Flufftober 2022 - Day 10 - Love language
James' love language is acts of service. It's not something he'd ever admit - and it's likely not even something he'd be conscious enough to coherently recognise, even within his own thoughts. All he knows is that nothing tugs at his heartstrings more than when Theodora goes out of her way to do something nice for him, however small the gesture may be. Words are plentiful in Port Royal, half of them disingenuous, so actions ring louder, especially to a man like James, and especially in matters such as these.
It started small - long before they'd even been aware that there was love there to convey, never mind what language that love should be communicated in. He'd get home from a long day of work, and she'd have his favourite drink poured and waiting for him the moment she spotted him walking up the front path. Other times, she'd follow him into the hallway as he prepared to take his leave after breakfast, hair aflame in the glow of the morning sun, the smile lighting up her face matching its brightness. On such occasions, she'd reach the coat rack before he did and slip his uniform coat from it, handing it to him casually as though it didn't mean a thing. And perhaps it did not, but that failed to explain why it always flustered James so.
A glimpse into married life, maybe. A taste of it. Even if that life would not be with her.
By the time that denial had cleared and he'd lost everything, he was able to face how sorely he missed those little gestures. They'd been stopped upon his engagement to Elizabeth, either due to their inappropriate nature or simply how keenly they deepened the wounds over all that had now changed. It was a wise course of action, it enforced distance, and James had been glad for it. Or at least he'd tried to be. He hadn't been very successful.
The gestures resumed with their very happy reunion, and markedly so, when she'd taken the comb from his hands and insisted on combing through his wet hair herself, James all but leaning into the touch like a housecat - both unwilling and unable to play it off coolly and pretend it meant little. Everything from thereon resumed seamlessly - so much so that he could not believe it deliberate, at least not in the sense that it was masterminded or done with some sort of aim. It was just who she was. And it was something he endeavoured to return, too, finding himself thinking of her whenever he tended to his own needs - keeping her blade expertly sharpened and cleaned, seeing to it that she ate whenever he did (for it was something she often forgot) - enjoying such gestures and wondering if she enjoyed them this much, too, or if they set her heart aflutter in the same way.
If Ada got a new shipment in of ill-gotten sweet treats, Theodora would either buy two, or she would save half for him when he returned from his time spent prowling the streets following up leads of who had attacked her. She continued combing his hair every now and then - he'd be a liar if he pretended that it wasn't growing to be one of his favourite things - and when she took it upon herself to mend the cuff of his shirt (while he was still in it), he'd been so unable to keep the sheer, unadulterated fondness from his face that she'd blushed beneath it once her eyes met his.
"It's just a bit of thread, James," she'd teased - like it wasn't much, much more than that.
He had drawn the line in some cases, though. While it was nice to have another who anticipated his needs and saw to them, he would not allow her to wash his clothing - for she was not yet his wife (and until he had everything back within his grasp, he would not ask it of her), and she was not his maid, and he would not take advantage. James refused to be a manner of man who treated his intended as a servant rather than a partner, living a life of leisure while they tended to the particulars.
Once they were married, well, then she'd given him the gesture of all gestures - melting down the one thing she had left of her home, even if only in part, so that part of it might be given to him. If all of her little gifts and acts before had touched his heart, this rendered it from his chest entirely so it might be hung about her own neck in place of the necklace she'd given him.
The little acts continued thereafter. He could not complain of a muscle ache or a twinge in one of his joints without her setting about it with a concerned frown on her face, using her hands to guide him through a multitude of rehab exercises, as she called them - many of which he knew, but some he did not. When he came home after a particularly trying day, likely with a face that would have many of his men running for cover, she would slide his wig and hat from atop his head (although that was probably for her own benefit, given how she felt about that particular part of his uniform) and lead him to the settee where she would comb her fingers through his hair until the tension in his temples eased and his silence was no longer a dour one.
That alone was a feat not many - if any - others could achieve, so perhaps she was a witch. Even if so, James considered himself lucky.
Theo's love language is quality time. What's the point in having a partner if you never see them? Some couples can get by being ships that pass in the night, and she understands that circumstances are bound to necessitate that from a couple for spells of time, particularly if said couple is together long enough, but that quality time is something she needs when possible if she's going to feel loved. Otherwise, she might as well have a pen pal, or just a plain old friend.
James rarely struggled to make that time for her, though - finding it might've been a challenge, but making it was something he seldom failed to do, even in the beginning. Maybe that was how she first started falling for him. When she'd first found herself taking up residence in his house, she'd sort of expected to barely see him - figuring that he'd either be working (because it took approximately five seconds with the man to see he lived for his work, especially back then), or avoiding her. Maybe he'd even switch things up by working at home to avoid her.
But she'd been wrong. While he did work a lot, he made time for her - to befriend her, to see how she was doing, to talk. And yes, in the beginning he was blatantly uncomfortable about the whole thing, although that might've just been the Englishness, or maybe the times they were in, but he still did it. Eventually the discomfort faded, but the time they spent together did not. That only increased. At first she'd even convinced herself that she was being fanciful, just seeing what she wanted to see, when the way he would stand and move to go to his study for the evening seemed tinged with reluctance - like he was enjoying this time just as much as she was.
It grew more difficult to convince herself it wasn't the case when she noticed the next pattern. The fact that if there were a few days in a row where they barely managed to see each other at all, not beyond a quick hi-and-bye, he often found a way not long after of lingering once they really did get to spend time together. Sleep would be pushed back, paperwork would be left to be completed merely promptly instead of ridiculously bloody early, and they would talk and talk until Theo forgot that she was meant to be playing a role here rather than forming attachments.
The brief stint during which James was engaged to Elizabeth stung all the more sharply for that, too. Because when they didn't avoid each other, the time they spent in the presence of one another was either painfully bloody awkward, or just plain sad. Laughter was replaced by awkward, clipped responses, stilted small-talk took the place of their old effortless chats, and those knowing looks they'd once been able to share that took the place of entire conversations disappeared entirely because she barely looked at him at all.
But then? Then there was Tortuga. Oh, Tortuga. Maybe she was the only person alive to think of the place wistfully. But it had been bliss after their reunion - with barely any of the former secrets between them, with no need to hide who she was, with no engagements (not to others, at least), and no impediments. It was more than she could ever hope for. They woke in the same room, they shared their meals together, they trained, and when they fell asleep at night, it was curled up in the same bed, as close as things like honour would allow. Free to be together, free to be themselves, free to be in love. It was nothing short of magical, and it had been no wonder that she'd been gutted when the Pearl sailed into the docks.
Things became more complicated after that - even more so upon their return to Port Royal than it had been at most times in the past, but with one crucial difference. When they returned, they were married. That was their anchor. Their solace. It wasn't just the talking anymore, and it wasn't even the sex - although their newfound physical intimacy was nothing to sniff at - but the knowledge that whatever happened throughout the day, it would end with them both curled up in their bed, limbs entangled, sometimes even just listening to the other breathing, forgetting that anything beyond that room existed.
And it was on nights like those that Theo found herself begging any higher power that would listen - namely Achtland, considering that was the only one she'd actually met - that there'd be many nights like that to come. Until she succeeded in making sure that there would be, she just tried to make the most of each one she had.