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by Dove


Fandom: PoTC    Rating: PG-13    Pairing: Johnny Depp/Jack Davenport    Full Header   Unseen - 1


Johnny Depp is the superstar, the former teen idol, the eccentric genius. He’s the millionaire gentleman farmer, the Genuinely Nice Actor ™, the Recognizable Talent.

Orlando Bloom is the rising star, the heartthrob, the window dressing. He’s the adorably geeky sex god, the non-threatening crush, the Recognizable Smile.

Jack does not envy his costars.

He doesn’t envy Johnny his early success; he’s glad he managed to escape the chaos of childhood fame. He thinks it must be exhausting to keep up with the legend of Johnny Depp, which at times seems more formidable than Jack Sparrow’s. How Johnny manages it without going mad, how he keeps that smile and keeps his private life to himself without pissing off the press, Jack would love to know, but he does not envy Johnny the need.

He doesn’t envy Orlando his shortcut to stardom, either. At 25, he has a filmography that many older actors would kill for and probably will never achieve. He’s never had to pay his dues in the industry, never done the embarassing made-for-tv movies or lame sequels. But as much as Orlando protests the idea of being typecast as a period actor, as many times as he says he’d like to get away from horses and swords and fancy costumes, Jack has a feeling he’ll be seeing a lot more swords before Hollywood’s ready to let go of their new fantasy man.

Jack does not envy his costars, but he wouldn’t mind being the Recognizable Something.

Being on set with Johnny and Orlando is overwhelming, to say the least. It’s entirely too easy for Jack to fade into the background, acting quite the opposite of his normal gregarious self. But it’s hard to be friendly and outgoing when nobody can see you.

Geoffrey says that he’s afraid people will not look at him, being on screen with both Keira and a monkey.

Jack finds himself standing to Johnny and Orlando’s left whenever he can.

He wouldn’t mind being the Recognizable Something, even if it’s the class clown or reserved British gentleman or the insufferable git, if someone would only see him once in a while.


Johnny notices people.

Jack doesn’t know how he’s managed to forget this vital fact, but he’s forcefully reminded of it one night, at a party where he’s been too long to keep smiling and not long enough to go home. He’s reminded by the tangible weight of Johnny’s gaze, creeping across the room, between the mingling guests, around corners, through walls… Johnny’s gaze follows him, around the house, all night long.

He’s unsurprised, when the moment comes, to find himself cornered in the narrow hallway between kitchen and den. A glass is pressed into his hand with that damnably enigmatic smile, and Jack drinks gratefully. He is surprised to find himself returning the smile without reservation.

“Better?” It’s a ridiculous question, but the answer’s yes anyway. “Good. You looked like you were about ten seconds away from bugging out of your own skin.”

Jack is surprised again by the laughter that spills out of him, surprised to find it’s genuine and not in the least bit hysterical. “I am. I was. Thanks, Johnny. I didn’t think—“ it feels a bit self-indulgent, a bit dramatic, to say it, but what the fuck. In for a penny… “I didn’t think anyone had noticed.”

Johnny steps back, just enough to make Jack realize how close he’d been standing. “I noticed.” There’s an invitation, or maybe it’s a promise, in his smile, and the way he walks away without looking back, that eases the tightness in Jack’s heart.


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