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A/N: Prepare for squiddy fangirl moments!
Disclaimer: I do not own Davy, even though he owns me. Mara is the spawn of moi! And I really wish I was her throughout this story, thing...
“What do ye want?” he growled, trying to stifle a yawn. He scowled as Mara giggled at his ruffled state.
“You know it's half past noon, don't you?” she said, biting her lip to stop from laughing. Davy just stared at her in disbelief, trying to process what she had just said. His eyes grew wide as it sunk in, and he cursed loudly. He finally opened the door further to admit Mara, still muttering curses. As Davy went to open the blinds, Mara placed the basin and pitcher on a small bureau in the back of the room. She went to move away, but stopped abruptly, lost for words.
Davy had taken off his jerkin and coat, left with just a loosely fitting white shirt. It suited him extremely well, helping to bring out his lean, muscular stature. All of his effects had been removed from his person, except for his hat. Despite everything, he looked rather dashing.
“Do I 'ave another 'ead growing from me shoulder?” Davy asked, noticing her stare. Mara reddened slightly.
“No. It's just... You look nice this morning,” she murmured, giving him a shy smile. Davy blinked, unsure how to respond. Deciding to remain silent, he went over to the bureau and poured some of the water from the pitcher into the basin. Thankfully, the water was still warm, and Davy rinsed his face quickly. He was just about to towel his face dry when he glimpsed Mara in the mirror that hung on the wall in front of him. He turned on his heel, glowering sternly at Mara and ignoring the water dripping from his face.
“May I ask, what are ye doing now-uh?” he said, trying and failing miserably to hide his amusement. Like a small child trying on her father's clothes, Mara had put on Davy's coat. It was huge on her, the tail dragging on the ground, and the sleeves completely hiding her hands. She gave him a crooked grin.
“Fear me, for I am Davy Jones! Argh!” she joked, waving one of the sleeves in a mock menacing gesture. Davy rolled his eyes, and bent down to finally towel dry. He moved to relieve Mara of his coat, but didn't even finish the first step. His shirt had suddenly gotten caught on a hidden nail, and a loud, horrific ripping noise ensued. Mara gasped, trying to stop her laughter, and Davy cursed fluently in both English and Scottish; his shirt had torn from his chest down to his navel.
“We're not having a good morning, are we?” Mara snickered, taking off the coat.
“What does it look like? Now what am I supposed tae do-uh? I can't run 'round like this!” Davy ranted, trying fruitlessly to connect the ragged edges of his shirt back together.
“Calm down. You'd think your head had fallen off! It can be stitched,” Mara said calmly. Seemingly out of no where, she produced a needle and some thread. Davy glared at her, and then the needle in turn.
“I can do it meself, thanks,” he muttered. He wasn't keen on having Mara that close to him again, especially with his clothing practically falling off... Mara looked at him sternly, placing a hand on her hip.
“I might want to be a sailor, but I can sew like a lady,” she said, approaching Davy and brandishing her needle. “Now, un-tuck your shirt.” Davy stared at her like she had asked him to strip. Sighing in exasperation, she turned around to give him privacy. “You done yet?” she asked after a few moments. Davy only grunted. Shooing away his crossed arms, Mara knelt before him and started sewing up the rip.
Silence prevailed in the room, the only sounds the soft ruffle of cloth. Already embarrassed beyond words, and finding the silence unbearable, Davy fidgeted horribly.
“Will you stop moving! Don't make me stick you with this needle,” Mara grumbled. Without thinking, she placed her hand on his hip to still his movements. Even though it was just for a moment, Davy stiffened like he had just been shocked with an electric current. He bit his lip, blushing furiously. He had never been so embarrassed in his life. His embarrassment turned to anger as he thought, why was he letting this girl affect him like this? True, she was pretty, but that wasn't really any reason to get so... unsettled and self-conscious. Perhaps it was just the fact that Mara was a girl. He still didn't understand why she talked to him in the first place. He wasn't handsome, and he wasn't particularly nice either, just the opposite of what he thought a woman would want in a man. It was almost as if... Mara saw something in him that no one else had. What it was, Davy could hardly fathom. With an unpleasant jolt, he realized Mara had stopped sewing and had stood up.
“Are you all right?” Mara asked gently. Before he could answer, she continued, “If I really bother you that much, I can leave.” Davy mentally kicked himself; she had noticed his discomfort.
“No, ye don't have tae leave. It's just - ...” he trailed off. He fidgeted again, wondering if he should finish with what he had meant to say. He glanced at Mara rather sheepishly, but stopped, still looking at her. Hardly knowing what had come over him, he felt touched by the fact that she cared for him even a little. “I haven't been with a woman for over forty years,” he finished quietly. He looked away from Mara, and waited for her to withdraw from him in utter disgust. He wasn't in the least bit prepared for what actually happened.
“I'm sorry,” Mara murmured, and she meant it. She had seen the pain in his eyes. Slowly, haltingly, she placed a soft hand on Davy's shoulder. He made no move to acknowledge it, but something in the way his posture loosened told Mara everything she needed to know. Picking up her needle again, she continued to sew.
It was a peaceful moment between them, and Davy was glad of it. He wouldn't have been able to answer any of Mara's questions if she had asked them anyway. Letting his eyes close half way, he stood patiently as Mara worked away. Bereft of anything better to do, Davy slowly found himself watching her sew. It was like watching a silent ballet as her nimble fingers guided the needle in and out of the cloth, the thread following obediently behind. Davy silently remarked that one with sewing skills as good as Mara's could come in handy on the Dutchman.
“Is my sewing up to your high standards, Captain?” Mara said without stopping. Davy ignored her for the most part, but his eyebrow rose slightly in amusement...
“There you are! Good as new!” Mara announced some time later. Davy's head jerked up slightly, his eyes shooting open. Somehow, he had managed to catnap while standing. Looking down at the front of his shirt, he examined her handiwork; she really could sew like a lady.
“That should hold until you can get another shirt,” said Mara, as she wound the extra thread back onto the spool. Davy had to admit, he was impressed.
“Should hold-uh?” he repeated. His lips popped quietly, derisively. Mara looked questioningly at him, but he shook his head. A hint of a smirk was on his features.
“I s'pose I should finish gettin' dressed,” he muttered, changing the subject. He yawned suddenly, and had difficulty in stifling it. “Ye sure ye didn' sneak somethin' intae tha' drink las' night?” Mara grinned mischievously at him, but didn't answer as she left the room.
Oh, one thing... You know how sometimes you have habits/little ritual things you do only in certain places? I was thinking like that for Davy when he comes back on land. I know you might be like, WTF?? but it's cute nontheless, if you ask me.
I hope you all enjoyed my update!