Still breathing...

AN: I'm taking liberties with all the Captain of the Dutchman business here, and I'm aware of it, so there's no need to point out that the writers intended Will to be in this job for ten years and just failed to make it obvious enough. :D Thank you. Also I have stolen... borrowed one line of an Evanescence song. Just in case you notice... :D Please tell me what you think!


Still breathing...


„Still breathing…”

That’s how it all started. All those years ago. In another life.

That’s how it starts now.

I can see him leaning heavily against the railing, trying to feel his new mistress trembling under his uncertain fingers while longing to caress the warm body of the one he had to leave behind. He is so different from the young man I knew once. He looks old. Weary and old.

I just stand here behind him for a long time without speaking, giving him the time he needs. It feels like a whole lifetime, in this place where eternity is only a moment and every moment an eternity, before he finally speaks without looking at me.

“Still breathing…”

These words once rolled off my tongue like a relieved prayer, but it almost sounds like a curse from his lips now. I want to ask him. I want to ask if he was happier if he wasn’t. But I don’t have to. I get my answer from only looking at the way he’s standing there with every muscle in his body tense, every nerve alert. He’s already adapting to the changing circumstances with the determination I have always admired him for. No questions, no second thoughts, only action. Some might call this simple, but this is what will save his life and keep his sanity. He’ll learn how to cope, how to bear the torturous pleasure of waiting ten years for a single day of bliss.

“So you’re not invincible either, James.” he says, finally facing me, a small, teasing smile on his lips that makes me smile back at him.

It’s because of his father that I’m here. He knows it as well as I do. We pretend we don’t. He’s almost happy that I’m here. I am too. He won’t ask me to stay. Not with words. But I know. And I won’t leave him. I will never leave him.

*

That first night as Captain of the Flying Dutchman he gets drunk. I try to stop him but he won’t listen to me. Of course this is not the first time that I see him drunk – I was with him the first time he made the acquaintance with rum, and I held his hand as it all came back not much later – but this is different. Usually he was a merry drunk; he was joking around, laughing and singing with a terrible voice. But now he’s loud and almost violent, with a fierce fire in his eyes that scares the men – and they have served Davy Jones. He’s marching around the deck like a caged beast that is just waiting for the opportune moment to break free and tear his captors apart. He’s climbing up and sliding down ropes, leaning across the railing, almost falling; and then he’s up on the main mast, staring into the deep darkness of the night. The men think he’s mad and only I dare to approach him. I stand beside him silently. Just the two of us. Between sky and sea. Between Heaven and Hell. Between life and death. In this place where eternity is only a moment and every moment an eternity. I lay my hand on his shoulders, squeezing it slightly. He’s silent, he isn’t even looking at me, but he places his hand on mine. He knows he’s not alone.


*

I teach him how to woe his new bride. His eyes are filled with an endearing curiosity that I remember from another life, another talk, when he asked me about women and love. I remember the teasing smile that spread on his lips at my embarrassment. He didn’t want to believe that I knew hardly more than he did. He started calling me his monk, and never really realized how true it was. This time it’s different. I’m in my element and drown in the admiring glances with which he follows my every movement. He wants to know everything about the Dutchman, every curve, every sigh, and every shiver. He learns fast and she trembles with desire under his skilled hands. But he’s only truly faithful to one lover, and he always reminds us that his heart beats in the land of the living and not in this place where eternity is only a moment and every moment an eternity. As if we could ever forget.


*


We talk a lot. Of the sea, of adventures, of loved ones – but never about her. Sometimes he asks me to tell him about books I have read before. He listens to the stories that he couldn’t be forced to read as a boy no matter how I begged him. He listens to them like a starving man. I think he needs them to cover the deadly silence that clings to everything in this place where eternity is only a moment and every moment an eternity. We sit on his bed, his back pressed against my chest, his long, curly hair tickling my nose, and I silently whisper in his ear. I tell him about far away lands and unseen adventures; I tell him stories of love and hate; of intrigue and jealousy; of loyalty and betrayal; I tell him of choices and destiny. I create him worlds he never even dreamt of and guide him through their secret paths. Sometimes he falls asleep in my arms to the melody of my voice and I don’t dare to move in fear of disturbing his peaceful dreams.


*

The day of his first visit ashore I’m restless. I feel like I’m losing him again, like that day he chose her – then again, how could I lose him if I never even had him in the first place. I could never forgive him that he left me. Just as he could never forgive me that I left him not much later when I left Port Royal, unable to be so close but still apart. The Dutchman seems strangely silent without his constant questions and boyish laughter, and I find myself unable to tear my eyes away from the white shore where he is now – with her. It never even occurred to me that she might not be there. She would be a fool, which I know she isn’t. The heavy weight on my heart tells me they are together now. Finally united. If only I had power over the sun, so that I could hurry sunset that will bring him back to me, to this place where eternity is only a moment and every moment an eternity.

When he returns, he’s smiling. His eyes are shining, and his every movement radiates sated contentment. He’s almost bursting with excitement and can hardly contain himself till we reach his cabin.

“I have a boy, James.” he bursts out as soon as I close the door behind us. He’s pacing up and down in the small room, telling me how handsome and smart his little boy is, how beautiful she still is, how strange it was to feel solid ground under his feet, how nervous he was at first at entering her – their – house, how relived he was to hear that she had support and also non-pirate friends, and how overjoyed he was at meeting his firstborn son, William James Turner. He said she named the boy after the two men she loved most and had lost. I don’t know what to feel. So I settle on being happy for them. And I swear I can still smell her scent on him as he puts his arms around me and pulls me close.


*


The first time I touch him, he doesn’t even notice the difference. Of course it has been there all along, the longing, but I have never let it surface. I have always forced myself to accept the role of the older brother and never allowed my feelings to flourish. Until now, in this place where eternity is only a moment and every moment an eternity. It’s only the brush of pale fingers against a slightly tanned hand. Just like a million other times. But I feel. For the first time I truly feel the intensity of my emotions. But he doesn’t notice. He just smiles at me with his boyish smile and starts rambling about his son.

“He’s so smart, James. I guess he has that from his mother. Just like his looks. I’m sure he’ll be a real heartbreaker when he grows up.” I want to tell him that his son would be better off if he had his father’s look but I hold my tongue. “He’s brave and skilled and already in love with the sea thanks to “Uncle Jack” as he calls him. And he’s terribly cheeky and obstinate too.”

“Now, who does that remind me of I wonder?” I ask with a teasing smile.

“Come on, James, I wasn’t that bad.”

“Not bad? And how do you explain that half of Port Royal would have been glad to duel you if it hadn’t been for your legendary sword fighting skills – thanks to my lessons, I might add.” I say laughing at the shocked look on his face.

“That’s so not true, James.”

“Oh, believe me, at least half of the town’s population wanted your most precious parts served on a plate – either because you insulted their honour, or that of their wives.” I laugh.

The next thing I know is that he’s pushing me overboard. But I don’t even have time to get angry, because he’s already beside me, laughing and trying to push me under water, just like he used to when he was a young boy and I can’t help but laugh too. His cheerfulness is addictive and brings back memories of a happy past when it was so easy to bear the role of older brother and mentor. But now… Why is everything messed up now?

*


After his second visit ashore he returns very silent and brings the chest with him. I know, it can only mean two things and I’m not sure which I fear more. He doesn’t speak to me, doesn’t even look at me on his way to his cabin. I wait at his door for hours, listening to any sound from inside. But I hear nothing. Soon I can’t stand it any longer and go inside. He’s sitting on his bed, one leg hanging over the edge of the bed, the other pulled close to his chest, head resting against the wall, eyes firmly directed on the chest in the other end of the room. He’s silent. Numb. I have never seen him like that before. I just stand there and don’t even dare to call his name to break the painful silence.

“Do you think it stopped beating?” he asks finally. “I didn’t have the courage to open it yet.”

There is nothing in his voice. No sadness, no anger, no pain. Nothing. He’s empty. And for a moment I’m convinced that his heart did stop beating. I slowly approach him and sit down on the bed close to him. He gives no notice that he sees me and just keeps staring at the chest. We sit beside each other for a long time, in this place where eternity is only a moment and every moment an eternity. He looks like a corpse. Hard and cold. And I would do anything to fill his eyes with laughter again. Or even with anger and hate. Anything would be better than this.

So I kiss him.

I expect him to push me away, to yell and hit me. But he doesn’t do anything. He doesn’t pull away but he isn’t kissing back either. There is nothing in his eyes. No emotion, not even my own reflection do I see there. I would have been able to bear his fury after our first kiss but not this. This cold indifference.

So I kiss him again.

I want to force him to react. To do something, anything. I could even bear his hatred and the loss of his friendship. But this silence breaks my heart.

So I kiss him again. And more.

I slowly undress him and drown him in kisses. There is not one inch of his body that I don’t taste. But he still doesn’t respond, he’s lying there almost lifelessly, his eyes distant.

His silence drives tears in my eyes. How can he not feel me? How can he not feel my love? Anger flares in my veins and before I know what I’m doing I slick one finger with lamp oil and push it carefully inside him. His body trembles with desire but he doesn’t even look at me. Not when I push a second and third finger inside, not when I nudge against him with my carefully slicked member, and not when I gently push inside.

He’s dead. She killed him. I still don’t know if she died or just left for someone else. It doesn’t matter. She’s gone. And it killed him.

I feel almost guilty for doing this. But I don’t stop. I can’t. I need to feel him even if it’s only this once. Even if he’s never going to speak to me again. But this is the only way I can think of to bring the fire back to his eyes.

Is it rape?

But I don’t get to answer because as I accidentally brush against a hidden spot inside him, he cries out and arches off the bed. I can feel his arms closing around me and his eyes lock with mine. My heart almost stops as my name is born on his lips in a silent whisper, and he pulls me down for a deep kiss as we find our release together. He won’t let go of me even after the last waves of pleasure are gone and I can feel his tears on my cheek.

Please. Please, not now. Don’t talk about her now. Please…

“What happened?” I ask him despite myself because I know he needs to tell me.

“She… she died, James. She… Oh, God, James. How can I live without her?”

I don’t know how to soothe him. I can’t find the words. So I just kiss him again and hold him until his breathing becomes even again and he drifts into sleep.


*


I wake up holding him in my arms. The sun is already up and her rays are playing in his curly hair. He’s still sleeping and snoring peacefully. I love to watch him when he’s sleeping. He’s beautiful and at peace, not hurting.

I love how he always manages to wiggle out from under sheets so that I have to tuck him in several times during the night.
I love the silent noises he makes in his dreams and how I can almost guess what he’s dreaming about by just watching his face.
I love that small smile that spreads on his lips as he comes closer and closer to waking up and realizes he’s not alone in bed. He always pulls himself closer to me at this point.

But every moment I’m scared of what I will find in his eyes when he opens them and realizes it’s me. That first morning he couldn’t hide his disappointment fast enough. Since then I’m careful not to look in his eyes too soon. I couldn’t bear to see that look again. Instead I usually burry my head in his soft hair and draw soothing circles on his back – I wish I could make waking up from a sweet dream to reality easier for him.

I know exactly when he wakes up because his smile against my skin fades rapidly, his breathing becomes faster and I feel wetness against my chest. I try to comfort him with whispered words but he starts shaking more and more. It has never been like this. He was always very quiet and distant after waking up but it was never this bad. It hurts to see him hurting. I can only think of one thing to drive away his tears…

I start to place soft kisses on his forehead, his cheeks, his neck, behind his ear and finally his lips, while trying to put all my feelings into one word, his name as I whisper it between kisses. He responds immediately. He needs this. He needs me, I tell myself and desperately try to believe it. I slowly roll on top of him and he instantly opens his legs and wraps them around my waist. He’s already fumbling with the small bottle of oil even before I can ask for it. I know this is not the tender lovemaking we’re used to. This time he wants to be taken forcefully, he wants pain to numb him to the pain he feels inside. I know better than to deny him what he needs and barely prepare him before I push inside him with one hard thrust. He cries out in pain but a small smile appears on his lips again. He pushes down against me and moans loudly every time I hit that spot inside him that makes his eyes roll back. All too soon he cries out one last time and pulls me with him into the depths of infinite pleasure. If only this could be enough for him one day. If only he would let me be the one to guard his heart. I would give anything…

I’m still breathing heavily against his neck when I hear his silent voice calling my name. I raise my head and look him in the eyes. It scares me what I see there. He’s giving up. I know what he wants me to do without hearing the words and he knows I understand. He can see the recognition in my eyes, I’m sure. But can he also see my heart? Does he know, does he really know what he’s asking? Does he know that this moment I hate him for it? And that I hate myself for forgiving him? I want to say so much to convince him to change his mind, to make him stay with me forever in this place where eternity is only a moment and every moment an eternity, but all I manage is a whispered confession.

“I love you.” No matter what. Always. Don’t leave me…

“I know.” That’s all he says. I can feel his gentle caress on my face and I kiss his hand despite myself. I still try to beg him without words but I already know it’s no use. He can’t live without her. I’m not enough. Never will be…


*


“Are you sure, James?” he asks me from behind. I don’t turn to face him as I nod, I’m not sure I could bear to look at him now. I have always known I could never deny him anything, that he would only have to crave my heart and it would be bleeding in his hand instantly – I never thought, though, that it would literary be the case.

“It has always belonged to you…” I say smiling bitterly at the thought of saying the same words he said to her once.

Suddenly I feel his strong hands on my shoulders and his soft lips behind my ear. I can’t take this. Please stay. Don’t leave me. How can I bear an eternity without you? I want to scream at him, hit him for being so cruel and selfish. But I only let out a shaky breath and say:

“Please… stop.” I already crave to feel his touch again as he pulls his hands away.

“You could come and visit sometimes. We would be very happy to see you, James.” I just nod. We both know it’s never going to happen. This is our last goodbye. “James, I…”

“Don’t.” I interrupt almost too harshly. “Just… just go.”

I can hear him sigh and say a last silent ‘goodbye’ and then he’s gone, taking my heart with him into the land of the dead. I know I should stay here and spare myself the torture of seeing him being reunited with her, but I can’t help myself and run after him. I make sure he can’t see me as I watch him step on land and run into her open arms. She’s beautiful in her long, white dress, her long hair whipped by the wind.

It hurts to see their intimate gestures and loving kisses.
It hurts to see him whispering in her ear.
It hurts to realize that he must be telling her about me because she looks in my direction with sympathy in her eyes. I know they can’t see me, but they both know I’m there, feeling nothing but loss and pain.
And it hurts that I can’t even hate them. Not even her. How could I hate the one he loved enough to die for? But it still pains me that he didn’t love me enough to go on living for me. How will I be able to bear an eternity with this pain in this place where eternity is only a moment and every moment an eternity?

“Captain, we’re ready to leave.” I hear one of the new sailors behind my back. I sigh and nod my consent, tearing my eyes away from the shore and look into the smiling, slightly scarred face of the young man. “Thank you, Tom.”

The horizon is waiting for me. This is my duty. A purpose to live for.

I am the sea.


The End