The Lion and The Sea

by rese

An artsy, mostly artificial look at a failed relationship between our two favourite people.

The Lion and the Sea

A/N: Well I just finished my last essay for the first half of this insane semester. Appropriately it was a children's literature essay. Inappropriately I am now gonna write this for you guys. Also sorry about all the songficish lately, but I listen to songs on repeat during essay-time. More from Washington – How do you tame a lion, and Thao With The Great Get Down – When we swam. Hope it's not too intrusive, but they are the inspiration for this piece of… I don't know what it is. Also sorry about the clunky change of tenses.

Suspend everything you think you know about nineteenth century romance.

…

How do you tame a lion when they are lying low?

He stands on the cliff's edge, looking out across the empty vastness that threatens to swallow him whole. His hands are in his trouser pockets and the wind flaps at the short tails of his coat. It's cold, and lonely and he can't stop staring.

Jo is not very far away, he knows because he always knows where she is. It is like the Maker has given him a special map, just inside his heart to always know how many steps 'til buried treasure or train wrecks. The thought makes him both full and uneasy so he squints a little at the horizon and straightens his shoulders. She'll call out to him soon enough and then the little drama that has unfolded around his heart and her hand will start all over again.

A part of him wants her to know she isn't everything. He wants to prove to her he can be more than the boy madly in love with her, unable to function without her. But he's so lonely and the sea is just so damn vast that he can't even dream past the moment he'd told her he wanted to marry her. Again.

Laurie doesn't want to cry and really, he doesn't need to. Jo will look pinched and torn and he will know her every thought and try to change them all. In all honesty he only wants to change himself.

"Teddy," she calls and once his heart starts to beat again and he can blink without his eyes stinging with tears he turns his head. The wind has blown the thin cotton of her dress against her body and it's almost indecent, the sudden desire he has to cover her body the way the wind so boldly does.

"Don't." He has to speak over the sound of the wind. "You don't have to say anything." Laurie knows her answer and he doesn't want to hear it. He's fairly certain he won't be able to stand the pain, the physical pain that assaults him between the ribs, even when he simply thinks of it. She doesn't love him.

She's tried, he has to allow that. Jo's tried so hard to love him and he wouldn't be surprised if she hated herself as much as he loves her.

He turns back to the sea, seeing her already form the apology on her lips. He's kissed those lips he tells the sea without words or action. It felt a little like heaven and a little like rice paper and hard-boiled sweets.

Her words will feel like sand and glass, cutting away into him and so he concentrates on the sea.

…

Jo laughed, throwing her head back as Laurie dipped her again in the silliest of dances.

"Don't you dare drop me, or I swan, you will regret it."

Laurie's grin was brighter than the chandelier overhead and Jo worried that if she wasn't laughing so hard, or clutching his shoulder so tight she should fall just from the sight of it. That was a disturbing thought, filled with riddles she'd rather not learn and so she laughed harder and kept her eyes glued to the spin of the glass high above her head.

"Don't you feel like two vagrants given the world?"

Jo looked back despite herself and found that she couldn't look away. Laurie's hair had grown out in soft curls around his ears and she'd spent enough times running her fingers through it to know it was as soft as it looked in the golden light of the dancing hall. He stood, taller than any other man she ever knew, over her as she blinked stupidly up at him. It was the easiness in his smile, the crispness of his collar, his total lack of jacket – Jo struggled to name just what it was that kept her there as dumb as a log.

"Jo?"

Suddenly she pulled away and crossed the glossy hardwood floor completely business-like. "I'm sure we've overstayed our welcome as it is anyway. Come on, we've got cobblestones and cabs to cover before we reach the room."

Laurie took a moment to stare up at the chandelier in the very expensive room they wondered into before pocketing his hands and catching up to her, offering the corner of his elbow distractedly. Jo took it and pretended not to notice when he did not look down at her or remark that the hotel was only three streets away.

…

They lied to everyone. Jo wasn't sure how to feel about so many sins, that weren't so terribly sinful, so many times a day but as Laurie explained, it was necessary if they were to continue their trip.

Jo stepped out of the foyer in her cloak, clutching her purse in her left hand as her right held Laurie's arm. He looked smart in his jacket and top hat, the tails wide and long as his shoes clacked against the cobblestone alongside hers. She loved this time of night with the streetlights burning thick with oil, the shine of painted lips from women walking by and the quick eyes of the gentlemen accompanying them.

They soon arrived at the music hall and Laurie thrust two cards into an usher's hands mumbling about Mr. and Mrs. Laurence looking for their seats. Jo was glad to see he'd become as uneasy about their disguise as she, for when they first begun he'd boomed the title at the reception in their hotel and grinned madly when the man repeated their names to the boys who carried their luggage.

The theatre was a decent size and once seated Jo sighed to see the lusciousness of the curtains, the comfort of the seats. She loved London. Laurie's hands played with the tassels of her string purse and she regarded the lighting in silence as other couples slowly filled their seats.

"This is the best one yet," Jo said at last and Laurie smiled, eyes flicking around at the tapestries previously gone unnoticed.

"Not too shabby."

Jo smiled slyly, settling into her seat as the hall begun to quieten and the curtain pulled slowly apart.

This was her favourite part. Every concert Laurie would narrate the story of each song, who it was most famously performed by and who they were lucky enough to see performing it now. She held her breath as Laurie leaned across her chair and said in such a low soft voice, "Do you like pirates?"

The operetta was in English and she had little trouble understanding what was going on. It is nothing like the debauchery a woman laughed over in Paris, telling her excitedly of bodies and courtesan actresses. The Slave of Duty – though really she loved its first title better – The Pirates of Penzance is like a door opening to her literary mind, flooding it with ideas and excitement leaps into her being throughout the two acts.

George Grossmith filled her with delight at his peculiar, though precise singing in the Major-General's song. She grinned madly at Laurie and pictured him singing the very same, a hand on his breast, to Brooke who would of course watch him with feint irritation as his books went unattended once again. Laurie smiled back and took her gloved hand in his.

Afterwards Laurie led them behind the stage, holding her hand tight against the crowd. He watched her from the corner of his eye as he smiled at the stagehand and they exchange how-di-doos before the boy found them some of the cast. The women smiled at Laurie and looked Jo up-and-down as though she was some foreign pet, intriguing if not inherently repulsive. Jo frowned back and held Laurie's hand a little tighter.

She saw Marion Hood, slip behind a door, her fair hair bouncing in all its curls as she unpinned her hat. Jo caught the woman's expression in the mirror and it was nothing of Mabel and everything of sadness and emptiness. She saw no further for the door shut and Laurie was pulling her deeper into the cast.

The man who played Frederic, George Power, picking up a cane, tossing it over his shoulder as he smoked, smiling with one of the pirates, still in full costume, skirt hanging over their boots. Jo blinked when the man looked at her, his face so decided what she thought a hero should look like that she was struck dumb of expression before she tripped on a costume and Laurie laughed, helping to pull her up.

"Oh Jo, watch your step, this place is a death-trap for one like you."

Jo glared back as he laughed again, tucking her hand in the crook of his elbow.

"Look, here's the person I'd like you to meet."

They stopped before a man who was pulling off a fake moustache with the greatest of cares. "Oh excuse me, lass – gots-ta keep it in good shape see, only one of them and the glue is the daftest thing. Keeps pulling at my skin." Jo's eyes widened, realising they were standing before the Pirate King. She grinned, turning to Laurie, her thanks written across her face.

Without the moustache Mr. Temple looked infinitely more approachable and he sat down atop a chest, still very much the pirate with his frilled shirt and swashbuckling boots. "Sorry to disturb you sir, but your song in the first act –"

"Better far to live and die," Laurie supplied.

"Yes, that's it – it was wonderful, I thought you should know. I'd never though I'd see a Pirate King in London, but there you go," she gestured to the man who watched them amusedly before pulling off the heavy black wig. He looked so ordinary beneath his costume that Jo blinked twice.

"Jo's an actor herself, you see." Laurie said, looking down with pride.

"Well more of a writer, I think," she said, her cheeks burning as both men watched her. "I've written many a pirate story but I don't suppose I shall ever be able to think of any pirate except yours now, sir."

"That's a pity – there's plenty more pirates in the sea," he joked and Jo smiled gratefully back.

"We shan't take any more of your time up sir, thank you." Lauire bowed and Jo followed in clumsy suit, still watching the ordinary looking man as he smiled at them, playing with the costume rings on his fingers.

"No trouble at all. You keep writing your pirate stories miss, you'll see something come of 'em I'm sure."

Jo nodded quickly, trying to hide her smile as she flushed and Laurie pulled them away towards a stage door.

"Oh Teddy, you are a prince!" she stage-whispered, pressing her face against his sleeve as placed a hand on the door knob, looking around for passer-bys.

"No god-amongst-men, Jo?" She punched his shoulder in fun as he laughed down at her. "Well I think I can change that, there's one more surprise."

Laurie opened the door to the largest collection of clothes, of such different colours and materials she'd ever seen. Not one to necessarily care for such trivialities of a frill or lace, or the breadth of one skirt to the next Jo gasped – these were costumes of the company; regency gowns, captain's sabres and pirate hats filled every corner of the room and it was stunning.

"Laurie," she gripped his wrist, wandering into the room as though in a daze. Any costume for any play she could imagine filled her sight and senses. Their buttons dazzled in the room's gas light, feathers draped over chairs and the sequins to Mabel's gowns or Marie Antoinette's rich brocade glinted before her. Meg and Amy would die to wear these things, Jo thought, having put up with so many old dull gowns they found in the trunk in the attic. Everything looked so grand she didn't know what to say.

"I believe you gave me your only captain's hat, so it's only fair I find you a pirate one, don't you think?" Laurie moved past her to a pile of feathered hats made of deep black velveteen. Jo stared as he found one he liked, turned and plunked it on her head. "There – yes I think that will do very well."

He spun Jo around to face one of the many mirrors that bounced the gas-light around the room. Jo saw herself standing there, Laurie's hands on her shoulders with that ridiculous hat on her head and smiled dreamily, just for a moment.

"Hold on, isn't this stealing?" An arched eyebrow met Laurie's smiling face and he laughed, spinning her back to face him.

"Think so low of me do you? Hardly, I arranged it all a week ago. You can do some funny things with the name of Laurence, did you know?"

Jo smiled up at him, and stood on her toes, pulling his face to hers. She kissed his cheek just once and then pulled them out of the room. "Oh I know, having been Mrs. Laurence for three weeks now, the power is going straight to my head."

…

Pieces of Jo's hair have come loose and the wind curls the tendrils around her head like thin fingers tyring to touch her face. He doesn't ask, doesn't say anything but finds the pins at the back of her head and drops them to the grass beneath their feet. Jo remains silent though she watches him carefully, her grey eyes scanning his face feverishly as he runs his hand through her loose hair. There's so much he wants to tell her and so much he knows he shouldn't.

"Teddy," she begins. Her hands find his shoulders and they stand together in a half-embrace. He wants to kiss her, convince her that she does love him, he knows she does. Jo is too afraid of her own feelings.

"I can't." Her eyes fall away from his and she watches the sea as she bites her lip and tries not to cry in front of him. An old, passionate part of him wants to tell her it's too late, she has – but he's grown so much with her, living with her, travelling with her that he holds his tongue and blinks away the sting.

He nods.

He pulls his hand from her hair. He has no place in doing that anymore. No grip, no hold and he feels like he's floating on emptiness.

…

She watched his hands in the mirror. The metal of the scissors glinted in the afternoon light and she nodded, just a little when he hesitated. Jo tried not to blink as the snip sliced across her locks, pieces of it falling to the floor.

"There!" she attempted to sound relieved.

"You don't regret this?" Laurie asked. She could tell from the tone of his voice that he did but she shook her head and stood, combing the curling ends of her hair out.

"Not a bit. It's perfect – who will recognise me now? Besides, I could hardly put my hair up and pass for a man now, could I?" Jo caught his gaze in the mirror, her hands straightening the collar of her borrowed shirt. Laurie gave her a weak smile that said he was anything but pleased with the situation. It was all very well and good for them to play at theatre and pirates and acting, but when it came to her hair Jo knew just how attached he was to it.

Jo moved away from the dresser as he picked up her hair from the carpet, bunching it sadly before dumping it in the paper basket by the door.

He sighed audibly, crossing his arms as he stared at the pieces in the basket. "I suppose the maid will take it before we're back."

"It'll be a good joke Laurie, don't worry." Jo took pity on him, placing a hand on his arms. "I promise."

"Well, you had better do the accent."

"Gentleman's honour," Jo moved her fingers; crossing her chest as she attempted the accent Laurie had trained her in all day.

"That's more like it, although a little more gusto wouldn't hurt." Jo smiled to see him out of his sulk, but quickly punched him for his humour regardless. Laurie touched the ends of her hair, a cut above her shoulder just for a moment and they both paused. She could feel his breath across her face and it did nothing to calm her nerves regarding the evening ahead.

Laurie simply smiled sadly one last time and moved away to dress himself.

…

So we just be happy tonight

And tomorrow we'll be miserable, right?

They burst into the room, falling over each other with laughter.

"Did you see his face?" Jo pointed at her own and mimicked the stunned look of the Man at the Desk downstairs. Laurie roared with laughter for the painted moustache across Jo's upper lip formed such an unintentional parody that he was in stitches for three minutes.

Jo poured herself a glass of water from the bureau opposite their beds as they both tried to calm themselves.

"Oh, I haven't laughed like that since Naples," Laurie wiped at the tears in his eyes, moving to pour his own glass. Jo smiled over the lip of the crystal and watched the street with her usual interest.

"If I'd known being mistaken for a man could be so funny, I'd have kept the trousers we borrowed in Paris."

"Oh I very beg you pardon, ma'am!" Laurie imitated the Man at the Desk and both broke into another bout of hapless giggles. "Well, if that doesn't prove you're a fine actor I'm sure nothing does."

Jo smiled and watched as two middle-aged women walked by below with matching dogs.

"What's this?" Jo turned to find Laurie holding an unopened envelope. She left her glass on the table and Laurie dropped it into her hands, watching with suddenly serious eyes.

The handwriting was her mother's and Jo immediately paled. Beth had addressed every single letter from Orchard House and Jo found herself shaking as she reached for the letter-opener.

A well-practiced slice tore open the paper and she rushed to pull out the contents, reading so fast she wasn't sure any of it was true.

Jo,

Beth passed away last night. It was not so sudden or unexpected however we were unable to do anything for our Cricket. She passed from this world peacefully and asked for you before her time came. Jo, we never spoke of it before because we didn't wish to worry you. Your father and I are lost without you, please come home to us. The funeral is in a month.

Jo stopped reading, hearing nothing but the thump of her heart in her ears. It couldn't be true, couldn't be real, she had a letter from Beth arrive only a week ago. Jo dumped the letter on the bureau and moved about the room like a woman possessed, throwing drawers open and rifling through the papers within.

Quickly finding the letter she pulled it carelessly from its envelope and ran over it again. She'd only finished reading it on Tuesday and there was every indication Beth was her usual self – although – finally Jo found the sentence she was looking for:

I've a persistent cough that seems to be following me, though its nothing to worry about, not with the cat having kittens.

Jo's hands fell to her side and she stared at the wall dumbly, the letter like grit between her fingers. A hand pulled the letter from her grip as another landed on her shoulder and Jo realised for the first time in ten minutes that Laurie was calling her name.

"Jo," he repeated, bending a little to see her face properly. She felt like nothing and it was swallowing her so quickly. She threw her arms around him and cried silently.

Laurie's arm wrapped tightly around her as he read the news for himself behind her on the bureau. When he finished he remained tall and tight-lipped above her, his arms like warm steel.

There was nothing to say.

Eventually she found the need to breathe and Jo pulled her face gently from Laurie's chest. She felt raw, like she'd rolled down the scaling rock of a cliff and every thorn of every bush was pushing its way against her being, against her heart.

Laurie did not look at her, keeping his eyes trained on the wall behind her, above the dresser. His arm remained firm against Jo's back but the bob of his Adam's apple spoke the volumes he found himself unable to say. Jo watched as he swallowed then winced, and then swallowed again all the while blinking furiously at the wall.

She felt so cold inside, as though all the life had been sucked out of her veins. She was trembling, she knew. Laurie's hand moved in slow circles against her back, up and down her spine as she concentrated on the tightness of his jaw, the bob of his apple with every swallow. A world without Beth – her chest tightened and her vision swam. Jo was crying again.

Silently she relived every moment she'd had with her sister. Every time Beth smiled, her head lay quietly against the pillow beside hers. She closed her eyes and imagined the cold white porcelain, tatty and ragged dolls at the end of her sister's bed, dull, colourless eyes seeing nothing. There was nothing left to see without Beth. There was so much left to do, so much left to say and now she would never have that chance.

An hour and twenty minutes later, feeling drained and empty of every thought and feeling she'd ever known Jo wiped her face against the sleeve of her frilly shirt. They were sitting on the bed, Laurie's arms around her as she dried her last tears. Jo was still wearing her costume she realised. She risked a look at Laurie who was staring at the window with red eyes.

He wasn't going to cry in front of her.

Dispassionately Jo stood and looked down at her clothes. The trousers sat high above the line of her waist, the lace of her sleeves and collar scratched at her skin and suddenly everything was too tight and suffocating. The material was choking her, wanting to play, to act when she wanted to be nothing without Beth. Jo started peeling off her clothes, mindless of Laurie sitting on the edge of the bed before her. She kicked off her boots and with shaky hands tore at the buttons of the borrowed shirt.

Her hands were so unsteady she couldn't master the bottom two buttons and began to paw at the material in vain, swearing violently under her breath. She couldn't think with these clothes on, couldn't breathe properly and soon Laurie was standing in front of her holding her hands before he undid the last buttons for her.

She stood stock-still, staring at his chest. The last button popped free and his fingers lingered against the lacey lining before he pulled away entirely. In those few short seconds she felt warm, felt something stirring in her – a feeling from before the letter, a feeling before every black thought and empty, gutting breath.

Jo looked up at that. Laurie stood over her, watching the ground with sudden interest. He worked at his lip and she realised he was starting to cry. The shirt dropped to the floor and she put her hands against his cheeks and brought him down to her, pressing her lips against his chin.

She heard his breath hitch, watched as his form went perfectly still. She pressed her mouth to the corner of his this time, her eyelids fluttering under the sudden heat she felt flood her limbs. It was like the first gasp of air after holding her breath in the bath until she went blue.

Laurie's hands danced between the space between their bodies and the curve of her hip. She wasn't alone in the feeling, not from the look on his face, a look of complete surrender and sudden peace. Jo hesitated, wondering if she'd pressed him too far. Was it wrong to want to feel so soon? Nothing felt certain.

Only a moment later Laurie tipped his head forward and pressed his lips against hers in full. Jo lost herself to the feeling of heat, of pressure and the sudden uncontrollable thumping of her heart. It had felt like nothing would ever touch her again, like nothing would fill her the way her sister's life and love had. Only moments ago she'd been an empty vessel, constricted and alone and now –

Everything changed.

Laurie pulled her hips towards his and she wrapped her arm around his neck, her fingers pressed into his cheek. He kissed her, over and over until she felt so light on her feet, she might fly to the ceiling. Such sudden change overtook her and Jo pushed them towards the bed.

He followed her lead and his hands moved to the back of her trousers, pressing and pawing at the rough woollen material, the sensation spiking her sudden desire to be free of her clothes again. Laurie sank onto the bed, looking up at her as he untied his shoes and set them to one side.

Slowly and with every deliberate second Jo's hands found her belt and she unthreaded the leather, dropping it in front of his straightened shoes. A voice, the sensible voice that controlled her every waking decision warned her sternly that she wasn't thinking straight. This was no time to change every important part of her friendship with this boy who loved her more than any other person.

But she wanted to be loved. Just for now, she wanted to be loved.

Before the coldness of thought could sink in, Jo unbuttoned her trousers and pushed them down her thin legs, watching as Laurie's eyes followed her every movement though his hands were already unbuttoning his shirt. Soon she stood in stockings, drawers and a camisole that did nothing to hide her modesty from his open gaze. Jo's eyes swiftly canvassed Laurie's body, the leanness of his chest as he shirked his shirt, the muscle in his arms she was so familiar with under layers of jackets and shirts and overcoats and vests.

Jo stepped forward between his legs and let her fingers run across his skin. She outlined the shape of his body, from his neck to his shoulders, down his arms until she kissed him and found the hem of his vest. His mouth opened under hers as his hands slid up her back, skin against skin at long last and she felt fire flood through her system.

It felt wonderful, feelings and thrills across her skin and into her chest. Laurie shuffled back onto the bed and for a moment Jo saw the line she was about to cross. His hands held hers as she stared at the space between their bodies, the white covers of her sheets, the small bed where a mystery of feeling and touch and heat would take place. She swallowed and worried. Her brow crossed and she found her feet glued to the floor as Laurie waited.

What was she doing? Jo wondered, lucidity like a dousing of cold water over her head. It was so wrong – she didn't love Laurie like that, she didn't want to hurt him further, they weren't married, Beth had only just died. There were so many reasons flooding her mind that she couldn't think for the sudden crushing weight of reason and horror settling itself over her.

Her body began to shake again and she felt ready to burst into tears before Laurie pulled her hands closer to him and kissed her cheek so tenderly. She might have cried just for the simple gesture.

"It's too soon, I know."

"I'm sorry," her voice was so cracked and watery Jo didn't recognise it.

Laurie watched her steadily. His thumb reached out across the top of her lip and he wiped at the skin.

"You still have a bit of moustache," he explained, gesturing to his own face.

It was such an abstract thing to notice that Jo broke into laughter. Laurie smiled with her, though they both looked crushed. Jo covered her mouth with one hand, feeling self-conscious about the makeup as she stood in her underthings. A part of her she usually denied existed felt embarrassed to be dressed so like a man when she was kissing Laurie only moments ago.

She dropped his hand and went to the bureau, picking up a cloth before she dipped it in the jug of water. The letter lay beside their glasses and she froze, wet cloth pressed to her face at the sight of it.

"I don't want to be alone," she suddenly said. Jo wiped at the top of her lip and saw the black of her painted moustache stain the cloth when she finished. Laurie was soon behind her, his large hands on her small shoulders and she relaxed.

"I'm right here, Jo."

She smiled sadly over her shoulder at him.

…

Jo woke to find her neck especially stiff and sore. Her pillow felt awful compared to the usual softness of duck down and she opened her eyes to find herself curled around Laurie.

They hadn't the sense to push the two beds together the night before and he had folded himself onto her bed so she needn't fall asleep cold and alone, with thoughts of Beth an ocean away in a little wooden box.

The light of morning brought every sensation and feeling, every memory of yesterday back and Jo felt as though someone had pushed her into the very Atlantic Ocean itself.

Carefully Jo untangled herself from Laurie who liked to sleep later than her and she crawled over him and out of her bed. The room looked dull, the colour and light so unspectacular to every other morning they shared that she felt like crying again. The world was the right way up and it was only making her feel worse.

She looked back to Laurie who slept on, unaware. His face looked so different when he slept that she spent longer than strictly appropriate studying it in the light of the window. A part of her considered rejoining him, knowing he would be none-the-wiser but after her stupidity yesterday, Jo's sensibility warned against the very real possibility that she would only be encouraging him with false hope.

He was only her friend, she reminded herself firmly.

Laurie stirred under her gaze and she quickly took a step back, looking about the room for an excuse as to why she was standing over him. He stretched and blinked and Jo watched, anxiety creeping through her mind as she realised yet another barrier had fallen between them.

They had just spent the entire night together in the same bed.

Jo watched as he turned his head, realising she was no longer beside him. Laurie sat up and saw her standing between their beds staring at him. She waited for him to tease her, make fun of them both. To say anything. But he suddenly found the carpet rug fascinating and Jo realised she couldn't read his face nearly as well as she had when he was asleep.

"Hello." She said, her voice so small in the grey morning.

Laurie looked up at her but couldn't smile, reaching for her hands instead. "Jo," he started. "We – I should…" he shook his head at himself and pulled her down to sit beside him.

"We should make the arrangements today."

Laurie watched her steadily, as though she might break for the seriousness of her words but Jo simply released his grip and crossed the room to the bureau. She wasn't going to sit and cry when there were things that needed to be done, things that would let her see her family again.

"Alright," he said behind her, still upon the bed.

…

Jo carried her suitcase as she stepped across the landing. Laurie was waiting alongside the walkway, handing bags to the cabman who sat atop the box. The sun was bright and she spared a moment to turn her face to its thin heat, the black of her dress warming her insides.

She hoped it was a sign.

With the last bag loaded on, Laurie turned to her holding out his hand. Jo allowed herself a small smile and took it, clutching her suitcase in the other as she stepped into the cab. Laurie followed and they settled as the driver took them onwards to the station.

The stone of the street made for a bouncy ride and Jo held the suitcase across her lap tightly, watching London pass by. She could feel Laurie's gaze on her, but the sun was out and the city she loved best was being left behind.

Suddenly the cab stopped, and they rocked back and forth as the horse outside whinnied. Laurie pushed open the door, getting out to see what the problem was. "We're going to be l-" he stopped, and Jo leant out of the box to see what was happening.

A fight had broken loose, just outside a tavern and two of the men had pulled guns. Everyone on the street was running, police whistles sounded and she saw Laurie's brow cross just before he pushed her back inside the cab, one foot in the door. Gunfire sounded and some women screamed as Jo heard the certain sound of a body thumping against the street. Men shouted at one another and her heart was racing. Two shots came next and Laurie jumped up into the box, closing the door firmly behind him.

"We're going around," she heard the cabman call down to them over the commotion and the cab started to back up. The horse was spooked and the cabman did his best, calling down to the animal as the police whistles squealed through the air. The box shuddered and shook and Jo could hear the unmistakeable slap of people being beaten.

Finally the cab backed into another street and the carriage was turned around. They would take the long way to the station but it would be safer than waiting for the fight to clear.

"We're going to be late," Jo said in a small voice. She sound of gunfire and whistles were ringing in her ears though they had long since driven away from the scene.

Laurie said nothing though his brow was crossed and he took the suitcase from her lap.

They spent the rest of the trip in silence, however Laurie did reach across and take her hand. She said nothing and kept her eyes on the window of the carriage door but didn't let go.

…

They missed the train.

Laurie ran to the ticket booth, explaining their case as quick as he could to exchange their tickets for the next train which would leave in five minutes. The man behind the window inside the booth remained unmoved as Jo stood, holding Laurie's arm tightly.

"Her sister's funeral, sir." Laurie pleaded. "You must understand."

"I musn't do anything, boy."

Laurie ran an angered hand through his hair.

Jo dropped Laurie's sleeve and leant on the sill. "It wasn't our fault we were late – there was an accident."

"I'm sure 'ere was ma'am."

"This isn't fair!"

"I don't make the rules, ma'am. You miss the train, you pay again."

"We'll never make it to Liverpool in time." She turned to Laurie and he looked down at her in sympathy. He sighed heavily, rubbed his eyes then fished in his pockets for the money.

"Two tickets to Liverpool."

"Right you are, sir. The next train is in four hours."

"There's another leaving in five –"

"Aye, there is. All booked up though you see."

Laurie rubbed his eyes again and Jo picked up her suitcase, looking at the train about to leave forlornly.

"What will it be then, sir?"

"To Liverpool in four hours."

"Very well, sir. Here you are then."

Laurie took the tickets without thanks and lead Jo across the platform to wait for the next train. Jo held Laurie's arm tightly as they waited for an attendant to load their bags onto his cart. He said nothing though his face looked very stern and Jo was worried if she spoke at all he might snap at her.

The slight boy hefted their things onto his cart and without fuss moved onto the next couple waiting, the wheels of his cart squeaking against the brick tiles. Laurie sighed and squeezed her hand before leaning against the wall of the train officers building.

"I wrote to Grandfather," he said as they watch their things be taken away. Jo relaxed; he wasn't going to be angry after all.

There was steam filling the station's high ceiling and people pushing to get on and off trains. Jo felt like a fish out of water as the bustle of people, all shapes and sizes filled her mind and she stared at the giant clock overhead.

They would sail from Liverpool tomorrow. They would.

"I'm glad," Jo smiled, taking the hand that was not in his pocket. Laurie smiled at her too and she wondered if they would ever be able to smile without that sadness that lingered every time now.

A part of her worried that they would.

"We'll make it." He told her, squeezing her hand once. Jo tried to smile but it came out all wrong and she quickly looked down to the tiles, the red-brown contrasting with the black of her shoes. She felt hot and stuffy in that cavernous building, wearing her black mourning clothes

An hour passed and then two. Laurie brought them coffee and Jo tried to chat with an elderly gentleman with a welsh accent. He was so soft-spoken though she had hardly an idea of what was said between them.

Finally the train was ready and they stood. The smell of smoke and boiling water filled her senses as they walked slowly down the platform to the next, the black body of the train like a snoring dragon, waiting to take them away.

Seeing her fall behind, Laurie picked up her hand once more. "Come on, the whistle's about to go," Laurie lead them across the platform and they boarded the northbound train, passes in his waist-coat pocket.

Jo sat beside the window and watched as people continued on outside along the platform. Some of them embraced, others marched with authority, a few were even crying. She watched them all and was silently thankful Laurie had not dropped her hand just yet.

The whistle blew and the slow churning sound of wheels in tandem and the burning of coal filled her mind with sound.

…

The cab slid across the stones at the docks. Laurie sat beside her and almost crushed her with his weight as the horse turned them.

"Sorry!" he held his hands over her body and she grinned up at him, stress on both their faces.

"We're almost there," he looked out the window as the cab hurried on, double time so they might make it.

"I hope we haven't left it too late – we should have organised it that very night!" Jo gripped the handle of her suitcase tightly and felt Laurie's eyes on her.

"Nonsense, we have plenty of time." Jo did not miss the way he pulled out his pocket-watch and rubbed the glass over the face, away from her gaze.

"We had plenty of time. I don't know if it's escaped your notice but we missed our first train and this is the only ship out this month!" Jo looked out her own window, anxiety making her arms so tense she felt they might snap off.

"Please let us make it." She whispered and felt Laurie drop an arm around her though neither of them looked at each other.

At last the cab stopped and without waiting for the cabman to get their door Laurie leapt out and pulled Jo with him. They hailed over an old man wearing the suit of the White Star Company and gestured to their bags before Laurie took off at breakneck speed, running for the office to find their ship.

A loud horn startled Jo out of her wits as she watched the cabman pass their luggage to the old sailor. She turned and looked out across the bay, the ocean glittering in the afternoon sun. A tall ship was pulling out of harbour, the sails so much like the ship that brought her to England. The horn sounded again, but Jo was prepared for it. She squinted trying hard to read the name of the ship printed on the side of its tall hull.

S.S. Atlantic.

No, she thought desperately, her stomach suddenly jumping to her throat. No, it's not possible.

Laurie ran slowly from the direction he left, confirmation that there – there was the very ship they needed to catch if she was ever going to make it to Beth's funeral. If she was ever going to see her sister's body again. There it went, so slowly from her that she felt it pulling her heart from her chest.

"No," she moaned, tears filling her eyes, a choking burn tearing at her throat.

"It's gone," he said, watching her and not the liner. The old man stopped lifting their things onto his cart, realising they intended to catch the Atlantic.

"Tough luck," he said and pulled the last bag onto his cart, sending the cab off. "Where'd'ya wan' it son?"

Laurie stared at Jo a second longer before clearing his throat, glancing in the direction of the sailor. "Um, I suppose you should just leave it with us. Sorry."

"Tch, not yer fault, boy."

Laurie looked back at Jo who stood watching the ship enter the bay, heading straight to sea. Tears were rolling down her face and she couldn't stop them, even if people were watching, even if Laurie was watching she could not stop them.

"I'll never see her."

"Jo," he lifted a hand, hesitating just a moment before placing it on her shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

"I wish I'd never left with Aunt March! I wish I'd never met you in Paris! I wish none of this had ever happened!"

Jo pushed at him and he just stood there, unmoved like stone.

"Jo," he said calmly and that enraged her more.

"How can you be like this! Beth is dead Laurie and I never said goodbye!" She froze at the hurt in his eyes when she shoved away from him entirely.

"Of course I know that. Did you think I never wanted to swim the entire length of this godforsaken ocean to see her too? To bring you to her? How heartless do you think I am, Jo? I do everything for you. I'd do anything for you."

She unclenched her fists and shame swept over her. He did do everything for her. They slept in a bed, they caught a train, everything that was so conveniently planned was for her sake and he never asked for anything in return. It wasn't his fault they weren't going to make it to America in time.

"Sorry," she told the ground.

Laurie sighed, hands moving to his pockets. "No I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"It's not any easier for you; I shouldn't have said such things." Jo touched his arm. Laurie pulled his hands out of his pockets and pulled her into his arms.

"I thought we were getting better at not crossing each other."

"We are – we only fought for a few minutes, it used to be a few days." Laurie smiled above her and she hugged him tight.

"I know what you've done for me, Teddy, and I shouldn't have treated you like you hadn't. I don't know where I'd be without you."

"Jo –" he stopped himself and Jo frowned. She wasn't looking at his face, her cheek was pressed against his chest but she knew he wanted to say something more. Her heart began to skip, guessing what he wanted to tell her – she thought about their kiss, the way her cheeks flared when he looked at her a certain way. She thought of the pirate hat and thought of the way his shirts smelt so familiar to her now, like home. She wasn't sure if she wanted him to continue or hold it back.

"Jo I need to say it. We both know we've gone too long without it being said. I asked you once before, a long time ago, and I've got to ask you again." He paused and Jo could hear him struggle for the words.

This was the moment of truth; she knew it, felt it in her gut, in her heart. Jo lifted her head and looked up at him, uncertainty colouring her features. What would she say? She cared for him deeply, but he was he best friend – she knew what love was in books and plays, in stories and now operas and she knew it was nothing like what they shared. Love was instant, love was constant and love was forever – she'd always thought of Laurie as a friend first and foremost, they fought almost every day and although she hoped they'd be friends for life, she'd almost lost him completely after his graduation.

"Jo, I have to say it."

"I –" she wanted to stop him but he cupped her cheeks in his large hands, bending to look her straight in the eye.

"It has to be said." He ploughed on. "Jo March, I've loved you for so long, you know that. I still love you, I never stopped. I know you told me you couldn't love me, but so much has happened since then. So much has changed, and I know you feel it too. Will you have me? Now?"

Jo blinked, furious with herself that she didn't know how to answer him. If that wasn't a sign, she didn't know what was. She thought of Beth, she thought of the glade in Concord. "I can't," she choked, tears in her eyes.

"What?" he pulled back. Jo closed her eyes, hanging her head as his hands fell back to his side, shock freezing his body.

"I can't. I'm so sorry."

Laurie didn't say anything though she touched his chest and tried to make him look at her. She wanted him to know she wasn't sure, she didn't know if she did love him, not the way love was supposed to go. She wanted to make him understand. She wanted to know if they could still be friends, they way they had been since Paris.

He only pulled away from her more.

"Alright," he said, sounding hoarse. He couldn't look at her and without another moment he turned and walked away through the crowd at the docks. She looked back to the sea and the liner was out of sight entirely.

…

"Is it because I've failed you?" he asks and she looks at him as though he's mad. "I shouldn't have left you in Liverpool. I should have made sure we made the Atlantic." He hates himself for asking. He promised himself he never would; he would respect her wishes and just leave. He had. But there she is, standing there, smelling like lavender looking like Persephone with her eyes reflecting the sea.

"No, it's none of that." Her hands find his arms and he stands there, staring at her. He loves this woman, loves her better than anyone else ever could and she doesn't understand. It's true; a part of him hates her for it.

He closes his eyes, a sigh heaving through his body, ready to take a dive. "Why then?"

"I don't know." He looks down at her and it's the truth in her eyes. She doesn't understand anything about love and he doesn't know how to show her. He thought he had. "I don't know and that's why it wouldn't be fair to say yes when I'm not sure. You're my dearest friend, Laurie and I don't want that to change. Not for anything."

"It doesn't have to change," he tells her and finds himself trying to convince them both so fast. "We can go on as we have these past few months."

"I want to believe that, but I know it would change. You will want more, Teddy. We've been through this before."

"You don't know what love is," he tells her and walks out of her grip to the edge of the cliff. The wind rushes through him and he likes the way life leaps into his veins, standing there.

"I know this isn't it," she calls out to him.

"Really!" Laurie turns and looks back at her, his hands clenching and unclenching as he watches the wind sweep through her, dragging the black of her clothes back and forth, her hair whipping around her face. "You said you couldn't before Jo, and now you don't know – I think you're learning to love me, even if you don't know what that means."

"What?" She takes a step back, her hands moving from her chin to her waist as she mulls over what he's said in seconds. "No, that's not what I meant."

"I think it is. I know what that kiss meant."

Jo looks back up at him and he crosses the grass back to her, taking her wrists, holding them to his chest. "You know what it meant." He leans forward and presses his mouth to hers, catching her gasp between his lips, the wind circling them both. She breathes in fast through her nose and he wonders if she can smell the sea on them both.

It's slow and soft, her lips are so chapped but so compliant that he soon finds her fingers in his hair, his hands grasping her hips, pulling her to him. Their kiss turns fierce and he wonders if she realises yet: her life is not a book; she can't pick it up and put it down or forget the characters she doesn't like. She can't reread the bits she fancies or change everyone's names or make them coo and feint and feel love down into their toes.

She's a woman, and he loves her. That's all there is to it.

She can't bring people back, and can't change their feelings. He can't change hers either, but then he knows, she's changed her own.

They break apart for air and he rests his forehead against hers as she catches her breath. The air catches her skirts with the cuffs of his trousers and she breathes and breathes and the sea smells like salt and green and wind.

Something wet hits his wrist. Laurie pulls his hand from her neck and realises she's crying.

"Jo, I – I'm sorry."

"No," she says, wiping her sleeve over her eyes. Her hand is still on his shoulder and he rubs her arms, wondering what he's done now. "It's not that. I just miss her so much."

Laurie thinks it strange of her to think of Beth when kissing him but he pulls her into his arms regardless.

"Everything feels perfect when you do that," she mumbles against his sleeves.

"Do what?"

"Kiss me." He smiles and continues to rub her back. "Everything feels alive. I feel warm and safe and everything I don't feel when I wake up alone, every moment I know Beth is no longer –" she chokes and he starts to understand. Her mind is like the sea, back and forth with emotion and reason, with her wit and anger. He still has so much to learn about her.

He kisses the top of her head.

"I still don't know if I love you, but I want to try."

…

Part 2

Jo stands outside and watches as the land disappears over the horizon. Day is breaking behind it, covering the vanishing city in gold and darkness as the sun begins to rise. The wind cuts through her like ice, so cold before proper dawn. She shivers and holds her arms closer to her.

No one moves around her, the deck is still as far as she can see. Everyone is making their home for the next few weeks before they will join her on the deck and cover the sound of sea and gulls and wind and day with their endless chatter and mishmash of accents.

She watches the sea move over the ship, as the ship moves over the sea, and endless battle of pull and drag and pull and waves. She watches the colour change and deepen with every passing foot. The early light of the sun dances off the surface in pinks and golds with the glare of shimmering white that will soon mute as the sun climbs the sky.

She sees everything and tries to fill herself with it.

But she feels nothing.

…

I do not know what you want

Do not know what you feel

Do not know if it's -

It was late when they arrived back in town and Laurie felt Jo's head drooping against his shoulder. He pulled the horse into the stables and paid the man who helped Jo down.

"Didn't think you were bringin' 'er back, sir." The man said and though Laurie knew the man meant the horse he smiled at Jo and tucked her arm in the crook of his elbow.

"Nor did I."

Dover was not very big and they stayed in an inn, lying about their marriage once again to a stout woman who stood with her real husband, smoking behind the notebooks on her desk.

"Very well, here's your keys. Cleaning's at five."

Laurie thanked her and Jo smiled trying all her might to look like the newlyweds they told the old couple they were. It was harder than she thought, feeling anxious about what would happen now with Laurie, feeling homesick for Beth and her family. They climbed the stairs and came to the second door. Laurie turned the key and they found a small bed, only just big enough for them both.

"Oh." Laurie dropped the key on the little desk beside the door and shut it once Jo entered the room. She walked around the bed, measuring it with her eyes as Laurie watched her.

"We'll fit."

"I know the rules," Laurie moved into the room a little more, sitting on the edge of the bed facing the door. He bent down and pulled apart his laces. "Back to back, no funny business," he repeated her words from Paris, three months ago.

He looked over his shoulder and saw her smile, reaching into her hair for any lost pins. They went quickly to the tiny table on her side of the bed and Laurie forgot to pretend he wasn't watching as her fingers danced to the buttons on her dress when she hopped around, kicking off her boots.

She struggled a little, but years and years of practice made the activity easier and soon her boots made a sure thunk on the ground as they came off. Her dress was half undone before she turned and caught Laurie watching her with hooded eyes.

"Excuse me," she said, hands on her hips. His lips twitched into a smirk as he looked back down to his shoes, pulling them off. He stood, shirking his jacket, wondering what it would be like, just once to feel Jo's small hands handle his clothes. Instantly he tried to suppress thoughts of her hands fishing into the hook of his trousers or her hands under his vest as they had before, but it was so much harder when she was only feet away, standing in her shift. He had to stop thinking that way, he told himself, or he'd be sleeping on the floor.

"Well, ready when you are," Jo said and he decided to keep his shirt on.

"Right," he turned around and they both faced the bed between them. Jo sat down quickly, shifting her way to the head, throwing her legs under the covers. Laurie slowly sank beside her, pulling the blankets over. His feet already touched the end of the bed and he wasn't even lying down.

"Nothing's going to happen, is it?" Jo asked in a small voice. He looked over at her and tried to think of the hard floor, no doubt full of splinters and how cold it would be by morning but all he could think of was pulling Jo across the sheets, covering her with his body. His senses flared and he tried desperately to tell himself to calm down.

"No," he practically squeaked. "Nothing."

Jo slid down further in the bed and he valiantly tried to ignore the voice in his mind telling him how small she looked, how her breasts seemed to swell at that angle. She was in mourning, he reminded himself, at the same time wondering when that had ever stopped him from kissing her before.

"Goodnight," she said, leaning out of the bed to turn off the lamp on the table. He tried not to stare at the way the leanness of her muscle stretched beneath the shift, the white highlighting expanses of skin he'd only dreamt of before.

"'night," he choked, wondering if it was safe for him to think about bending his legs and lying against the pillow next to hers.

He waited a heartbeat but before he moved he felt Jo press against his side, her hand bringing the side of his face closer to hers. "Goodnight," she repeated and kissed his cheek."

That wasn't fair, he decided and in the dark turned his head before she could release him. He kissed her cheek, then the side of her mouth before capturing her lips. The quicker he moved, the more Jo allowed. He swept his legs across hers beneath the blankets, placing his hands on either side of her as he leant over her, kissing her harder and harder as her fingers trailed down his shirt.

"Jo," he moaned and her fingers found his buttons. He could feel her shift bunched up around her hips already, her uncovered legs cold against his under the covers and heat rushed through his limbs.

He pressed a hand under the material and brought it higher, touching her stomach hesitantly. "Is this okay?" he whispered. He felt her nod against his shoulder before she pressed a kiss to his neck and he found it hard to swallow. His palm moved across her belly, higher and a little higher until he felt his fingers press against the swell of her breasts.

Laurie stopped and Jo pulled off his shirt. He knelt, throwing the article beside his shoes, suddenly eager to be rid of everything that separated his skin from hers. His vest came next and he struggled to undo the clasps of his trousers.

Jo moved in the dark and soon her fingers were on his, steadily prying the fiddly clasps open. He felt like too much air, then not enough air was reaching his lungs as he watched her face, his eyes adjusted to the lack of light in the room. She looked up at him and he wondered if she knew what she did to him.

She must have for she then slipped a hand down across the bulge well-formed under the tight material stretched across his lap. Laurie's eyes slid shut and he tried not to move into her touch, to let her see that everything was up to her. As always, as it always was and would be, everything was up to her.

He opened his eyes and pushed her hair across her shoulder. She dropped her head into his palm and he leant over to kiss her, conscious of her hands moving across his body.

He moved closer, his hands holding her face gently as he kissed her eagerly. Jo sighed, her chest heaving as he pushed them back to the head of the bed and she fell onto her back, dragging him with her, hands in his hair.

Laurie kissed her throat, her jaw. His hands dipped lower, pushing the shift higher and higher, over her chest. Jo lifted her arms as the long material came off. It was hard to see in the dark but her breasts felt cool and soft under his palms. She moved very little, hands touching his shoulders as he kissed her collar. He tried to kiss her behind her ear and then she was all fire.

The sound of her groan filled the little room and he grinned madly against her skin. She arched into his touch, scrambling with her fingers to keep his head there as his thumbs massaged the pebbled points of her breasts.

"Teddy," she whispered across him and he pushed his legs between hers. Instinctively her hands moved to his waist, gripping the material. He moved one hand down to help her push it away, hooking a thumb under his drawers til both were dragged down enough.

Her fingers caught in his and accidentally she brushed against him. He couldn't help it, he bucked and she gasped, her hand feeling the unexpected shape of him. Laurie pulled his lips from hers, panting lightly against the pillow. She kissed his shoulder and with sudden confidence touched him again, her nails scraping unintentionally across the stretch of his skin.

"Oh," he moaned, trying his hardest not to take her just then. "Jo, stop."

She pulled her hand away as if burned and looked up at him. "What did I do?"

"Nothing, no, everything, only…" He stopped. Laurie pulled his face from the pillow and leant over her. "Do you really want this? Are you ready? Jo, I need to know; if you're not we can't go any further."

Jo stared at him in the dark, a hand lying lazily across her breast. She looked messy, as though the wind had picked her up and spun her around. She looked as though someone had tossed her in the sea and left her to dry on some abandoned beach and Laurie burnt the look of what he'd done into his brain. If he never got to hold her again, he would have this memory.

Jo bit her lip and the hand she left curled around his waist moved up his chest, so slowly it was like torture trying to work out what she was thinking whilst all the while she touched him.

"I love you," he blurted out when her hand reached his brow. He cursed himself immediately, for that surely wouldn't help her decide without pushing her into it. Laurie knew that for a woman like Jo, this kind of thing should happen only after marriage and it hurt how much he wished that could be true for them.

They were only Mr. and Mrs. Laurence on a scrap of paper downstairs.

"Something is going to happen," she whispered, reaching up for him. It was a warning, it was a promise and Laurie wasted no time in kissing her. Jo's mouth fell open under his and he touched his tongue to hers, just once as her breasts pressed against his chest.

Soon her hand moved down again and he choked against her skin as she touched him. His hand found hers and showed her how to move just before he felt as though his eyes would fall out of his head for the pleasure that spiked straight through him.

Jo sighed as he kissed her, moving to capture those dark pink pebbles in his mouth, his tongue moving like her hands beneath the covers. She arched under him and his hand pulled down her drawers.

"Laurie," she writhed beneath him as his hand swiped up between her thighs. His thumb slipped between her, prying and gentle, testing and teasing as the room filled with the sounds of her breath. He kissed her throat, felt her fingers scrabble at his back as she tried to pull him to her. Up and down his fingers moved and traced within her and she rocked, unsteady and raw against the bed, up towards him. Laurie kissed her, again and again, wondering if now she knew what he felt every time she smiled at him, every time she laughed or hit him in the shoulder. Every time she made him mad, every time she did something deliberately to annoy him.

Her head was thrown back and he pulled away, bringing his hips to hers. "This will hurt," he told her and she closed her eyes and nodded, hands on his shoulders as he straightened. It was slow work, torturous pushing so slowly into her when all he wanted was to fill her, wrap himself in her.

Finally he hit the wall within and felt her shake under his hands, her head turned to the curtains across the window. He tested moving, shifting a little as her legs tucked under his arms. Her eyes widened and he moved a little more, wondering how long he could hold out.

She was his at last, in this small, wonderful totally encapsulating way. She owned him in every possible way she would allow and now, for once he felt like he owned a part of her. She let him own a part of her and he felt like crying for all the joy that flooded through him. Laurie moved again, back and forth as Jo sunk further into the pillow, burying her hands in his hair again. They would look a mess tomorrow without fresh clothes or a comb but he didn't care just then, he wanted the whole world to know.

He loved her, he loved her so much and if there was anything to prove she loved him too this was it.

He pushed a little faster, further out and further in as he felt her contract around him, her legs pulling him to her. Laurie kissed her chest, pressed his thumbs against the sensitive buds, kissed her behind her ear. Listened to her gasp and curl his name across her tongue.

She rocked and pulled beneath him as he pushed and pawed over her and soon it was all grunt and strings and the burn of salt and sweet through his veins, push-pull, up-down, in-out as he spilled into her kissing her shoulder.

"God," he drawled and shut his eyes, release pouring through him, leaving in its wake a peace he'd never really known. "I love you," he repeated, knowing there was no harm in saying it now.

Jo kissed his temple and held him to her though she trembled still.

…

Her memories are the weeds that tangle around her heart, biting and bitter, strong and tight like the kelp lining the sea floor beneath her. Behind her eyes they play out, not all of them miserable, most of them pleasurable but all of them leave a sting, forming a welt deep inside her.

Jo's head falls to her arms and she concentrated on the feeling of the ship. Stable, strong, always moving forward. She should be the ship and not the sea, but she can't escape the look in Laurie's eyes when she closed the door.

The sound of the waves far below turns her thoughts to sand and she breathes, in and out with the churn and crash. The sounds swallow her and she likes it this way, all sense and no thought – nothing she is in real life.

She wonders when she will stop crying.

…

Oh bring your hips to me

Oh bring your hips

"Shut your eyes," he told her, his low voice in her ear. She felt that voice down into her toes and immediately found her eyelids co-operating with him before she gave them permission. It had been two days, two full days of learning the ins and outs of pleasure, of desire, of everything she knew forbidden, everything she would never tell her mother.

The greatest problem of it all was feeling shame. Laurie could do things to her she'd never even known were possible and she shuddered at the thought as he drew himself lower and lower against her body. She felt his lips mark the landscape of her neck, her chest, her belly, her thighs until his large hands were parting them and she suddenly felt him there. This was new, she kept her eyes closed, feeling the delicate press of his lips on a place that desired him the greatest. Her breathing hitched with the touch of his tongue and she sighed across the white pillow beneath her head.

"Teddy," she moaned, and felt him smile with pleasure. Her skin tingled with delight though her cheeks flamed. Jo buried her fists in the covers around them, her feet searching for purchase as his mouth turned her inside out. She thought of stars, swimming behind her eyes, of Laurie's smile when he caught her doing something particularly bad, of the streetlight that would flicker madly across the street when the wind came from the north.

Thoughts that preoccupied her waking mind drifted into oblivion. She no longer feared the wrath of society, of her parents, of God. She couldn't think of guilt or blame or disgust or horror. Jo could only feel in those moments, feel every inch of herself come alive, every fibre of her being call out for Laurie, a man she wasn't even sure she loved.

Her hips moved of their own accord as Laurie's mouth performed small miracles. She couldn't help choking out his name as he brought her higher and higher, each feeling growing with intensity, each touch a new wonder that brought her such a private pleasure behind the blackness of her eyelids.

"Oh God," she blasphemed.

He kissed her twice more and she couldn't stop the explosion beneath her skin, inside her belly that took her in shockwaves, turning her limbs to soft jelly. She couldn't breathe as the feeling swept over her, curling her toes, sending every strand of hair on her head tingling.

Jo opened her eyes as she came back down from that strange place and stared at the ceiling as Laurie moved up beside her, watching her with an elbow propped up to hold his head over her.

"Was that so bad?" he grinned and she swatted him idly, still watching the ceiling as though it held messages from the Almighty telling her how to feel. She was so confused, feeling so content within her skin and so far from the principles she was raised with.

Eventually she turned her head and watched Laurie watching her. His hand pushed her hair behind her ear but she saw the look in his eyes that she wished she could say she returned. She wished it more than anything.

She knew what love was, and knew it wasn't this.

The air cooled her skin and she touched his chin lightly, training her eyes to his lips that hadn't lost their smile in days.

"How do I do that for you?"

…

I should drink saltwater to forget

Jo shakes her head and slowly begins to realise she will never forget.

That will be the cruellest punishment.

She tries not to picture her parents' faces when she arrives home, no hand in hers, no ring on her finger and as penniless as the mice in the pantry. She tries not to think of the disappointment in her father's eyes, the knowingness in her mothers. She doesn't want their pity, she doesn't deserve it.

The sea churns beneath her and she recognises the depths of imbalance within herself. Just as the sea will never know which way is north, nor which way is south, like a drowning man cannot find the surface, she will never understand her own heart. She feels she must be the most heartless creature that ever walked the earth.

Jo pulls away from the railing and looks up into the clearing sky. It is a perfect swell of colours as the sun rises, higher and higher. She cannot see herself in that sky and so Jo turns back to the sea with its jet blacks, deep blues and listless green. It pulls her deeper and deeper into misery and hate for herself; she recognises the truth in those murky, never-ending depths.

…

A month passed and he watched her write desperately. They moved to London again and locked themselves in a room, leaving only for food and the Thames. She needed to think a great more than she ever had and he let her to it, knowing he would only get in the way.

They both watched the tickets lying atop the dresser.

She told him her letters were for her parents, a few for Amy and some for Meg but he saw his name more than strictly appropriate and lay back down on their bed, his hands folded behind his head. He thought a lot about what she might write, and who it really was for.

He spent more days dressed than he wished, but that was how it was.

The sun began to set outside the window and Laurie swung his legs over the side of the bed, walking towards Jo. His shirt hung loose from his trousers but he felt hardly obliged to appeal to fashion or the taste of modesty when it was only he and Jo in the room.

So much had changed between them, and he knew she felt it too for she hardly dressed past her nightgown, finding only a shawl for her shoulders when she wrote. If she remembered. Mostly she complained that he would only wait for her to dress so he might remove her clothes again and he had to laugh at her sly smile.

He moved to stand behind her, kissing the side of her face as she scribbled, on and on.

"Laurie," she started and he knew the note of warning in her voice all too well.

"When are you coming to bed?"

"When you stop acting like a three year old asking for his mother's attention," Jo replied, the scratch of her pen accompanying the tightness of her words. A little stung Laurie stepped away from her and swung his arms over his head, looking out at the sunset. Patience, he told himself, hold you tongue and be patient. Some things, however were easier thought than actually done.

"Just what is so damn pressing it has to be written this very instant?"

Jo dropped her pen and spun around to face him, her eyes sharp as she frowned over at him. The setting sun caught every inch of hidden gold in that thick hair of chestnut he loved so dearly that the fight had entirely left him until she spoke.

"Do you know, there is more to life than bed and love, Laurie? There is more to love than bed and clothes and skin and your complete inability to be pa-" He crossed the room in one easy pace and stole her words with a kiss.

Obviously surprised by its tenderness, Jo did not pull away, or argue further and Laurie was relieved to feel her nails run through the hair behind his ear.

"I know," he said when they pulled apart for breath. "I know, but dammit Jo, sometimes it's so hard to think of anything else with you sitting around like that." He motioned to her nightdress and Jo's hand when to the modest neckline, wringing it closer to her chest. She still blushed, even though he'd said a great deal more than that to her before and he found it remarkably endearing.

"Come on, Dickens." Laurie said, offering a hand. "To bed, to bed."

"Says Sleepy-head." Jo grinned up at him as he pulled her from her seat. She promptly forgot about ink and pens and thought of entirely different kinds of sheets.

…

It is closer to midday than sunrise when she allows herself to properly consider what she has done. She will never be able to marry. Not after days and nights and nights and days of knowing the love of another man, not after giving herself to a man she still isn't sure she loves.

Jo turns her head and looks back towards where they've come.

He will get on with his life, as well as he had before she met him in Paris and she can't begrudge him that. It's the only way, she decides – it was the only way she could see when she stood over him as he slept that morning.

She feels so selfish, and it's worse for everything she has done in the past month has been just as selfish. It was selfish of her to let him fall harder, so much faster but it had felt so good, she felt full, like a whole person under that stare, under the feeling of his thumbs and lips. Jo recalls those sensations every waking moment, and when she sleeps she knows he will be there, behind her lids, whispering things that make her feel like nobody else should.

A part of her cries out inside, what have I done?

But it is a lie, it is selfishness. She does not love him, not the way he wants her to, needs her to and so Jo tells herself she has done the right thing. Feeling complete is not feeling in love, she convinces herself, repeats it to herself, over and over as the waves lap over each other.

She stares long and hard and thinks of his face, of his hair falling in his eyes, the way he'd watch her when she looked up at him, chin on his stomach, of his fingers in her hair, of the privileged words he'd felt safe to say.

The waves move on and on, totally indifferent to the turmoil within her.

She is the worst person in the world, but she has done what's best for them both. Jo knows it, deep, deep within like the rudder in the sea.

Yet when she stares at the waves and sees her face in the water she cannot see her future. She cannot see his, she cannot see them. She can only see her face, deep, deep within the sea.