Theodora was dancing with Theodore. James had to admit that he was surprised - when they'd first arrived he'd noticed her eyeing the dancers with poorly concealed dread, and when he'd asked her how her attempts at learning had gone, her responding grumble had hardly bolstered given him much confidence that she would be able to get by should anybody ask her to dance. It seemed, though, that his fears were for naught. Her movements were a little less sure than that of the other women weaving their way through the floor - perhaps half a step behind as she occasionally looked about her for what she was to do next - but she was in no danger of barrelling into anybody or anything of that sort. The only reason he'd even noticed her uncertainty was because he was looking for it.
It did rather help, he supposed, that Groves appeared to be coaching her through it. Any time there was a sudden and significant change in the steps - when the dancers twirled left rather than right, or began to move in circles rather than straight lines - the Lieutenant would dip his head towards her so that he might be heard over the band, muttering instructions to her. Then Theodora would take on the next few steps almost seamlessly, and grin her glee at her dancing partner in thanks. Or at least, James hoped the dance was what they were whispering about - only for propriety's sake, of course. Nothing more. But Groves was a good man, and James doubted that he would behave in a less than gentlemanly way.
Had he been forced to choose any one of his men to be quite so taken with the woman now in his charge, Theodore Groves was who he would have chosen. Although the more time passed, the more James loathed even the mere notion of having to make such a decision, even hypothetically. It was strange - perhaps even oddly bittersweet, and he couldn't quite explain it, not even to himself in his own mind. He was happy for Theodora, that she appeared to be having a good evening, and if there was any doubt in his mind (which there was not) that she was telling the truth when she mentioned having hailed from a military family, that would've been dispelled the moment he noticed how at ease she was among the men here.
All the same, though, there was something that unsettled him as he observed her. There were several reasons he could think to blame for that feeling - first he thought that it was just a natural sense of protectiveness he held over the woman in his charge. Or that it was sadness, now that he could compare how she was here with the frightened and distrustful creature they'd pulled aboard the Interceptor what now felt like years ago - which forced him to consider the question what had her mind been on back then to fill her with such dread? Then there was the most obvious explanation, that it was solely due to the fact that he had not yet been able to verify her part, nor indeed her marital status. To have anything come to pass between herself and Groves, no matter how by-the-book and above board, would only lead to serious trouble should her husband then come knocking.
The problem remained, though, that there was little he could do until she came out and admitted the truth to him. Surely she did not think he would ever - nor that he could ever - send her back to such a husband? James tried not to take offence to such a prospect, and instead insisted to himself that it was her fear talking. Fear could drive anybody to do the irrational, including jumping ship. And it was entirely feasible that so long had gone by that she simply didn't know how to broach the matter without fear of being accused of being a liar…Although that did give him an idea, and he suddenly found himself just slightly more pleased that he'd spotted the two dancing with one another. Maybe he did have a way of forcing her to speak of the matter, after all.
It would involve a falsehood or two, which wasn't a prospect that he liked, but it had to be done. Then they might finally move forward. Whatever 'moving forward' looked like. He only prayed that his bluff didn't end up backfiring, because if it did, it would do so badly.
Okay, so maybe it was the drink talking, or maybe all of the dancing wasn't too bad after all. While she was hardly in any danger of starting to seek out events such as these just for an opportunity to dance, it wasn't quite the horror she'd been building it up to be in her head. Part of her hoped that maybe that was a good omen for things to come, and the same could be said for the perils she would soon face, but she wasn't quite drunk enough to convince herself that "these dances aren't as hard as they look" could possibly mean "doing battle with zombie pirates will be easy". In any case, her spirits were lifted and she was enjoying her night. As of late, she couldn't really ask for more than that.
Groves proved to be a splendid partner for her first dance, helping her through it and making it all enjoyable all at once. His asking her opened the gate for more to do so, too. Some were men she recognised from the ship, and some were strangers who apparently were just curious about the island's newest foundling. It was a good way to pass the time, and by the time she walked stiffly from the ballroom to find a place to sit, her feet were in danger of going numb, and her hips ached from the weight of all the fabric they were being forced to tote around. Happily, though, her fears of anything popping out of the dress' neckline appeared to be unfounded. Although she couldn't help but wonder whether that happening would have made her more desirable as a dance partner, or less.
Walking out into the gardens, she took in a deep, bracing breath and sighed happily. It wasn't much cooler out here than it was inside, but the air felt a whole lot more fresh. All of the tipsy bodies packed inside did make it rather difficult to breathe. Finding a spot on a stone bench just out of the light that was cast by the grand patio doors, she sat down and, upon being quite sure that her feet were hidden by her skirts, she slipped her feet from her shoes. The clothing may not have been the nightmare that she'd anticipated, but the shoes had a long way to go. The more she wore them, the more she realised just how invaluable her Docs were, stored safely beneath her bed in James' house for more casual occasions.
Leaning back, she tilted her head back and gazed up into the sky with a contented smile. There was much to adjust to here, and plenty that she could not wait to see the back of — but there was some good. More than she felt she had a right to ask for, or even hope for, if she was being honest. While she hardly expected what was to come would be easy, she couldn't help but feel that if she continued with the same luck she'd had so far, she would get home being strangely glad for this otherworldly adventure. It seemed foolish not to make the most of it while it lasted…even if only the good parts.
The sky was one of those good parts. Her home back in her world was located in a fairly rural area - that was how she'd found herself on the trail that led her here, after all - and she'd always considered the night sky one of those perks. She'd done her share of travelling, and nothing had made her miss home when in a big city like gazing up at a black, starless blanket of a sky, which only ended up feeling strangely suffocating. But now she had to admit, however begrudgingly, that the one here put the view she had back home to shame. With only candlelight to speak of, regardless of how much of it there was in the Governor's mansion tonight, the lack of light pollution left the sky looking like somebody had cast glitter across a backdrop of vivid blues and purples. The sight was mesmerising, especially on a night as cloudless as tonight. Or maybe she was just very drunk.
Still, she was content. Swinging her legs just slightly back and forth so that the grass tickled the bare soles of her feet, she stared up at the sky and contemplated…well, everything. Having all of this happen did rather force one to adopt a new perspective of life. To redefine words like 'possible' and 'impossible'. In the stress and the fear of the day-to-day, it was easy to forget the sheer wonderment of it all. It seemed that champagne had a way of unlocking that sense of whimsy.
It soon became impossible to tell how long she'd been out there - she'd taken to measuring the night in songs, but she had no idea how long standard songs were here, and the band had been relegated to background noise for her thoughts ever since she'd sat down. Only when her thoughts were broken by the the strong and distinctive voice of one of the other good aspects of being here was she brought back to the present.
"Theodora?"
Starting slightly, she turned her head and smiled softly at him in greeting "Ah, the man of the hour. How're you doing?"
"I was just about to ask you the same question."
Approaching, he looked questioningly to the space on the bench beside her, only sitting down when she gestured towards it.
"I'm good," she admitted quietly "Very good. But tonight isn't about me."
"I'm well, too," he nodded "Although I think I'd be better still if tonight was not about me."
"Ah, humble as well as accomplished. You should try harder not to be so damn good."
He chuckled, shaking his head "You're mocking me."
"Not at all. I know what you mean, though - I'm not a fan of the spotlight, either."
"Is that why you're out here?"
"Oh, that's just because my feet were starting to hurt," she discreetly slipped them back into her shoes once she located them amongst her skirts "And I wanted a moment of peace."
Was being spotted alone with a man, shoeless, an act of impropriety these days? Probably.
"Oh," he said "Should I leave you, then?"
"No, it's fine," she replied, meaning it "Just…from everybody. Not from you."
"Now you're flattering me," he said drily, but looked very pleased with the veiled compliment behind her words.
"You have a very suspicious mind, you know that?"
Another drink or two in her, and he'd have been in store for a riveting rendition of Elvis Presley's hit song.
"It's what secured my promotion, I'd wager."
"Mmm. Touché. I'll allow it, then," she teased.
"How very generous of you," he huffed a laugh in response.
Glancing towards him, Theo noted that he looked tired. Not necessarily in a bad way - not drained, nor exhausted - but there was a sort of fatigue that was given away in the corners of his eyes, and the way that his usually impeccable posture seemed to slouch just the slightest amount at his shoulders. It looked like she wasn't the only one lacking the social battery required to withstand these things in their entirety. It stood to reason, then, that she wasn't the only one needing a moment of peace, either. That realisation stopped her from trying to fill the companionable silence that settled over the two of them.
The feeling of contentment returned tenfold, and Theo basked in it as best she could, knowing these moments would soon be few and far between…and likely entirely without James' company, once she was forced to ally herself with good ol' Captain Jack. Such a concept brought her more sadness than she anticipated. Feeling oddly driven to make the most of their unlikely bond while she still could, she opened her mouth to speak…and was cut off by a very unwelcome voice.
"Commodore! Commodore Norrington!" Amelia Simmonds called towards them as she swanned through the patio doors.
The brunette, damn her, was a vision in crimson this evening, and from the self-satisfied curl of her lip, she knew it. It wasn't something Theo would've begrudged her, had she not been so insufferable.
"Oh Jesus," she muttered beneath her breath, steeling herself for whatever bullshit was about to be hurled her way.
James gave her a warning look that held very little actual bite, speaking over her mutter as he stood in greeting "How might I be of service, Miss Simmonds?"
"There is but one dance left after this one, and I'm afraid I shall never forgive you if I don't get to dance with the hero of the evening," Amelia responded.
Throughout the exchange she did not spare Theo even a glance - which came as no small relief.
"Oh, er…I - I am afraid that Theodora - that is, Miss Byrne just agreed to be my partner, your timing is unfortunate. My apologies," he gave a strained smile.
Amelia's eyes narrowed - whether due to the informality of how he referred to her, or just at being turned down she wasn't sure. Thankfully for all involved, it seemed she wasn't tempted to wallow in it.
"Ah," she snapped her fan shut "Well. A shame. Congratulations, all the same."
Inclining her head in a miniscule curtsey, James returned the gesture with a small bow of his own. Only once she was gone did Theo stand with a sigh, wobbling a little as her feet protested. James noticed, because the man noticed everything, and placed a steadying hand on her elbow, earning a responding smile of thanks. When the both of them were quite certain that she wasn't going to topple, which took longer than she would've liked, his arms fell back to his sides.
"To the dance floor, then?" She asked.
"You needn't if you don't wish to," he said quickly "I could always say that you took ill in the end and that I couldn't leave your side."
"I don't mind," she replied "This way I get to dance with the hero of the evening, which will do wonders for my pride."
"The last dance is almost always an allemande," he said, his tone filled with warning "That is why I felt the need to make an excuse."
"You probably have a great point, but I don't know what an allemande is," she replied.
"A style of dance," yes, she'd gotten that bit "One where the partners must hold hands throughout the duration of it."
Theo waited for the supposedly terrible bit to follow - 'and then we have to dodge live alligators thrown by the other dancers', or something. But nope. Apparently not.
"And do my hands horrify you in some way?" She asked in mock-concern, splaying her palms out before her as if to inspect them for some terrible flaw.
"That's not what I meant," he gave a long-suffering sigh "I simply did not wish to make you uncomfortable."
"Promise not to break any of my fingers and I'm sure we'll be just fine," Theo teased, before adopting a bit more of a serious, softer expression "But if you'd be uncomfortable with that, it's fine. No offence taken. I'll pretend to swoon and we can get out of here."
His lips formed a smile of their own volition, but he stifled it down into a smirk.
"That will not be necessary. Come, we should go inside. With any luck, there'll be time for a drink beforehand."
"Ah, another compliment."
"That isn't what I meant, either," he rolled his eyes, extending an arm to her.
Theo took it, and kept any further jokes to herself. Mainly because she shared his sentiment of needing a drink first in order to stifle the strange nerves that now bubbled within her.
James Norrington was not a bad dancer. It was something that surprised Theo almost as much as her own ability to muddle through the steps. Admittedly, he went through the steps with the same serious expression on his face with which he seemed to do everything in life, but she could forgive him that. It was even oddly endearing. It made sense, too, she supposed. Dancing was basically a social requirement in these times and these circles, and learning to dance was not all that dissimilar from learning how to fight, as she'd gleaned from her limited lessons with Elizabeth.
It was more nerves than anything else, in her case. But once she got few the first few steps and she realised she wasn't the only one fumbling a step here and there (although with the others it was down to excessive alcohol consumption — luckily for her, though, that meant that they were likely too sozzled to notice her mistakes), her nerves began to lighten significantly and she could just enjoy it. The string music was upbeat and repetitive, but that was all entirely welcome for it added no extra complication. And, true to James' warning, the entire thing was spent with their hands clasped firmly together as they stepped to and fro in time to the music. It changed here and there - sometimes their hands would be entwined with one in front and one behind as they danced side by side, while other times they would dance in slow, bouncy circles with only one hand intertwined with the other, held aloft and entwined at the wrist.
Dancing with James wasn't quite as light-hearted as dancing with Groves had been - he did not stage-whisper jokes in her ear when the steps brought them closer together, nor did he call instructions to her when her brow furrowed in confusion. That, however, did not mean she didn't enjoy it. Nor did he leave her to flounder when the steps confused her, always somehow managing to smoothly fix the timing of the steps when her confusion forced them to lag behind the other dancers a step or two, and never once appearing frustrated with her over it. She always thanked him for taking such measures with a quick squeeze of the hand that laid in her own - and after the second time, he even stopped looking quite so flustered and even squeezed hers back once or twice, lips twitching as he fought the beginnings of a smile.
Once she discovered that weakness in his armour, though - that way of making him stop looking quite so utterly serious - she made it her mission to exploit it. Every time she pulled off a particularly complicated series of steps, she would fix him with her most wide and brilliant smile (one that was probably only mere millimeters short of appearing utterly deranged) and was struck with prideful glee when it coaxed out another faint shadow of a smile from him.
It wasn't the smiles that were dangerous, though. Oh, they were addictive enough, but what put her in trouble were those damned eyes of his. They were a brighter green than they had any right to be, far more captivating than she'd ever noticed when watching the movies - back when he'd just been a character on a screen, a plot device, a stereotype, rather than a living breathing man. There was something in the way he looked at her. Like he didn't quite know how to take her - what to make of her. It was a look that most others in this very room shared, but something about the way he wore it made it appear differently on his face. Like it wasn't a bad thing.
It only seemed to intensify the more they danced, until she felt her eyes constantly drifting back to his entirely of their own accord the moment she stopped strictly minding them. Even the very respectful distance between them every time they twirled closer to each other suddenly seemed very close indeed, any points of contact between their hands sending sparks down her arm. Her sole consolation was that he seemed to have the very same problem. So mesmerising did this strange little dance of theirs become that at some point or another, they quite forgot to include a healthy dose of bashfulness in those looks, and she saw the same question in his eyes that she was sure gleamed within her own.
Does he feel it, too?
And boy, she meant it when she deemed it so very dangerous. Maybe it would've been safer if she'd just pretended to swoon, after all.
A/N: The temptation I had to throw in a whole Dirty Dancing sequence when they danced together? Unreal. My self control? Unmatched. My Draco Malfoy fic that you should absolutely check out if you're into Harry Potter? On my profile - titled Little By Little :) it's set after the books, he falls in love with a Muggle, it's all very dramatic. I'm currently almost 50 chapters deep with plenty more to come, too, so there's more of it than there is of this one so far!…Although this one will probably be of biblical proportions by the end, too.