A/N: K, so I've decided to add my own little collection of POTC oneshots, mainly based on a line/conversation from the movies. Enjoy!
(I own nothing.)
A Pirate's Life For Me
At Least Once More
"I had a dream about you last night. About the day we met, do you remember?"
Of course he remembered. That day, that glorious, life-altering day, when he had first set eyes on the beautiful Elizabeth Swann, was one he thought of often. He hadn't loved her since then, he thought, but it had been at a very young age that he fell in love. He was in love with her still, but she was unattainable. The stunning Elizabeth Swann was, unfortunately, quite out of his league. She was rich, the pampered daughter of a governor, and he was a common blacksmith.
He couldn't tell her this, of course. She could never know his true feelings; he would be eternally humiliated.
"How could I forget, Miss Swann?"
She leaned closer, and his heart pounded. Her eyes, beautiful and dark, gazed right into his, and her smile made his knees tremble.
"Will, how many times must I ask you to call me Elizabeth?"
Elizabeth. He longed to call her Elizabeth, to hold her close and whisper her name over and over. It was a beautiful name, and he whispered it often, when he was working late at night, just to feel it on his lips. Elizabeth.
He couldn't tell her of the talk he had received by Captain Norrington. How he had been strongly reprimanded at fifteen about propriety. How he was no longer permitted to run down the beach with Elizabeth, to be her friend and confidante. How it was no longer acceptable to call her Elizabeth. It must be Miss Swan. She had money and he had none, and that difference between them must always be acknowledged.
No matter what his feelings were.
"At least once more Miss Swann, as always."
Her face fell. They stared at each other for an instant, and he resisted the urge to grab her fiercely and kiss her for eternity. A strange expression came over her face - disappointment? – and she nodded primly at him.
"Good day, Mr. Turner."
Her father took hold of her arm and helped her into the waiting carriage. She didn't look back; she seemed to forget about the young blacksmith. He stood dumbly in her foyer, gazing at the spot where her face had been seconds before. He started, composing himself, and followed them out the door.
"Good day," he said, gaping after the carriage, "Elizabeth."