Hidden Scars

I - II - III - IV - V

Chapter 6

You decided to take a shower.

Miranda’s words, as always, swirl in your head - you kept hearing them throughout the whole night - and you just want to get some rest and get rid of the sensation of her hands on you, in your hair, her insistent touch, the bittersweet taste of her kisses on your lips. Sometimes, you feel like there’s something toxic on your skin that itches: a shower seems the best option to get rid of it… to get rid of her.

You hate that you let her get under your skin. You hate that she affects you so much even when she shouldn’t. You hate her that despite how badly she’s able to treat you, you still miss her at night, that you know, in a couple of days, you’ll be back at asking to join you to bed.

You hate it all, but you hate the sadness and the hurt that follows the most.

Because you know, somehow, she can shout and bite, and you also know that her threats are basically empty, but you can’t also pretend those words don’t hurt you at all.

Miranda is there, yet she’s far away; always around but so out of reach. Once upon a time, you thought something would come out of there, you thought that one day things would be clearer, but none of that is happening and you’re beginning to feel stuck.

When she’s in a good mood, being with Miranda is great, but when she’s in a foul one, well, it’s a whole different story - and after she’s made clear that nothing will ever come out from whatever is going on between you two - merely a kitten toy for her to play with when she feels like it - you don’t even see a future. What’s going to happen in a month, or in a week? Will you still be here, following orders, satisfying her request, without knowing why, nor if you’ll ever do something else in your life, besides existing and entertain your kidnapper in every way she sees fit?

Bowing your head low until your chin touches your chest, you exhale loudly and let the scalding hot water cascade above your head, rinsing the soap and some of your thoughts away. You imagine your hope for something more and your dream to walk out of that building with her, spiraling down in the drain and you laugh at yourself, not entirely sure if it’s just water streaming down your cheeks.

Perhaps if you’d paid more attention you would have noticed, beyond the steamed, blurry glass of the shower, the bathroom door opening; perhaps, if you hadn’t tried so hard to cover your pitiful sobs, you’d heard the ruffling noise of buttons opening, of zips pulled, of shoes dropped on the floor with the piles of discarded clothes already there; perhaps if you could’ve just owned up and act normal - and be normal in the first place - you wouldn’t be in this situation at all, simply living and taking what she gives you, no question asked, as Miranda said.

But you’re not: your eyes sting for the soap, your ears are too focused on registering your own whimpers over the water running, and you don’t acknowledge any of those things happening until you feel the cold air on your back as Miranda slides the shower door open.

You tense up immediately, furiously rubbing at your eyes to get rid of the soap and be able to look at her with some composure. Surely you don’t want to look weak and broken when you’ll tell her to leave or reply to one of her questions or complain about one of the challenges she’s planning to give you.

You’re expecting some vicious grips on your arm, you expect Miranda to pull you out, suddenly deciding your unnegotiated five minutes of hot water are over, you expect her to be her normal self, harsh and smug and unpredictable, yet none of that happens.

She is unpredictable, but not in her usual feral way. Because, instead of the expected violence, you feel her arms circling your waist, looping around your middle. You feel her body press against yours, her breasts flushed onto your back, and her skin is a different kind of warm compared to the water running over you both, now. You feel her lips resting almost purposelessly on your marked shoulder, then her cheek nuzzles in between your shoulder blades.

You’re taken off guards but that uncalled and unexpected show of affection, especially after you thought about your next encounter would’ve been a full display of the power she has over you, and so your arms drop slowly at your sides, hands balling up into two loose fists.

“I’m sorry.” She murmurs.

You wish you had the promptness to reach out and turn off the tap to hear her better, but those words are even more surprising than the rest.

“What?” You mumble, not even bothering to conceal your disbelief.

“I said that I’m sorry,” Miranda repeats with a sigh, and you helplessly follow her movement when, behind you, she begins to sway, “I get it: it’s my fault.”

You wish you also had the promptness to turn your head back and look into her eyes as she says so. Instead, you keep staring at the steam-coated tiles in front of you, unconsciously memorizing patterns that don’t really exist.

“Your fault?” You echo dumbly.

Miranda nods against your back.

“You can’t understand something you don’t know.” She whispers, you feel the tip of her nose drawing small circles on your dewed skin.

“You’re going to tell me what’s this all about?”

You almost believe her, for a moment. Then, when you dare to breathe, dare to let the thought of her actually apologizing and gathering the courage to make that longed-for promise of her trying to act better, vanish. The grip on your waist tightens, you can hear her breathing sharper into your wet hair.

“Of course not.” She replies with the familiar saccharine tone, but you can feel that her intentions are not as sweet as anybody else would think. “I’ll just be more patient with you.”

“What?” You blink in dismay, her elbows digging painfully into the hollow space of your waist for a moment before she untangles her arms from your, her hands settling on your hips, her fingers grasping with a bruising force.

On your back, you feel the pricking of her teeth over the smooth ridges of your scars. It stings a bit, but it only serves as a reminder.

“I’ll show you what will happen to you if you don’t listen to me and keep questioning what we’re doing and I’ll try to be very patient with you when you’ll start to complain.”

She spins you effortlessly, and now that your face is inches from hers, you can see yourself in the reflection of her eyes. Teeth bare, she’s grinning innocently when she lets you go, trapping you between the shower wall and her own body even without touching either - her presence is enough to discourage you from trying anything. She reaches behind you with both hands, presses her body against your own and you release a shuddering breath at the closeness, well knowing that, from there, only ugly things will happen.

You have very little time to react before she fists your hair, tugging once and with force, making you yelp, blinking rapidly as your face stands now under the direct scalding water, the ceiling blurred and cloudy beyond the showerhead.

You don’t know what she is doing with her other hand, but everything becomes clear when the water turns cold in a second - icy cold - and she keeps you under the stream with unfaltering strength when your stomach begins to spasm and your mouth open on its own volition. You shut your eyes tight, illegible complaints falling from your lips as you pant and splutter water.

You’re barely aware of the jerky movements of your hands and arms as you cling to her shoulders for balance - and to have something firm to hold on to while you feel like choking, dying in the cold, in the most horrible of ways.

Her other hand settles on the small of your back, keeping you flushed against her, keeping you upright and still.

“Relax.” Her voice is calm but easily reaches your ears above the cascade of water over your face. “It’s just the shock reaction, don’t fight it.”

You’re left there gasping for air like a goldfish, but her voice is anchoring and you focus on that, on the steady rise and fall of her chest against your own, spasming one, on the gentle rubs of her fingers on your loins. Slowly, you blink your eyes open, shivering due to the cold stream but able to bear it on your skin. You tilt your head to the side, wincing when you feel her tug tighten, and try to breathe through your nose, water and spit trailing down your chin as you empty your mouth.

“That’s it, clear your mind.” Miranda praises, her hot breath on your neck making you shiver even more. “You need to get used to cold temperatures. One can never know.”

The muscles in your neck protesting for the angle, you try to wiggle your head free, wincing at her fingers still entangled between your wet hair. The water still runs over your face and you’re still trying not to drown in it, your lungs burning painfully, begging for oxygen. You feel your stomach spasm one last time before she releases her fist and you stumble about, sure you would have fallen to your knees if Miranda hadn’t been there, squeezing you tight.

And what did she try to prove? Teaching how to control your body reaction in case you fall into a frozen lake? Or is it some torture she’s experimented on herself, inflicted by one of those enemies she fears? The next thing she’ll do, you can imagine, will be training your ability to hold your breath underwater, preferably at freezing temperatures - or boiling ones. Yes, but for what?

You cough up water from the back of your throat, but you cannot expand your chest fully, like you so desperately desire, because Miranda’s arms are crawling on your back, rubbing messy circles as she shushes you, suddenly all protective and indulgent.

“You dropped your guard.” She murmurs. Her head is tilted, her face is buried into your neck and wet hair and you desperately trying to breathe, eyes burning and tears streaming freely down your face, mixing with the water.

“What?” You manage to croak out, your throat stinging for all the useless spasming of your muscles in search of air. What does she mean? On what particular occasion? Right now? Three days ago when you let her jump on your back and pin you to the floor on your way to the kitchen? Two months ago when she kidnapped you in a dark alley?

“You knew I was coming for you, and yet you let me get close.” She says, her voice low and firm, but it doesn’t have any bite in it. She almost sounds… apologetic, but you know she’s not.

She’s talking about right now. When you were showering and thinking about her, and you noticed something was off and perceived Miranda’s presence and feared the outcome and yet did little or nothing to stop her.

“It was you, Miranda-” You blink, clearing your throat, and you sigh in relief when you notice you can breathe normally, without aching too much. “I guess I still want to talk about it." You sigh sharply. "I’m not scared. Whatever it is, I know you would never-”

“But I did hurt you in the past,” Miranda interjects, her ability to anticipate your thoughts leaving you once again speechless. Yes, you were about to say you're not fearing her because she would never really hurt you; you were about to blatantly lie. She knew and she stopped you, “I did hurt you already and I keep hurting you.” She doesn’t sound sorry as she says that, merely stating the truth. You can even hear her say that she’s doing all this for your own good, in your head.

Miranda turns off the water. You shiver against her.

“I'm aware.” Despite yourself, you relax in her hold, you slide your arms around her slender body when she starts to sway again, gently, the heat radiating from her body a welcome distraction from the freezing air hitting your back. “But it’s too late to be scared of you. I’m past that.”

Miranda sighs heavily in your hair. She swallows. You feel her hand crawling up your back, on the nape of your neck, her fingers grabbing your hair into her fist - she doesn’t tug, nor pull, but it’s possessive nonetheless.

“You mustn’t lower your guard, did you hear me?” She mumbles. “ You’ve learned a lot, but this might be my biggest failure.”

“What?” You almost sob, the word coming out squeezed as you rest your chin on top of her shoulder. Why are you so slow in getting the meaning of her words today? Has the cold water frozen your brain?

When she pushes you away, you hardly contain a whimper. You gather your arms close to your body, curling up on yourself as you try to cover as much skin as possible in the extreme attempt to stop shivering.

Miranda’s hands are on your face in an instant. She cups your head firmly, her fingers are cold against your cheeks. Her blue eyes are shimmering, boring into you with intent.

If you didn’t know better, you would say she was on the verge of crying.

“You mustn’t trust anybody.” She states, stressing every word.

You swallow, blinking rapidly but sustaining her gaze.

“You already know I trust you.”

In your head, you’ve just said something Miranda would be proud of. You imagined she would smile, praise you because that was exactly what she wanted to hear, that the world outside was a dangerous, vile place full of villains and threats while she is the only exception, the one who had saved you from a lame life, the only one who gives you a purpose.

Instead, Miranda frowns, her fingers pressing at either side of your head almost painfully. She clenches her jaw, and trembles with the effort.

“You mustn’t trust anybody.” She insists.

“Miranda, but it’s you-”

Her lips collide against yours and, just like the cold water, they steal your breath. Something within you, however, thaws out.

“Nobody.” She murmurs. “Especially me.”

Miranda leaves the room. Shivering, alone in the shower, you can’t do anything but listen to the water dripping by your feet.

Marriage Material - Part 1 - Jim Kirk

Summary: in this chapter, you’re aren’t asked. you’re told.

Warnings: alcohol, language

A/N: this should be interesting to write. that drunk friends gettin’ married trope.

Street upon street lined with lights brighter than you’d ever seen. Reds, yellows, greens, blues— colors you’d never encountered in your life stung your eyes as they flashed over the building-sized television screens, the bulbs lining each tower, and the clothes of every creature stumbling along every sidewalk just like you were.

You imagined that’s what Las Vegas looked like back on Earth— you’d heard stories from the old bitties in your family and you’d seen pictures of its heyday, but the sight of such excess, of such unnecessary glitz was nearly overwhelming in person.

Your eyes were hooded and foggy from the drunkenness that warmed you to the tips of your toes while your steps managed a certain degree of stability, your arm looped through that of one of your closest friends.

You let your arm fall from his, catching his hand instead and pulling him closer into your side. His hip bumped against yours and you took a deep breath, feeling the cold air burn your nostrils as you inhaled. “Remind me to never go to another Chekov party. I swear the boy wants me hospitalized with alcohol poisoning.”

Jim laughed through his nose, his glassy blue eyes sliding shut for a moment. “He didn’t force the shots down your throat, starlight.”

You mouthed his words imitatively and laughed loudly when he shot you a dirty look. “You know, Nyota said she and Spock might get married.”

“What, like in the future?” he asked, pulling you along the sidewalk until he came to a brief stop before a large white marble fountain.

You sighed at the feeling of the cold mist splashing against your warm skin, shutting your eyes as he continued walking to let him guide you blindly. “No, like, soon. Like before we leave the base.”

His steps halted and you opened your eyes, nodding upwards as he stared at you with his head tilted. There was a soft red tint spreading over the tip of his nose and the highpoints of his cheeks, his blonde hair sticking up every which way from the ongoing breeze.

You were tempted to smile and pinch his cheek adoringly but stopped yourself when you read his confusion and mild shock. “What? This place is loaded with little wedding halls probably for every religious faith and culture in the Federation. We even passed one for atheists, like, fourteen feet from the junior officer barracks.” You pointed ahead of you at a plain white building which looked misplaced amongst all the excess. “There’s one for Vulcan atheists right there.”

He blew a raspberry, the sound childish and inspiring another one of your smiles. “Them getting married would be a mistake.”

You pulled Jim’s hand to tow him along this time and clicked your tongue with a single shake of your head. “What, are you jealous? Spock’ll still have time for you.”

He shook his head. “It’s not that. Marriage is just a big deal— they don’t last more than three months at a time as it is.”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “I mean, are marriages done here even valid?”

“It’s Federation law— no planet in the Federation can deny marriages celebrated on other planets. If their marriage license is signed, it’s valid whether they’re married here, on Earth, on New Vulcan, on Caleb IV— anywhere.”

“Well, more than half the couples could probably get annulments since they’re all drunk and not in their right minds,” you stated, narrowing your eyes at what appeared to be an Earth-like diner complete with red and white tiles, red vinyl booths, and waitresses on roller skates. “Then again, no judge would grant an annulment to people that’ve dated as long as those two have.”

Jim hummed, taking one large step to walk ahead of you and pull you towards the diner. It enabled you to smell the grease easily.

“But if you and I were to get married,” you continued, following him through glass doors, and, immediately, a gentle heat surrounded you. “If we were to get married, we could probably get an annulment.”

He picked a booth in the back corner and you smiled to yourself. He plopped down on one side and you slid into the other, he tilted his head with wide eyes that reflected each of the overhead lights. “Why would we be able to?”

“We’ve never had sex,” you replied, picking up a plastic menu and absentmindedly clicking your tongue until you spotted French fries with a whispered “whoo” of victory. You glanced up at Jim as he continued to stare at you. “And we’ve never indicated romantic interest in one another, never been on a date— we’re, like, the definition of platonic. If we were to marry each other, it’d obviously be when we’re not of sound mind.”

“I’ll pretend that doesn’t sting,” he mumbled, looking down at his menu. He sighed as he stared at the words he was unable to make out even when he selected the English language option. He looked up again, he narrowed his eyes again. “You really don’t have any romantic interest in me?”

You raised a single eyebrow before telling the waiting waitress what you wanted— just an order of fries and a chocolate milkshake— and held your response to Jim until he was able to relay his order— the same as yours seeing as he had no idea what else was on the menu. “Why? What’s it doing to your ego when I say I don’t?”

“Less my ego and more right here,” he said as he used his right index finger to point at the left side of his chest. He frowned exaggeratedly— he wasn’t going to allow the more natural frown he felt pulling his lips downward. “You’re breaking my heart, starlight.”

You blinked and stayed silent for a moment, rolling your eyes with a snort a moment later. “Good one.”

Moments later, the lavender-skinned waitress set your identical orders before you. She smiled and intended on skating away until Jim stopped her, asking, “Do you serve alcohol?”

When she nodded, Jim made his own quiet sound of victory. “Get me whatever’s strongest, please.”

You tilted your head once more. “Not drunk enough?”

He shook his head, the red that was previously so keen on highlighting his features had faded as had the smile that was once so keen on staying put the entire night. “Apparently not.”

It wasn’t a surprise to either of you that you decided to partake in drinking more as well. The faces as he made when the alcohol burnt his throat was too tempting, too desirable and your milkshake did little to provide relief.

You sat back against the cushion, tipping your head upwards to stare at the ceiling for a moment. Your eyes were hooded once again, your movements slower now than before as if you were surrounded by viscous maple syrup rather than the warm air of the busy diner. “Spock and Nyota shouldn’t get married.”

Jim hummed questioningly. His chin sat upon his palm, propped up by a precariously unsteady arm. He looked at you unwaveringly now, even as you managed to look anywhere but at him.

You took your eyes from the ceiling, opting to stare at the empty bottle between the two of you— the bottle the waitress only gave you to keep from having to run back and forth between the small bar section and your booth. “Spock and Nyota.”

He frowned. “They shouldn’t get married.”

“That’s what I’m saying! They’re barely friends, forget about loving one another enough to make a marriage last.”

He hummed. “You should marry your friend.”

“Which friend?”

He snorted. “The general you, not you. Friends make good spouses.”

“Are you speaking from experience?” you asked with a laugh, smiling at him.

He cleared his throat and looked away for a moment. “Of course not. I’m not ‘marriage material.’”

“Who the fuck said that?” you yelled, clapping your hand over your lips the instant your volume attracted attention. You smiled behind your palm, rolling your eyes as your hand sat atop your lap again. “Whoops.”

“No one needs to say it,” Jim shrugged, clearly not bothered by your volume as his amusement took a little time to fade.

“Well, I’d marry you.”

To your ego’s dismay, he scowled. “I thought we were ‘the definition of platonic.’”

“Please,” you snorted, your head lolling against the cushion behind you once more. “You can’t tell me you really think that.”

He tilted his head. He traced your features, he tried to memorize each of them. “Marry me, then. Right now.”

“Right,” you said dryly with a dismissive wave of your hand.

“The venue’s up to you— Vulcan atheist, Earth Zoroastrian, Caleb IV agnostic. Doesn’t matter.” He sighed then, a brightness in his otherwise glossy eyes that you’d never seen in the years you’d known him. “Let’s get married.”

Though your throat had run dry and the beating in your chest was so forceful it would have forced you to double over had you been standing, you picked Earth Zoroastrian. You told him you liked the word “Zoroastrian” and you told yourself you really liked him.

PART 2

Worthy

Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean Character: James Norrington Relationship: James Norrington/reader Request: What I would like to see is perhaps some character development coming from James? (maybe even the Reader herself ;)) What about something with Reader helping James getting through his depression after his whole career has fallen apart? But maybe this time reader wouldn't be a pirate??? (unless it'd be too much of a struggle for ya) You walked to the small tavern in the middle of the town. You could hear the overwhelmingly bad singing of sailors and farmers as they sung their heart out. Pushing the door open, you pulled your coat further over yourself as you walked into the tavern. It wasn’t a place for a lady like you. In fact, it wasn’t even a place for the whores who wondered the streets, ready to flash a heel for a pretty penny. But you pushed your way through the men, searching for him. You knew this was the only place he would be. After his fall from grace, he had landed at rock bottom and didn’t seem to know how to get back up. You really didn’t know how you could help him. Blinking back tears, you hated that it had come to this. Only a few months ago, he had made a request for you to join him for dinner. At that dinner, he had asked you if you had ever considered marriage. You told him the thought had crossed your mind but your father would have the final decision. The next day, you father came in with pride written on his face as he announced that the great James Norrington had requested for him to attend a meeting about your hand in marriage upon James return from his journey. James left to catch Jack Sparrow that morning and you had ran to him before he departed. He pulled you aside, smiling at you. “Since we were children, I knew you were the one I wanted to marry.” He answered when you asked if it was true. You couldn’t help but fling yourself at him, pressing your lips to his in a sweet kiss. He had to pry himself away from you when he was called, but promised you he would return to marry you. But that never happened. he returned and had his ranks stripped from him. He turned away from you and to the drink. He refused to speak to you or even see you. It broke your heart. As you pushed your way through the crowed, you saw the once great James Norrington, slumped over on a bar stool. He was watching the half filled glass with a resentment you had never seen before. You tried to walk towards him when a large hand caught your upper arm. “Where you goin’, pretty little thing?” A rough voice slurred and, as you turned to yank your arm away. But he had a tight grip on you. He tried to pull you closer and you smelt the alcohol on your breath. Fear flooded your body as you struggled against his grip. “Get your hands off of me!” You cried out, not sure if your voice would be heard over the rowdy crowed He sneered at you, but then his eyes fell on something behind you. “get off her!” You instantly recognized it as being James voice. You glanced back to see he had drawn out his sword and, even though he was probably drunk, he would still be handy with it if needed. The man growled before pushing you away from him. You stumbled over your long dress and fell, only to be caught by James. You expected him to ask if you were okay, but he didn’t. He hauled you up on your feet and dragged you out of the tavern. It was late and the sky was dark. There was no one on the streets at this time apart from the occasional drunk stumbling home. “What you doing here?” he slurred, and you wondered if you would have been better off with the drunk in the tavern. James was angry. “I was looking for you.” You replied, a little annoyed at his tone of voice. “Well, you found me!” He held out his hands. “Now go away.” he turned on his heel and started to stumble back into the tavern, but you ran after him. He heard you and turned around, blocking your entrance. “Go. Away.” He said, in a low and threatening voice, but you saw a pain in his eyes that you couldn’t ignore. He was about to turn around, but you couldn’t control your own heart ache. “You said you wanted to marry me!” You screamed at him. You couldn’t count the amount of sleepless nights you had spent thinking about him. Or the amount of time you spent searching for him. Everyone called you insane. You were from a well off family and your father had said you could marry someone with money. But you didn’t want them. You wanted the drunk in front of you and that broke your heart. “Was that a lie?” you wanted a reaction from him. You wanted him to acknowledge your existence. “Or was I just another jewel in your hand that you could throw away in exchange for drink?” You saw his whole body slouch, the glass he had carried out dropping to the ground. Due to the mud, it didn’t shatter. “I would have done anything for you, James. And the second you got back, you tossed me aside. You didn’t even come visit me! I tried everything to find you. I just wanted to help you!” You continued, only for him to spin around. “I cant be helped! They stripped everything away from me! Ive. Got. Nothing.” He screamed at you, gesturing to himself as he did so. But you didn’t even flinch. “You still had me.” You sighed. “No, no I didn’t. I should have known I could never had you.” His anger dropped away and was now replaced with misery as he swayed on the stop. “I cant give you anything. Look at me!” “James, I-“ You started to move towards him, but he held his hands out, stopping. “you will marry someone of the highest rank. You will live in a elegant house and have all the comforts you deserve in life. And you will forget about me.” James raised his head, speaking with an air of authority that you hadnt heard in a while. He then looked down. You saw an element of hate in his eyes as they raked over his dishevel appearance. You walked up to stand in front of him and his eyes moved to your dress. They travelled up your body till they reluctantly met your eyes. “When was the last time you slept in a bed rather than a tavern floor?” You asked, seeing the dark circles under his eyes. Embarrassment crossed his face as he looked away. “Longer than I care to admit.” He muttered, looking back to you. You nodded and walked to stand by his side. You looped your arm in his and gently started to guide him away from the tavern. You were surprised he allowed you to do this, considering his reluctance to even stand close to you. The two of you walked down the empty street in a comfortable silence. This had always been a small dream of yours. You just wanted to walk in the street with the man you loved. You blinked your eyes, not wanting the tears to start again. God knows how long you had spent crying over the very man who was next to you. You felt him start to straighten up as he walked but you didn’t say anything. Maybe he was pretending just as you were. You eventually guided him into a small inn. You knew the owner as Mrs Little, an elderly woman who you had always liked. She ran her inn with a zipped lip and you knew if you went there, she would take your secret to your grave. You felt James pause, a little reluctant to follow inside but you gave him a small smile which made him trust you. He followed you into the small hallway and to the hatch in the door. Sure enough, Mrs Little appeared in the hatch. “hello, dear.” Her eyes skimmed over the two of you. “Just the one room?” “Yes, please.” You nodded. You knew she knew about the promise he had made to you all those months ago. She knew everything. She was the silent knowledge of the town and would always offer help to those who needed it. The world needed more people like her. She handed you the key and you gave her the payment, smiling and thanking her. You climbed the stairs, thankful that there was no one in the inn who came out of their room. You unlocked the door and opened before walking in. He followed you in, watching you closely. The comfortable silence had disappeared and now you felt the strain in the air. You closed the door over but didn’t lock it just yet. Turning back to him, you held out the key to James. He reached out, taking the key but his hand hovered against your skin for a second before dropping. “Why are you doing this?” He suddenly asked, clutching the key in his hand as if it was his only safety net. For a moment, you thought over your answer. You tried to think of any reason to give him that he might believe. But you were unable to think of anything. You sighed, looking away from him. “Because I love you. I always had. And that day you left, I thought everything was perfect. And I waited for you to return. Every day I stood at the harbor.” You looked around the room, unable to look him in the eyes. “But you came back and acted like you wanted nothing more to do with me. And it broke my heart.” Tears cascaded down your cheek as you were unable to hold them back any more. “I did not lie to you that day.” James suddenly said, his eyes watching your tears. “I meant it. I intended to return back to marry you. But now, I cant.” “Why? Because you don’t love me?” You offered. Your voice was sharp, but you couldn’t take much more. “No, of course not!” James suddenly barked at you, taking your words as a personal insult. “because im not worthy!” His words caught you off guard yet again and you stood, staring at him in utter confusion. “Im-im not worthy. You deserve more than I can ever offer now. I didn’t come to find you because I feared you would have found someone else. I couldn’t see you on the arm of another.” He sighed, turning away from you. “Did you ever stop to ask what I wanted?” You asked, seeing his glance over his shoulder at you. “I didn’t care what medals you wore, what blade you carried or what rank you were. I loved you for who you are. If you had asked for my hand with nothing else but a pocket full of coins, I would have said yes.” “And your father? He would allow you to marry someone who-“ He started but you cut him. “My father would allow me to marry who ever I loved. And while he may not agree with my decision, he would support me.” You clarified. “What?” James turned to you, bewildered. “When you came back, we were the first family to know what happened. And he sat down with me and asked me about it. I told him how I felt about you. And he agreed if you came to him and asked him, he would give his blessing.” You explained as your tears began to sting your cheek. “But you never did.” You mumbled as you broke down. You raised your hands to cover your face as you cried into your palms. There was a brief moment before arms encircled you and you were pulled against a hard chest. “Im sorry.” You heard James mumbled time after time as he held you. He guided you over to the small double bed in the corner and you both sat down. His arm stayed wrapped around you as you lay your head on his shoulder. you pulled out a cloth to dry your eyes as you focused on calming yourself. “I cant offer you the luxuries in life you deserve.” He whispered to you in a soothing voice. “But I will never stop loving you.” You pulled away, eyes wide at his words. He looked into your eyes for the first time in months. At least properly. You saw he was telling the truth and that love that you had seen in his eyes the day he left seemed to have returned. You couldn’t help but smile at him as he reached out and took one of your hands, raised it and pressed a soft kiss on the back of your hand. The kind and loving gesture was evry much needed. “James, I love you, too.” You smiled, gently squeezing his hand. “If I go to your father tomorrow, do you think he would still allow me to take your hand in marriage?” he asked, swiping his thumb over your soft skin. “Im afraid I don’t know.” You shrugged. “Then I shall just have to persuade him.” James smiled. You hadnt seen him give a genuine smile in months. You glanced out the window and noticed it was now pitch black out. “I need to go.” You told him, nodding to the window. He followed your directions. “But I’ll see you tomorrow?” “Of course.” He confirmed, before leaning in and pressing a kiss to yours lips. this one was similar to the first kiss you had ever shared with him. It was filled with desire and adoration but still carried that sense of danger you loved about him. you had to pry yourself away from him and get up. He followed you to the door, a soft smile on his lips as you peaked his cheek. “You might want to get a bath while you are here? My father may look over most things, but if you insult his smell, you’ll be out the door.” You giggled as James nodded. Leaving the room, you felt like a weight had been lifted and you took all your energy not to stay with him that night. But of your father noticed your absents overnight, there would be hell to pay. Just was you were about to leave the inn, Mrs Little grabbed your arm. “I couldn’t help but noticed the gentleman’s clothes. I happen to have a couple of pieces of clean clothes left by others. Do you think he would accept them?” She asked, pointing to a small pile of folded clothes in the corner. “That would be perfect, thank you.” You smiled, nodding at her before taking your leave. Sure enough, the next day, your father called you down to tell you of your new engagement to James Norrington. You asked where James was and your father told you that, since he was his new son-in-law, he would have to dress in accordance so had sent him with money to get new clothes from the market. Your father seemed to have everything planned out, as you later found out. He gave you both money to buy a small house just outside the center of town. James was hired for a small merchant company and you quickly settled into your new, simplistic lifestyle. You started helping Mrs Little at her inn, which provided a little bit more money but also some funny stories. However, every time James walking in the front, you knew you had made the right decision. Every now and again, James would shrink back into himself, saying he wasn’t worthy of you. You had to help him through those times, telling him how much you loved him. Just like he loved you.