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#fluff but they're also testing each other and pushing each other's boundaries from the first time they meet
buildarocketboys · 6 years
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I had a thought about James braiding Eleanor’s hair, so I turned it into a ficlet. Enjoy!
She was still barely more than a child when he met her, and half wild, bird’s nest hair and boy’s breeches.
Eleanor Guthrie had insisted on meeting him, as a new captain on Nassau. She did the same with every new captain, according to Gates, but “most of the captains don’t bother. She has no real power here anyway.”
James went to see Miss Guthrie all the same, if only for the amusement of the thing. He was shown into a room, a spacious, well-lit office, which must have belonged to Richard Guthrie. But Richard Guthrie was in Nassau no longer, and only his daughter remained.
She was lounging when he entered, feet on the desk, swigging a bottle of rum, but she stood up to greet him. “Eleanor Guthrie, Queen of the Pirates,” she introduced herself, sticking out a hand, which he took, amused in spite of himself. “Who the hell are you?”
“Captain James Flint, of the Walrus,” he said in reply, trying not to smile. “And you’re hardly Queen of the Pirates, from what I hear. How many of the captains here answer to you?”
She smiled sweetly, then stuck her tongue out at him. “Not yet, maybe,” she admitted, looking angry. “But I will be.”
“And how do you propose on doing that, exactly?” he asked, thoroughly enjoying himself.
“Why should I share my plans with you?” she said, defiantly, and she truly was barely more than a child, but James saw something in her, some steel, real potential, and above all, belief, iron-clad belief, that she could be what she set out to be. James helped himself to a seat.
“Well, first of all, you’ll need to look the part,” he said, taking in her unbrushed hair and dirty clothes dubiously. She glowered at him.
“I do look the part,” she said. “I look just as grubby and uncivilized as any of them out there.”
“Ah,” said James, smiling, “you may look like a pirate. But you don’t look like a captain. And you certainly don’t look like a Queen.”
Eleanor pouted at him. Then she looked him up and down, taking him all in, and seemed to come to the conclusion that he was not simply mocking her. “And what would you suggest?” she asked challengingly.
 That was how they found themselves, several hours and glasses of rum later (James supposed he should be shocked or even worried about how much the girl could consume, but in some ways it only made him admire her more) sat in Eleanor’s chambers, James brushing through her hair and then braiding it with quick, clever fingers.
Eleanor had relaxed and mellowed somewhat. “How did you learn how to do this?” she asked, leaning into his fingers, eyes closing slightly.
“I used to have longer hair,” he said. “I used to do this for myself, on occasion.”
Eleanor twisted to look at him, amused, forgetting his fingers were in her hair and wincing as it pulled. James let go immediately and Eleanor rolled her eyes. “Now you’ll have to start again,” she said. Then, “why would you have to do your hair up all fancy?”
“I was a Lieutenant, in the Navy,” James said, and the words came easily. “I had to be well presented.”
“And your hair used to be…longer?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“When did you cut it?”
James paused, gripping Eleanor’s shoulders very gently and turning her back to face away from him, so he could start to re-braid her hair again, and so he wouldn’t have to feel her piercing gaze on her. “Just after I arrived here,” he said, quietly.
“Why?” she asked, just as quietly, holding her breath, as though she knew it was not merely because the fancy had taken him.
James paused for even longer this time. He finally answered, “because I lost someone.”
“Who?” Eleanor asked, ever-curious, and James finished plaiting her hair.
“There,” he said. “All done. You look like a regular Queen if I ever saw one.” He passed her the mirror, but Eleanor was not remotely interested. Instead, she twisted around to look at him again.
James smiled, and met her gaze, but his eyes were hard as stone. She glared at him for almost a full minute, but eventually broke his gaze, and looked in the mirror.
“Thank you,” she said, and her tone would have been one of compliance and defeat, if it hadn’t been for the last word she uttered. “James.”
 Eleanor Guthrie would be a formidable ally or a powerful enemy, and James knew from that moment that he would do well never to underestimate her.
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