James Norrington

And yet it was still James.

His James.

When their eyes locked, John smiled sadly. It hurt to see James so broken, so lost. His absence had affected the vampire so deeply, he’d rather sleep the days and nights away than live them. If that wasn’t love, John didn’t know what was.

“No, baby. You’re not dreaming.” He whispered back. “I made you a promise, didn’t I? I’d come back to you. I’m sorry it took longer than expected.” John wouldn’t be able to apologise enough for all he’d put James through. He was glad more than ever that they’d have eternity together, so each and every day James would know just how adored he is.

As James reached out, John didn’t budge. Not even when those ice cold fingers touched his cheek. Anyone else might’ve jumped from the cold, but not John. It was a moment he’d been focused on ever since he’d left. That first touch from his husband. He was about to lean into it before James pulled away. John’s brows furrowed as he watched James closely, studying him. The look of concern made it clear that his current injuries had been noticed.

Yet when his jaw was cradled, John let out a deep sigh that was a mix of a sob and relief. A hand came up to rest on top of James’s as he nuzzled in, not caring about the cold, not even noticing it. He melted into that touch as a tear slipped free and slid down his cheek. He turned his face to press a kiss to palm, to nuzzle more before blue eyes returned to green. “My time away wasn’t a picnic in the sunshine, that’s for sure.” He muttered, pressing another kiss to palm and moving James’s hand to his own chest, holding it there.

“It’s only temporary, just like the block to our bond.” John stated with a deep sigh, shaking his head. “The bond was something I never had before we met. I suppose to some, being emotionally, mentally and physically tied to another could be seen as a problem.” He paused, looking James right in the eye. “I can’t imagine my life without it. These past few days have been hell. Quite literally. I never want to be without you and our bond ever again. The only reason I’m still alive is because I promised I’d come back to you. You’re worth it all. Any challenge, any pain. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do.”

He pressed James’s palm against his chest, letting him. feel the heartbeat that had been kept from him. Let him feel the strong thud under fingertips. “I’ll explain everything, and once our bond is back, I’ll show you. But I think you should feed first, sweetheart. This will take a while and I want you to be comfortable. Do you think you can do that? You can take my blood. I can handle it, and I trust you. Even just take enough to keep you going for now, then we’ll go to living room, sit down and talk. How does that sound?”

John’s words were soft and gentle, as well as cautious. He didn’t want it to seem like he’d come back and was suddenly ordering James around. It was nothing like that. His priority, even in a weakened and human state, would always be James’s wellbeing. He knew James hadn’t fed, and so instantly his protector and provider instincts kicked in, wanting to ensure his mate was okay. He also knew this would take time to explain, and wanted James to be able to focus enough to understand.

James drank in every word as though each one stitched another broken piece of him back together. His eyes never left John's face, afraid that if he blinked, this would dissolve into another cruel fantasy.

"I kept reaching for you… every night. I feared I'd never hear your beating heart again."

The confession that John had suffered too, that the silence between them had been hell for him as well, made James's expression crumple. He wouldn't wish that on beloved, never in a million years. His thumb lingered against John's cheek for a moment longer, a quiet apology passing through the gentle touch.

When John leaned into his touch instead of pulling away, James's expression softened. His thumb carefully traced beneath the bruise on John's cheek, avoiding the split lip, until a tear slipped across his skin. The feel of John's lips against his palm nearly undid him. Instinctively, his fingers curled ever so slightly, wanting to return every ounce of comfort John sought from him.

Though John's apology soon drew James to reach for both of John's hands instead, holding them carefully between his own.

"You came back... that's all that matters."

A tiny smile returned, warm despite the tears.

"I am cross with you," he admitted softly. "Very cross."

There wasn't any real bite to the words. Only relief.

Then he leaned forward until their foreheads met once more.

"But I could never stop loving you."

The words lingered between them before James added, barely above a whisper, " If loving you enough to feel you in my soul is a curse... then it's one I'd choose every lifetime."

When John offered his blood however, and placed James's hand upon his chest to let him feel the beating, horror crossed James's face.

The heartbeat beneath his palm was achingly familiar.

He had missed it more than he had words to describe.

His fangs peeked past his lips before he could stop them. But instead of sinking them into willing skin James pulled back at once, shaking his head, putting a little distance between them despite every part of him wanting to stay close.

"No."

His voice trembled.

"I'm... f-far too hungry."

He glanced helplessly toward John's throat before forcing himself to look away.

"You're human and I haven't fed in over a week. I don't trust myself like this." His eyes found John's again, full of fear for the man he loved.

"I would rather starve than risk hurting you."

He got up then. In the blink of an eye, the coffin was now between them because he knew exactly how desperately he wanted to cross that distance.

James wrapped both arms around himself, keeping them there as if afraid even his own body might betray him. He refused to test the fragile control he had left. Not with John like this.

His spine went rigid on instinct, green eyes widening just a fraction before narrowing again as that slow, infuriating caress worked its way higher beneath the sanctuary of the tablecloth. He cleared his throat.

Once.

Then again, quieter this time.

"…Sparrow."

The name came out more strained than he would have liked.

To make matters worse, Jack had the audacity to moan into his drink, and James found himself staring for half a heartbeat longer than was dignified before hastily dragging his gaze back to his own glass.

"m-Must you…?" he muttered, shaking his head.

He could feel the faint warmth creeping into his cheeks, a ridiculous thing for a vampire, and yet somehow Jack had always managed to coax that reaction from him. Centuries had passed, kingdoms had risen and fallen, James himself had died and become something altogether different…

…and Jack Sparrow could STILL make him fluster with the brush of a boot.

What was meant to only be a few days away took longer than expected.

It was little over a week when John returned to the tower. Over a week since he’d left his sleeping husband with a note and a promise that he would come back. A promise that he’d also made to Gazelle. A promise he fully intended to keep whatever the cost.

Dusk had settled outside, the air calm and still. John had never been happier to see Vought Tower. He headed inside and made his way to the elevator, pressed the button and waited. He was dressed casually, in different clothes than he’d left in as those were long gone, so he was left alone as remaining Vought staff didn’t even look in his direction.

It would’ve been far easier to have landed on the balcony and entered the penthouse that way.

If only he could fly. A temporary setback.

He waited for what seemed like an age before the elevator doors finally opened and he stepped inside, pressing the button for the only floor that mattered. He took a deep breath, his heart thudding in his chest. He’d never been more anxious. Of course he was giddy with excitement seeing his beloved, but he didn’t know how James would react. Would he be angry? Would he hate him? Would he be sane or have given in to the feral side? John would take whatever James gave him. He deserved it all knowing he’d have put the vampire through hell. He just hoped James would understand why.

As the doors opened, John took a second before stepping out onto the penthouse floor. He stood still, glancing left to right and trying to listen for any signs of life. Of course it would’ve been easier with his powers, however from what he could tell it was silent. Silent like the dead. The bond he had to James was still blocked, he couldn’t even rely on that to give an indication as to where his husband was. But John knew there would only be two possible places James would be.

He headed inside the penthouse and inhaled deeply. God, he missed the smell of home. It was dark, no lights on at all. The curtains closed. James had clearly spent time here, as John expected.

“James?” He called out softly to the dark room. He waited for a reply that never came. John stepped further into the penthouse and turned on a light, the brightness low just as they always had it. His eyes scanned the room to find it empty. He headed for the bedroom and stopped as his gaze took in the bed. Their bed. It hadn’t been slept in. Of course.

“James?” John called out again, to once more receive no response. That only meant one thing. “Oh, sweetheart.” He muttered, glancing over to the wall in the livingroom that led to the secret entrance only he and James knew about.

The secure room that contained James’s coffin.

John made his way over and instantly knew where the hidden doorway was, camouflaged by the wallpaper. Only problem was that it was heavy to push open, deliberately designed to keep humans out. “Fuck.” He frowned, placing both palms against the door and pushed. The door didn’t even budge. “C’mon…please. Please.” He kept trying, refusing to give up as he used all the strength he had against the door.

Until finally…finally, it began to move. John’s entire frame was shaking with the amount of force he was using, veins bulging at his temples as the door opened wider and wider. Once it was wide enough for John to squeeze through, he practically threw himself across to the other side, the door heavily closing shut behind him.

And there it was. James’s coffin in the centre of the small room.

Panting for breath and body trembling, John made his way over to the coffin. He sank to his knees, staring at it. He dreaded to think how long James had spent in here. It broke his heart. “C’mon, baby. Time to wake up. You’ve got a lot of telling off to do.” He said as he carefully and respectfully opened the lid to James’s coffin.

The sight he was greeted with was the most heartbreakingly beautiful sights John had ever seen. Curled up, features troubled, skin pale. Little trinkets next to him to offer some semblance of comfort. John wanted to hold him and never let go. “Hey, sweetheart. I’ve come back to you. Come back to me.”

And when James would open his eyes, the sight he would be greeted with wasn’t quite as beautiful. For John looked utterly exhausted, a cut on his lip and another across the bridge of his nose, a bruise under his eye and across a cheekbone.

John had made sure to wear longer clothes to save James the ache of seeing the rest.

The darkness had become a refuge, but not at first.

The first two days had been spent waiting.

James had haunted every room of the penthouse, rereading John's note until the paper had begun to soften at the creases beneath his fingertips. Every sound from outside had sent him toward the balcony. Every elevator he'd heard in the distance had made him look toward the entrance.

"He'll be home any minute."

He'd repeated it to himself dozens of times.

John had promised and John always kept his promises to him.

By the third night, hope had begun to rot.

The bond between them remained maddeningly silent. James reached for it again and again until his temples ached, searching for the familiar warmth that had always answered him. Nothing.

Nothing.

The hunger followed.

Not merely for blood.

For John.

The vampire had begun prowling the penthouse like a caged predator, pacing until the hardwood floors seemed worn beneath his feet. Curtains had been ripped open and shut. Furniture shifted. Glasses shattered beneath hands that no longer remembered their own strength. More than once he'd found himself at the front door with fangs bared and claws scraping uselessly against the frame, instinct screaming at him to hunt—to find his mate, wherever he was.

Each failure drove him a little further from himself.

He stopped speaking.

Stopped watching television.

Stopped pretending to read. Stopped answering the door, even for Gazelle.

The trinkets John had given him became things he carried from room to room without realizing it, clutching them like relics while his mind wandered endlessly through the city, searching...searching...searching for a presence that never answered.

Eventually even the rage abandoned him.

It left only grief.

The hunger no longer mattered. Blood no longer mattered. Nights bled into days behind drawn curtains until James couldn't have said how much time had passed. He no longer climbed from his coffin.

If John was gone...

...what was the point?

So he slept.

Not true sleep.

A vampire's death-slumber.

A spectacular blowjob followed by hours of rough, nasty sex.

James' restraint shattered.

A guttural, inhuman snarl ripped from his throat as he tore his leg free, inhumanly vivid green eyes blazing. In a blur, he dropped into a low, predatory crouch, shoulders hunched, fingers digging into the earth like claws. Every instinct screamed hunter.

He lunged, closing the distance in an instant, jaws snapped shut inches from Simba's face with a click of fangs.

"Run," he growled, the single word vibrating with centuries of bloodlust. "Before I forget you're only a cub."

“I believe it’s also called cake.” Came the reply from the figure sat at his desk, tone somewhat playful yet carrying that authoritative edge in a way only Mirrorlander could.

Red-blue eyes gazed over the vampire and then to the gift. “And you won’t even be able to have any. Pity.”

James lowers his gaze with a slight sadness glinting in subdued green eyes choosing not to snark back about the cake comment. "Yes...I suppose that's true. But if it pleases your palate..it will have been worth it." he knows what he's doing but would homedaddy catch on?

The vampire's mouth twitched, though whether it was amusement or disgust was impossible to tell. “Spare me the lecture, Commodore.” His voice came out low and dry “I have survived. Which is more than can be said for you or the lot you once left behind.”

A faint, ugly scoff followed. The vampire turned from the basin, as though he refused the soul the dignity of watching him too closely.

“You wear that old rank as though it still means something,” he went on, one brow lifting in cool disdain. “Fine buttons, polished brass, all that sanctimonious little pageantry. Tell me, does it keep you so warm in whatever miserable corner of the netherworld you haunt that you had thought it prudent to judge me from your gilded perch?”

He looked back at the mirror at last, pale and tired from the suns growing pull and unimpressed.

“I did not claw my way through centuries just to be scolded for messes like some fledgling.”

The Commodore does not flinch at the vampire's disdain. Instead, he simply watches James turn away, his eyes tracking his every movement.

"Survival," the Commodore echoes, the word heavy with scorn. "You call this survival? You're a corpse dragging yourself through the centuries, feeding on the dregs of humanity, and you call it a triumph?"

The figure in the mirror steps closer to the barrier that separates him from reality, the illusion of depth shockingly convincing, as if he were a man on the other side of a window pane. The disappointment in his gaze hardens, then shifts into pity.

A sharp hiss escaped James as he lifted his eyes to the mirror, his patience finally splintering. "I wash my hands because dried blood stains. I change my clothes because I refuse to wallow in filth.." His gaze swept over the immaculate Commodore with open disdain. " Survival has never been noble, or have you forgotten our brief stint aboard the pearl? "

James stopped with only the mirror between them "You believe I stand here trying to convince myself I am still a man." A quiet scoff escaped him. "No. I abandoned that illusion at least a century ago." His fingers rested against the cold glass. "The tragedy is yours, not mine. You still expect the man who died to answer for the creature that survived. I've been James Norrington far longer than you ever were... and whether you approve of what I've become has ceased to matter."

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