Title: You Don't Know What You're Doing, Part 3
Author: rokossovsky
Summary: There is a fine line between sacrifice and futile pain.
Pairings: Gillington.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Some angst, drunk!James is drunk.
Disclaimer: Sadly, we do not own Norrington, nor do we own Gillette. If we did...well, we won't get into that.

James burst into his cabin, slamming the door behind him.

It's for his own good... he thought, but this statement's meaning was starting to fade.

He leaned back against the closed door, pinching the bridge of his nose, brow furrowed. He sighed. Is this really what's best for him?

He removed his hand from this face and began to undo his wig, tossing it carelessly on the desk next to him. James ran his fingers through his knotted hair, sighing heavily and looking down at the floor boards with an anguish in his eyes.

Of course it is. Being unhappy was better than being dead. Besides, Andrew didn't really love him. It was a foolish remark from his delirious mind.

A voice in his head piped up. You're delirious, too.

James walked slowly to his chair in front of the small stove. It was warm and comforting. The closest thing to Andrew that he could get.

James, you bloody fool. Why did you let things get to this point. Have you no dignity? No self restraint?

He hung his head back over the chair.

"I don't deserve this..." he mumbled, gazing around the room.

I don't deserve any of this. I don't deserve this position of power, I don't deserve such a comfortable living, I don't...

Even his mind had a hard time forming the words.

I don't deserve Andrew.

James buried his face in his hands in attempt to conceal any emotion that threatened to leak out.

Of course you don't, a voice inside him mocked. That's why you don't have him anymore. And do you know why? Because you pushed him away. He loved you, and you only hurt him. James put his hands over his ears to keep the voice out, but it still rang in his head. He told you he loved you. And you hurt him.

❧ ❧ ❧
James stirred slightly in the chair and started as his foot touched an empty bottle that lay on its side. He looked at it listlessly. When had that gotten there?

Oh, who cared. Who fucking cared anymore.

He got up on unstable legs, and walked shakily to the cabinet, gripping the back of his chair and table as the ship swayed slightly--or was that just him? He couldn't tell.

He stared at the glass front of the cabinet with dazed, empty eyes, eyes that looked without seeing. He opened it carelessly and took out a bottle--whiskey? gin? rum? Whatever it was, he didn't care. It was useless to care about anything anymore.

James stumbled back to the chair and nearly fell into it as the room spun a bit.

His wig lay where he had thrown it, coat flung at a chair across the room, but missed and landed on the floor. Papers and glasses surrounded is feet. He drank what was in the bottle--not much, really--and licked its rim for droplets he had missed. After a few futile minutes, he clutched his head, as it had begun to throb mercilessly.

Then, suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

James started again, looking back at the door and then to the empty bottle in his hand. What was it doing there, anyway? He dropped it, and it rolled away from him.

“Go away,” he mumbled, going back to his slouched position, resting his head in his hands.

“Commodore?” said the man outside the door. The voice had a gentle, pleading quality to it, which James recognized immediately.

“I said--I said leave me be!” James struggled to say. His mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton and his tongue coated with sand...He could feeling the sadness and remorse grip him. Of all people…

“James,” Andrew said quietly, opening the door, “We need to—oh my God…”

Andrew’s gaze darted frantically around the room. The usually tidy room was in complete disarray. He then looked towards the figure that was sprawled in front of the stove, bottles and glass surrounding him.

“James!” Andrew said dropping to his knees in front of James. He pulled James' hands away from his face, caressing them in his warm hold. “James! James, are you alright?”

James turned away from Andrew, hot tears beginning to gather in his eyes, turning his face to the red velvet of the side of the chair. He couldn’t bear to look at Andrew, at the worried expression in his face, at the care in his eyes. Something in him stirred.

“Don’t look at me…” he muffled, a tear escaping down his cheek.

Andrew knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't let James sit there and hurt himself so.

“Oh James," he whispered, and gathered the broken man in his arms. “Oh, James... my poor James. What have you done to yourself?” He stroked his hair gently with his long fingers.

James couldn’t hold it any longer, and maybe it was the drink, he didn't know, but he let out loud, heaving sobs into Andrew's shoulder, the tears now streaming openly down his cheeks, soaking Andrew's shirt.

“It's-it’s not fair,” whimpered James between sobs, burying his face in his soft, nice-smelling hair...it smelled like Andrew...Andrew...

Andrew didn’t even have to ask. “I know…” he murmured into his ear. “I know.”

“I don’t mean to be like this, I-I-I just…”

“Hush, love, it’s alright.”

“I love you…” James whimpered into Andrew’s ear.

Andrew stared at him. "James..." he began. What was he going on about? There was a peculiar smell about him, he realized.

James’s grip on Andrew’s waist grew tighter, more aggressive. He began to lay soft kisses on Andrew’s ear that slowly made their way down to his chin and peppered his jaw line.

Andrew started. He was drunk.

“James! Ah! James--you're drunk! James! You don’t know what you’re—"

"Mmm," James murmured, his lips now on Andrew’s throat.

"James!" Andrew gasped, disentangled himself from the Commodore's grasp, smoothing his shirtfront and backing into the chair behind him. "James, you're drunk!"

"I want you," James said, pulling Andrew back.

"James--" Andrew could not believe what he was doing, pushing what he wanted so much away, but James was drunk. It wasn't what he really wanted, James would only get hurt again, and Andrew would never suffer through that again. It was one thing to be without James, but another seeing him in pain.

"James, listen," he swallowed nervously, "You don't know what you're doing!"

James grabbed him and pulled him forward, crushing Andrew's lips against his. He whispered against his mouth, “I know exactly what I’m doing. I want you."

"James, I--"

"I don’t give a damn what anyone says or thinks or who knows.”