fairielore | Kiss of Death

Title: Kiss of Death for greeneyespurple
Characters: Cutler Beckett, James Norrington,
Pairing: Beckett/James
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 740

Whoever said that seasoned sailors never got sick on the sea would get a scolding from a certain Commodore. Or at the very least a stern word.

He felt every ounce of his energy drained in the past day, and had somehow managed to dizzily hobble into the closest quarters and collapse onto the bed. The world went black, but not in the pleasing way like when he had drunk his misery away. Misery, as he learned, was his payment for getting ahead. The blade he had not wanted to see, the donning of the rich colors were merely the perks.

As he lay feverishly on a bed that had the cushioning that very much reminded him of the padding that expensive coffins had. Though he’ll be damned if he could agree that the dead should be resting much easier then the living were. His ears picked up a scratching noise and he prayed that it wasn’t a rat. Even the slightest mark against his name gave him the reminder that he had not justly earned this position, but rather bargained for it. But then again, why did he have to fight for every inch to further himself when that was how pirates made their living? But he couldn’t compare himself to them. They, who so heartlessly stripped him of his condition. There was no one as cruel as them.

He gave a slow breath, twitching about as he tried to sit up, and heard the stirring of the only other thing in the room.

“You shouldn’t exert yourself needlessly.” The voice was casual, and become closer. He forced his eyes to open, wearily focusing on the figure hovering above him. The dark colors made him believe it to be an angel of death. It turned out to be an agent of death instead.

“I didn’t… I…” Carrying out his everyday duty was not exerting himself. If he couldn’t perform the tasks he was directed to, he was a poor sailor indeed.

A chair was dragged to the bed, the Grim Reaper sitting down and glancing over James, in such a way as if he was admiring his work. He looked wrought with disease, attaining a paleness akin to those who had passed on or well, Beckett. But Cutler’s had an ethereal quality to it that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. “Rest, you look like you need it. It’s not like there isn’t someone who can take over your rounds.” James only saw this as a sign that the other valued his work, but the truth of the matter was quite the opposite. He was dispensable and the next person in line could easily take his place. But James closed his eyes, his naivety immediately relaxing his body, and letting himself fall into a deep slumber.

The next couple days he comes in and out of dazed states, but whenever he did he would always see Cutler on the chair, watching over him. He would catch a softness in the other’s expression, but he could never be sure, his vision blurry and out of focus, like looking through a telescope out into the far off horizon. But one day he caught Cutler gently grasping his hand gently, as if he was the only thing keeping him on this earth. He squeezed the hand with the little fleeting strength he had and uttered but two words: “Thank you.” Through his dizzy eyes he could almost make out Cutler Beckett giving an expression that looked like he’d been slapped in the face. But when he squinted his eyes he saw nothing but a calming smile and heard a murmur of words before his body failed him yet again.

On the next day his illness was completely gone, as if it had gotten tired of him and released its grasp. It was also the day that Davy Jones’ insolence was no longer tolerated and he was given command over the ship. He thought it a sign of endearment, even moreso because their parting goodbyes in closed doors ended with a kiss. His heart beat loudly and he felt instantly feverish but once the soft lips were no longer on his those symptoms disappeared.

Cutler Beckett was his disease and his cure, but the cancerous part that would have otherwise stayed dormant had turned malicious and like many others he would only realize this when it was too late.