namu_chewy

“Alas, my love, you do me wrong, to cast me off discourteously."

Andrew turned his face and squinted under the bright glare of the sun at the tall figure striding up to the rail.

"You look surprised, Mr Gillette. Is my poesy not to your taste?"

Pale blue eyes watched him coolly.

“I didn't see you as a man of poetry, sir.”

He looked away towards the disappearing bay, and Andrew wondered if he had offended him.There was something sombre about the elder man’s presence, Andrew thought to himself. Something almost ominous in that dark, crinkled brow, which seemed to affect even those around him with its solemn gravity. The hands which spread out upon the rail were greatly weathered, showing signs of wear and tear over the years; each fine, raised line, was a record of past confrontation.

“Then what kind of a man do you see me as, Mr Gillette.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I simply meant that you seem too practical to be taken by such frivolities.” Andrew pushed up from the rail and straightened his back. The older man chuckled, but it was not a jovial sort of sound. It was more ironic, a sceptical sort of rumble; one which seemed to mark out the superior standing of a senior officer. Andrew felt his brows knotting.

“If I really considered poetry frivolous,” he said with the faintest of smiles, “I would not have made the attempt at conversation.”

Andrew felt his head itch under his wig, but resisted the urge to scratch. What was the man talking about? He hadn't said anything to give him the idea that he liked poetry; in fact he hadn't been saying anything at all, preferring to brood in silence as he watched back at the bay and thought about what he was leaving behind.

“I apologise, I’m afraid I have a lot on my mind,” he uttered somewhat awkwardly. The lieutenant shifted to lean down casually upon the rail.

“I thought I could recognise that old look of melancholy.”

“…you mean?”

“A good time at sea ought to dispel it.”

“…do I really seem so ill spirited?”

“You’re not the only one,” one of his large nicked hands reached back into his coat, “as you shall soon come to hear. The Captain himself is sick with pining ever since we left England.”

Andrew watched the vague speck Port Royal had become. How did the man know his thoughts? Suddenly those pale eyes seemed dangerous, much too perceptive.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you are talking about,” he muttered warily, and heard that chuckle again.

“Then you are not pining over a loved one?”

The hand withdrew a silver snuff-box, similar in its design to Lieutenant Willis’s.

“No. And I don't know how you have managed to come to that conclusion, sir.”

Fair eyebrows lofted casually, and Andrew felt himself bristling under that piercing gaze.

“Ah. My mistake, then. I always thought Greensleeves a tune for the lovesick.”

“O,” Andrew felt the tension dropping from his brow, “you were referring to my whistling all this time?”

“I don't recite lyrics of thwarted love to my fellow officers on a daily basis, just so you know.”

Andrew laughed, feeling less on edge, knowing the other was simply making idle conversation. How silly of him, to think he was being attacked when the lieutenant was only making some effort to know the new officer a little better. The willingness to share gossip upon the Captain should’ve told him that Fry was not a hostile competitor.

“Forgive me, I have a tendency of becoming defensive rather quickly.”

“And perhaps I am too quick to assume. It is not an uncommon tune after all.”

“So...thwarted love, did you say?”

“Men of practicality shouldn’t waste time on such frivolous things.”

Andrew laughed, suddenly wishing James was there, so he could share the little inside joke; how ironic that their tune should be about thwarted love, as opposed to some innocent nursery ryhme which he had thought it to be. 

"Though I must say, being a practical officer doesn’t make one opposed to feeling entirely.”

“No, of course not.”

“I’d imagine the song’s composer wouldn’t have considered his a frivolous occupation at the time.”

“You have worked up my curiosity, sir.”

“I shall explain over dinner, now that I have met with a fellow romantic.”

He was about to say how much he disliked poetry, when the joviality ebbed from the other man's voice, and it was replaced with a tone which matched the seriousness of his pensive expression.

“Wouldn’t you say the navy itself has been somewhat romanticised? The great ship and her brave crew, raging epic war out in the open sea, far away from the rest of civilisation.”

Andrew squinted from the glare bouncing off the vivid expanse of sea before them.

“I suppose it is, when one puts it that way...”

“They hear word of another heroic victory, but who remembers those who have gained nothing but watery graves…leaving no mark for the poor souls back home to visit and remember…"

"Yes...it is most unfortunate..."

"...but perhaps I am raining upon our spirits," the man straightened up and turned to grin somewhat grimly at him. "One shouldn’t speak so negatively during the early days of a voyage after all."

Andrew felt uneasy, and wanted to ask whether Lieutenant Fry had lost someone important the last time he sailed. It seemed odd for him to welcome a new officer aboard the ship in such a gloomy manner. He wasn't unfriendly, and at least made more of an effort than Lieutenant Wilson had, but Andrew would have appreciated something less...pressing. It was bad enough trying not to think about his commanding officer too much, but the other's reminder of their mortality and the reality of battle struck a sharp note in his own brain. He was not an inexperienced sapling. He knew what it was like to watch men around him dying in the heat of battle. It just made him that bit more apprehensive now that he had someone waiting for him back home.

James watched from the doorway as Elizabeth tinkered on the piano. She was humming along to the melody in that absent-minded way that one does when in love. Funny how it didn’t seem so long ago, when James had hoped he could be the one to occupy her mind just so.

“I had no idea you played so well,” he said quietly once she finished. The slender neck turned, and James marvelled for a moment at the weight it supported, unable to help noticing the additional hairpieces which were largely absent during his own past visits.

“James…”

Her dark eyes were wary, but he turned his own gaze upon the window with the faintest of smiles.

“It’s too pleasant a day to be spent indoors.”

She rose from the seat and lowered the lid of the piano.

“I agree,” she turned and clasped her hands together, smiling just a touch awkwardly. “Perhaps we could take a walk out in the garden?”

“That’s quite alright,” he smiled, “I wouldn’t want to whisk you away from any appointments which you may have.”

“James,” she swept closer and rested her hand upon his sleeve. “You don’t have to be so polite…come take a walk with me. I insist.” He watched the proud lift of her chin, a gesture he had seen so many times before, and wondered at the show of generosity. It was as though she was willing to be his friend, now that it was established he would no longer be harassing her with the advances of a potential suitor. He was no longer considered a threat. To what, exactly? Her independence? Did she see him as another oppressive enforcer of the established patriarchy? Now he was considered second rate to Will Turner, but a man who still deserved her respect because he admitted it gracefully. Deep down, of course, he still burned with indignation. But she had helped him, in a way, to see beyond what would have been.

“I would be delighted…”

They were interrupted by the maid’s appearance.

“Mr. Turner, miss, he says he’s waiting for you in the garden.”

“O, tell him I shall be there shortly.”

“Yes, miss.”

The woman glanced briefly from Elizabeth to James as she did a small curtsy, then left. James shook his head at the apologetic smile.

“It’s quite alright. Perhaps some other time.”

“You know, James, you mustn’t let all this prevent you from visiting,” she said quietly. “It is very much father’s hope that we maintain good relations…and I would like us to be friends, still.”

“Of course.”

“I hope…you had not found me too overly unpleasant in the past…”

“Not at all. And you may rest assured,” James smiled and looked up from his shoes, “I prefer to look ahead rather than dwell on what’s past…and perhaps you ought to go now, before Will gets worried.”

“Thank you, James…you always were the perfect gentleman,” she smiled at him with a mixture of gratitude and sarcasm before peering out into the corridor. “Where has father gone now…”

“Don’t trouble yourself, I can wait for him here.”

“Yes…well,” she looked back and up at him, and touched his arm. “Thank you again, for being so understanding.”

“Not at all. Enjoy your walk.”

She smiled and the hand slipped away. James watched her sweep past and down the full length of the corridor until she disappeared, then strode into the room. Bright light streamed in through the windows, and James suddenly felt like he should be back at the Fort. He knew there was nothing major which required his seeing to, but his purpose of such an idle afternoon visit was mostly to satisfy the Governor’s request. His mind had been on the Adamant since she left port, and he had trouble remembering what it was exactly that Weatherby had wanted to see him about. At least he managed to confirm a sense of mutual understanding between himself and Elizabeth. He was glad to find that he harboured no jealous thoughts regarding the young lovers, yet thinking about their easy courtship made him frown. Will was a blacksmith. The only thing which separated him from Elizabeth was a carriage ride.

“Look on the sea and think of me…as I shall of you.”

His eyes fell back upon the piano, and he walked towards it slowly, reaching out to run his hand along the polished planes of wood. He lifted the lid silently and touched the keys.

“I did not know you played, commodore.”

James smiled and looked up to the figure stood at the door.

“Not since I was a boy.”

Weatherby was looking hot and flustered, and he strode into the room dabbing his brow with a handkerchief.

“Yes, I was never much good myself, and neither, I’m afraid, is Elizabeth, despite all those lessons I’ve lavished upon her-”

“She was playing before, and it sounded quite delightful.”

“Pah,” the governor plunked himself down into an armchair, “she used to throw tantrums at the old music teacher and make the most monstrous racket on the thing. Now she’s grown into an even more wayward…would you care for some refreshment?” the governor realised he was falling into the habitual ramble about his daughter to a man who no longer had a reason to want to know. James smiled politely, and held his hands behind his back as he looked towards the windows again.

“No, thank you, governor. One shouldn’t return to the Fort drunk, even if at times it seems there is nothing better to do than to drink away a somewhat dull afternoon…”

“Ah yes, the Adamant should be well on her way now, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, she left upon a leading wind.”

“Good, good. We shall wish Captain Hunt the best of luck for his mission,” he said airily as he tucked his handkerchief away again. “Though I called you here, commodore, regarding some personal business.”

“I see.”

“An acquaintance of mine, the honourable Lady Bertram, wishes to pay us a visit...I believe she has expressed much enthusiasm about the possibility of migration, unless I am reading too much into the letters. I am rather keen to impress her, however…” he lofted his brows at James.

“Ah…”

“And I could think of no better way to do so, than to send her one of the navy’s finest...”

“Of course. Will she be travelling alone?”

“O no,” the governor blushed, “no, she has a son, Frederick, a fine young lad.”

“And the father?”

“O, he died quite a few years back.”

“I see.”

“We were close friends back in England. I was always much impressed by the grandeur of her lifestyle, though now I wish to return the favour...”

James saw a rather wistful look surfacing in the governor’s eyes, and started to think about his own home back in England.

“You may rely on me, governor, to ensure that Lady Bertram and her son has a fast and safe journey. I guarantee that they shall arrive on our shores very much enthused.”

“Good, good,” he beamed and rose up from the chair. “Although try not to mention the battle aboard the Dauntless…? I wouldn’t want to frighten the good woman with tales of the undead…”

“No, of course not.”

“Very well, then,” Weatherby heaved a sigh and nodded, “I shall write and inform Lady Bertram of the arrangement.”

“Very well, governor.”

He smiled, and looked at him admirably; James felt a faint glow starting in his chest beneath that almost fatherly gaze. And to think he came that close to becoming his son-in-law. The man was pompous and had a tendency for prattling on at times, but James quite enjoyed his company nonetheless, and it was nice to be valued as a friend despite his thwarted role as the most eligible suitor.

“Maria-”

The girl stopped and turned around again.

“Yes, sir?”

James paused for a moment as she waited, brown eyes patient and attentive. For a second he almost thought to ask if she would join him at the table for dinner, or if indeed any of the others cared to break their bread, and share mundane tales with the master of the house.

“Could you bring me some more water, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

He watched her slip out of the dining room, then turned back with a sigh to his dinner. Picking up the knife and fork, he cut into his steak and stopped when the pink fluid pooled out onto the plate. Somehow it did not look as appetising as he had wished. The sight of blood troubled him, and he found his thoughts settling once more upon the Adamant. He looked down the length of the table, at the empty chair sat at the opposing end.

“I am beginning to see why Maria said it is rare for guests to be invited for dinner…”

Captain Hunt was a respected man, and he had a total of three capable lieutenants with him aboard the ship. The crew would be experienced and well disciplined. There would be no hesitation when the Captain gave the word to open fire, and the men would launch their attack in an orderly and precise fashion, probably under the supervision of the new lieutenant himself. The madness would be over in a matter of minutes, and the steady winds of victory shall make sure the Adamant makes a safe and speedy return. There would be a minimal amount of casualties, due to the efficiency of the crew, and he would invite Captain Hunt and the other officers to dine at his house to celebrate their successful mission. Perhaps it could turn into a small, contained party, with guests staying over in his many well furnished rooms. A rascally officer would slip off upstairs with a giggling female, but he would turn a blind eye. Under the general ruckus of merry company, he would catch that one particular person’s eye, and hold it all through the night, hoping he could express through his gaze alone, how much he had missed him. Maria came back into the room, and James raised the fork to his mouth, chewed, and swallowed; the slight tang of the meat made him think of kissing starved and split lips.

~+~

James turned over onto his side and stared at the flame of the candle. Closing his eyes, he remembered the tone of his voice, the change in his gaze as possessive need flickered across its deep, dark depths. He thought of the familiar scents, of the sound of their mingled breaths. With a weighty sigh he lifted his head off the pillow and pinched out the flame of the candle at his bedside.

Darkness descended upon the room, and Andrew's playful chuckle came back to him hauntingly, followed by that secret, almost pained utterance of bliss during those last moments, of that laboured breath blowing against the back of his ear. James swallowed and realised how dry his throat had become. He felt as though something had been squeezed out of him, and he panicked at the unmistakable void left in his mind by the other's absence, at the speed with which it grew and threatened to consume his every thought. There was no denying its presence, no matter what front he fought to maintain.

“Be safe,” he whispered into the dark, wondering if mere words could ever travel across heroic distances. He closed his eyes and imagined his face and prayed for a safe return journey for the fifth time. “I love you."