will and Elizabeth. It takes place between CoBP and DMC, and I realized halfway through its similarities to my Firecracker. This is sort of that fic's DMC mirror image, because though it's set before the second film, I think it is very much DMC-compliant. It's both pre- and post-DMC, in a way. And man, has it ever been awhile...



Calm Before the Storm


After weeks of dreading it, Will found that the governor’s dinner party had been almost tolerable in some ways. Namely in the number of commissions he accepted, and if Weatherby was somewhat distant as a future father-in-law, he had out of necessity taken an interest in Will’s trade. The other men made it clear they were socializing with Will out of obligation, of course, but he didn’t need their approval in hand with their business.

Although he wasn’t exactly adept at reading interactions between women, he knew they were snubbing Elizabeth from the way her face got redder and her chin lifted higher throughout the night. Will might be accustomed to this sort of behavior, but she was not, and he took care to reassure her – seeking out her eyes across the room when they were separated, spreading his palm at the small of her back when they accepted insincere congratulations, squeezing her hand under the tablecloth. Despite his efforts, her mood didn’t lift until all the guests left and they were free to retire to the garden.

They were not left alone, of course – the governor took his customary place at the small iron table with ink and paper to begin a letter to his sister. Will settled on a bench, Elizabeth seated primly at the other end, and folded his hands in his lap while she read from a translated French adventure novel. He quickly lost the thread of the story within the rise and fall of her voice and the animation of her face. When Weatherby’s posture relaxed and he rested an elbow on the table, Elizabeth chanced to slide her feet out of her slippers and onto Will’s knees. Her eyes flicked from the page to her father’s drooping chin until she deemed it safe enough to twist herself in the opposite direction and into Will’s arms.

Unfortunately the briefest of kisses caused Weatherby to snort himself awake, and he frowned in their direction. Will cleared his throat, but Elizabeth remained tucked under his arm, ignoring her father’s displeasure. She began to read again, her head resting on Will’s chest. He held himself still, waiting until Weatherby sighed in resignation and returned to the letter once more. Then he fixed his arm more comfortably around Elizabeth’s waist and dropped his nose into her hair, inhaling the soft floral scent, faintly tinged with salt from the dances she had insisted on dragging him into. Though he didn’t know the steps, hers were easy to follow.

She didn’t pause in her narration, but he could hear her smile in the tone of her voice. Will listened with somewhat less than full attention while his eyes roamed the garden. They had played here as children, chasing one another around trees and under bushes, playing at being pirates (that was always Elizabeth’s idea, and he could never bring himself to tell her it made him uneasy). It had not lasted long; once he was apprenticed to Brown he had little free time, and eventually even Elizabeth was forced to acknowledge that she could not run about with the blacksmith’s boy all day long. He had never dared dream that he would return here as a man, captivated anew, nor that someday their children would play the same games in this peaceful, orderly little garden.

“Will?” Elizabeth had said something he hadn’t caught, and now she was craning her neck to look at him with a question in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, what?”

She clasped the book against her breasts and put her lips to his ear. “Will you teach me how to use a sword?”



Elizabeth had always been scornful of girls who pretended dim wits in order to make their suitors feel more clever and manly. She had determined early on that she would never employ such tricks, and that any man bothered by her mind was best weeded out anyway. To his credit, Norrington was one of the very few who’d been intrigued rather than put off, though she knew she’d shocked him at first.

Will was a different story, having known her for so long and before she was obliged to present herself as a proper lady. And Will was also the only man to whom she occasionally lied about her ability to understand and learn a concept.

“I’m afraid I cannot see quite what you mean about the footwork,” she said, pushing a stubborn lock of hair behind her ear. “Will you show me again?”

Will pursed his lips at her wide-eyed innocence. He’d caught on by now, as she was so quick to pick up most of what he taught her and only grew frustrated when their sessions were drawing to a close. The game was in how long it took him to give her what else she wanted.

“Here,” he said in a low voice, stepping up behind her. Elizabeth suppressed a grin; it hadn’t taken very long at all today. His hands alighted on her hips, no longer with reluctance but as if they belonged there. As always he tried to ignore her legs, in stockings but bared by her tucked-up skirts, and as always Elizabeth would have none of it. She waited until he’d shuffled his feet so that his toes touched her heels, and she even mimicked a few steps before leaning back. He had to catch her or leave them both off-balance, and he did so with a sharp breath through his nose. His arms slid around her without coaxing, tightened, and his chin came down on her shoulder. Elizabeth hooked her fingers over his elbows and reveled in the feeling of her heartbeat jumping at his touch. For a few long moments they were still in the deepening twilight, swaying in place just a bit – until they lost patience at the same moment, Elizabeth spun around in his arms, and his mouth descended hungrily on her own. Their swords clattered to the ground, forgotten.

It was a heady thrill, like rushing through the waves under full sail, and there was something of drowning in the breathless press of their kiss. She raked her fingers through his hair and gasped as he pulled her tight against him. Even through her bunched skirts she could feel his hard length against her belly. When she rubbed herself against him, his fingertips dug into her shoulderblades and he groaned deep in his throat. She considered it a personal triumph that he was no longer shy about that at least, nor about trailing kisses down her throat to the neckline of her worn dress. His hands slid down her back, apparently unwilling to ever let go, and she wondered giddily if he might actually let her stay this time.

As if he’d heard her thoughts, Will groaned again with a good deal more frustration. Elizabeth clung to him as he maneuvered his hands free to take firm but gentle hold of her upper arms, mindful of sore muscles. “Elizabeth,” he murmured, just as gently but with an edge of strain to his voice. “We must – mustn’t…”

“Why not?” she demanded, sticking her lower lip out when he turned his head to avoid her kisses. He reached up to stroke it with a trembling thumb. She tasted salt and steel on his skin. “I’ve a bit longer before Father expects me back.”

“Because the longer you are here, the less I trust myself to send you home.” The self-deprecating smirk was one she liked to think he’d learned from Jack Sparrow, shaky though it was. “Please, Elizabeth, don’t torture me so.”

This was how it went, too, throughout their history together; and she was only able to play her part now with the thought of the day when he could not send her home. That thought was growing less and less comforting even as the very day approached. She was alarmed by the ache in her body when he held her and released her, and the by the one in her heart when she lay awake at night staring out to sea.

I want…She almost began the sentence aloud, but realized in time that she could not finish it. Her head would not go straight, filled with notions of too much and not enough that failed to define themselves beyond a deep, raw yearning.

“Let me make sure Mr. Brown is still breathing, and then I shall walk you home.” His fingers squeezed briefly and he kissed her brow, then turned to the small room off the smithy where their supposed chaperone was snoring away.

Elizabeth knelt to pick up her borrowed blade, flexing her hand on the hilt and closing her eyes. For years she had longed to learn how to wield this weapon, envied the soldiers at the fort for the ease with which they carried theirs. Will was surprised at her aptitude, even though he had fought and lost many battles with sticks when they were children. She wasn’t sure if she could best him now, but by God, she was going to try. As for her father’s question – what use it could possibly be to her…

“Life is full of surprises,” she whispered, standing up and hefting the sword that felt so natural in her grasp. “And this, at last, I will know.”