A/N: Still miraculously free of the 'vid, still finishing up my isolation time just to be safe, so I thought we might celebrate with ANOTHER update - a bit of James' perspective because I think we've all missed him. Can't promise the next update will be quite so quick as these ones have been, as I need to reintroduce myself into society come Monday.

By the time they'd discussed maybe three quarters of what there was to be said - the truly important things, the ones that had to be addressed before they could simply be - they'd talked themselves utterly hoarse. James took it upon himself to peer into the jug brought by the serving girls, dreading the sight of wine or ale, or even beer. He'd been given a lot to stomach, and his stomach remained weak despite how valiantly he aimed to digest it all - the facts along with the alcohol - but he suspected that even the mere sight of anything too strong would be enough to set it turning again. Instead, though, he found honeyed milk.

Sighing softly in relief, he poured two cups and handed the first to Theodora. She blinked in surprise, and he wondered whether it was because she hadn't expected the gesture from him, or because Tortuga made basic manners seem odd and out of place. Perhaps both. Her eyes flickered to his face and she nodded her thanks, taking a sip. That was the only way she looked at him now - in quick, furtive glances that were more shy than he ever remembered her being. Worry furrowed its way into her brow, too, as though she were steeling herself for the moment his calm abandoned him. James would be lying if he pretended that he was not waiting for a similar moment himself.

But he knew himself well enough, even in this degraded state, to know that it would not come. What he did not know was why…but he could speculate. Chief amongst his theories was that the reality of the matter, however impossible and strange, could not hold a candle to the dark and terrible theories his mind dreamt up. Theories that involved cruel husbands, living or dead, secret criminal pasts, and a woman who would not tell him the truth simply because she did not trust him. For while some small, petty part of himself wanted to resent her for not telling him, he could not. Not just because she was Theodora, and at this point he feared she could hold a pistol to his face and he would find a manner of justifying it, but also because even a brief moment of putting himself where she stood had him knowing he would do the same.

Oh, he could pretend in his own mind that should he wake up in the fifteen-hundreds he would tell the world and entreat upon them to believe him, but it was a line of imagination that he couldn't follow for it rang false immediately. In truth, he knew he would put his head down, resolve to get by, and handle the troubles as they came. The fact that she had managed to do so not only as somebody who was not a seasoned soldier, but as a woman, too, impressed him more than he was willing to say.

While the truth was like nothing he ever could have guessed, the fact of the matter was that it was also somehow less terrible than those worst case scenarios his mind was apt to dream up when he was feeling truly hopeless. Those scenarios weren't ones he particularly believed, but they were certainly ones that he feared - that she was a secret agent of Sparrow set to sow chaos in Port Royal, or a pretty criminal fleeing the law from abroad. Often the thought of a not-dead husband even occurred to him - a prospect that, in James' imagination, almost invariably ended with his having to duel the man in the street. Fits of paranoia were all that they were, catastrophizing set to explain things he couldn't quite put his finger on, things he knew she wasn't saying, but it remained that the truth wasn't as bad as his fears. At least she remained innocent in the truth of things.

Then, there was something he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to voice. Not without sounding vain and self-involved. But something had contrived to bring her here, and he was aware of only one power that might be able to transport one through time and reality itself. God. If it was God who sent her here, it was God who had her drifting across The Interceptor that day over a year ago. Had she not told him that his position, his honour, would one day be restored, he wouldn't dream of having the gall to think such things, never mind do something about those thoughts, but now? The possibilities were tantalising - thrilling.

But he would not voice that. Not only because it sounded ridiculous, but because that blessing came at the cost of her family. Her life. The only reason he did not feel like a heartless bastard for even thinking it was because of what Theodora had said herself - she'd been lost. And what was he now if not the same? Her earlier words, absent-minded as they had been, had troubled him. You're good, you're noble, and you love Elizabeth. That's who you are. It gave him an unwelcome glimpse into how things might be for him now should Theodora not exist. Tortuga would always be a den of depravity, but even now it felt warmer with them tucked away together in this room, all of the wickedness shut out and unable to reach them.

It was a fanciful thought - one he would have laughed at himself for even just a year prior - but then again, so was time travel. Even now he was almost tempted to ask Theodora for another look at these portraits of hers just so he would continue to believe it. But while he would never be so arrogant, never so narcissistic, as to believe that she was sent here for him…with what she'd told him of how she'd felt back in her own time, he could entertain the idea that perhaps God had been so good as to find two lost souls who mightn't be quite so lost were they together.

But what to do with that thought? Nothing but keep it to himself, really. And that left him hopelessly unsure of how to continue. Oh, he knew what he wanted to do - to hold her and kiss her and discover what such a course of action might feel like now that it couldn't be riddled by guilt. Their embrace in the tavern below had been a glorious glimpse into that, but he'd been too stunned at finally seeing her, tangible and alive, and it had been ruined by their audience. He felt too unsure to act, though. It was a problem that seldom plagued James in the heat of battle, but often found him here. In Port Royal, had he returned home to find her there after he'd been free to express his feelings in earnest, he would not have hesitated. Here, however, in her quarters, in a tavern, in Tortuga, such a move would undoubtedly have unintended, dishonourable implications, and he had no wish to insult her.

"I…" he reached up to pass a hand over his hair and then paused "Have you a comb I might borrow?"

Theodora blinked slowly at him, her eyes seeming all the brighter for the glow of the firelight that caught her hair and made her look like some sort of Celtic goddess of old.

"Oh. Right. Yeah - hang on," and then she was up, sliding open the drawer of the table by her bedside as she set her cup atop it.

Once she produced the comb and handed it to him, still shyly avoiding his gaze in the biggest show of demurity he'd ever seen from her, he managed to spend approximately five seconds attempting to drag the comb through his hair before she was pulling it from his grasp again.

"Here, let me."

"I don't need to be fussed over," he admonished.

He already felt ridiculous enough having her pay for his meal, his bath, supply his clothing (albeit clothing that was technically already his) and provide a roof over his head for the night. Who was the man and who was the woman here? What need did she have of a man who needed to be fussed over like an incompetent child at best, or a drunkard at worst?

"Of course you don't," she said, confusion in her voice giving away the fact that it wasn't mere placation "But it's always nice every now and then. And my scalp is stinging just watching you. You might need to sit, though, unless you want me to hurt my arms doing all of this reaching up."

Lips thinning, he lowered himself into the chair that the room boasted, and kept his eyes firmly ahead. His decision to remain stony-faced, lest either of them fall into the trap of thinking he was doing anything more than tolerating this for her sake, was quickly scuppered by the way his eyes threatened to flutter shut as her fingertips ghosted his neck so that she could pull his hair behind his back.

"Your purpose," he said "Your believed purpose. Is it dangerous?"

He knew it would be, given how she barrelled into all manner of danger without a second thought. It would be the death of him if she kept it up. What he wanted to know, though, in asking her was whether she'd admit it.

"Probably," she said quietly "Depends on how things shake out. The next few years, I'm not completely sure on the timeline, will be dangerous for all involved, though, or else they wouldn't be the stuff of stories…so I'm nothing special in that regard."

Gently taking up a section of his hair, she began to comb through it starting from the very ends and working upwards. It took concerted effort for him not to lean into the touch like a cat.

"And it's to do with Sparrow?"

Now that was a guess. But an educated one.

"…I gave him my word that I'd help him," she murmured.

"In exchange for his securing you safe passage home before the danger truly started - before this ghastly Lord Beckett joined the fray. That is no longer the plan now, is it not? So you owe him nothing."

"The plan changed, but not because Jack failed to uphold his end, which means I have no reason not to stay true to my word."

James sighed, irritation warring for his desire for a moment of peace and happiness with the woman who now stood behind him, combing his hair. It was a more domestic scene than he ever could have hoped for, and he wasn't sure he had the heart to spoil it with an argument that would go nowhere.

"Your word to a pirate," he pointed out.

"I've seen it all, James," Theodora sighed quietly "Everything you haven't, everything you can't, and some things that you willfully won't. I won't pretend he's noble, but he is good. In the end. What does that make me if I double-cross him?"

"Wise, I should think," he said drily.

"You don't mean that. Or at least you wouldn't if we were discussing anybody other than him."

"I'm not sure I'd like the idea of you hurtling yourself into danger for anybody. Sparrow just happens to be my least favourite candidate."

"Well, we don't even know if I can change anything yet. Maybe fate is fate and it won't be cowed by some random twenty-first century Irishwoman, no matter how stubborn."

"Nonsense," he disagreed "By your own account, were it not for your presence I'd currently be languishing in a tavern somewhere, drinking myself to oblivion while still fancying myself in love with…well, I wouldn't be here. Not clothed, nor fed, nor clean, nor…nor content."

Her actions paused just slightly as he spoke, pushing through his own awkward bashfulness, before picking back up again.

"So I was sent here to provide baths and roasted cheese?" She teased softly, but there was warmth in her voice where there had once been weariness and fear.

"Don't downplay what you've done thus far," he admonished gently in return "Hattie's continued survival begs to differ."

"Hattie?" He heard the frown in her voice.

"Of course. Do you really think she'd have survived the assault upon my home had you not been there? Oh, I wager she would have hidden, and perhaps even might have fought, but she wouldn't have survived. You've already made a difference here, Theodora - you've saved a life."

A few beats of silence passed and he wondered if he'd misspoken, but then she resumed her task. Having diligently combed out the tangles from his long-neglected hair - and with incredible care at that, hardly pulling or snagging at all - she'd worked up to the root now, and was carefully combing it back and away from his face. Now James did lean into the touch - he couldn't help it.

"I didn't think about it," she replied quietly "I've been so focused on what I knew…The attack on Port Royal didn't show your home at all in the version of events I saw. We see Elizabeth's kidnap, and the chaos in town - and your saving Governor Swann from cannon fire, but nothing of your home. I…I didn't think about the unseen changes I might've made. I never considered…"

The fact that she knew of that incident with Governor Swann without his having told her was unsettling, even though he knew why. It made the truth of her words all the more real…and he suspected it was a feeling he would have to grow used to.

"You focus on what is left to be done rather than what has been accomplished."

A snort sounded quietly behind her "Pot, meet kettle."

He chuckled "Mm. Perhaps…perhaps we're well matched after all."

It felt ridiculous for a man grown to feel so shy about saying such things, but he was still relieved to hear her laugh, the sound low and quiet as she leaned forward to comb back the hair from the front of his head.

"I'll admit, whenever I was asked about my type back home, I didn't tend to say 'eighteenth century commodores'."

Her phrasing baffled him, but he was too content to question it much - he understood the meaning of her words well enough.

"Nor I Irishwomen hailing from the future," he replied drily.

"Is the Irish part the more surprising bit?"

"Is my being English more of a surprise to you?" He countered.

The joking was good. The teasing was good. A welcome and sorely needed reminder that she was the same woman he'd known in Port Royal.

She laughed again "It's definitely the part that'd give me dad the most pause, I'll give you that."

"I'm sorry I could not meet him."

For her sake, more than his own, admittedly. While he would have liked to have won her father's approval, even the barest glimpse of the portrait she'd shown him gave away that it would have been a hard-won battle indeed. Theodora's father was a bulky man, and most of that bulk was riddled with tattoos, not of particularly great stature judging by his height when he stood side by side with his daughter, but despite how he smiled in the photograph there was something steely about him. Still, he suspected he'd misspoken when Theodora fell silent behind him, although her movements did not falter.

She'd worked long and efficiently enough both to have combed all of the snags from his hair sevenfold, but he wasn't inclined to stop her. Finally, though, she cast the comb aside and threaded her fingers through his hair, bringing it all neatly back and away from his face.

"He'd have liked you…after a bit of pretending otherwise. I won't tie your hair back or it won't dry properly," she said quietly.

He accepted her change in subject readily. There was no need to fill this night with more complication, if that was even possible.

"I'm sure I can manage that part myself."

He sat up straight, not having realised that he'd slowly began to recline in the chair until he had to rectify that fact.

"I don't suppose you're in possession of a razor?" His hand came up to smooth over his beard, mostly to ease his own embarrassment at how he'd all but purred under her touch.

"Afraid not - I wouldn't worry, though, it suits you. Very handsome."

Faltering under the unexpected compliment, he turned to look at her as she put away the comb. Rather than finding that very familiar playful, teasing smirk on her face, though, her eyes were downcast and her cheeks awash with the slightest blush. It charmed and reassured him in equal measure to find she was as unsure of her footing in these matters as he was. As bashful concerning his presence as he found himself in hers. And that gave him the courage that he needed - the push that he needed. The half-cloaked desire in her eyes only sealed it.

That desire was undisguised entirely as he stood and she turned to face him properly, and then he was ducking his head and pressing his lips to hers. It was the first time he'd been able to kiss her without any dark clouds overshadowing it - no drunken confusion, no post-battle adrenaline, no regret, no guilt. Nothing to muddle it; nothing to spoil it. Instead, there was just Theodora. The world outside her room need not have existed.

Several times he pulled back with the intention of breaking to kiss, only to take in a quick breath and kiss her again like he was powerless to keep himself from doing so - and maybe he was. He could see now why she feared that he might name her a witch. It prided him, at least, to find that she fared no better. Theodora, whose disdain at the mere notion of needing anybody was usually as plain as the nose on her face, clinging to him as she kissed him back as though pleading him to never leave her side again. It was enough to take the breath from his lungs. It was little wonder he was half-tempted in a moment of mad desire to drag her down to the squalid chapel that Tortuga boasted so that they might marry then and there and share her bed before the fire burning in the hearth could even begin to die down to embers.

But he was not so reduced as that, and he finally pulled back for good…although when he did so and found her pupils blown wide, her hair in disarray, cheeks flushed, and lips swollen, he almost forgot himself all over again. At least her tentativeness was gone. Weaving a lock of her hair around his fingers, he stayed before her, a foolish smile playing on his lips. She seemed to share his desire to stay close, and for that he was glad for he wasn't sure he could take her disappearing again, pressing featherlight kisses to his cheek and then the side of his jaw. He'd never quite cursed his beard so much as he did then. She pushed things no further, however, and soon they stood merely holding one another.

"I should…I should leave. I cannot stay here tonight, they will talk."

"If you leave now they'll only mock you for not lasting the whole night," she said drily.

He almost choked on his inhale, having not expected such a joke. It would be a lie, though, if he pretended not to be relieved that she was giving him the option to stay. He didn't like to assume, but he wasn't sure he could return to the corner of some tavern now. Not knowing she was here. Nor did he want to sit downstairs at a table with him where anybody and everybody might spectate.

"I'll…I'll sleep on the floor, then. If you're sure," he said slowly.

It wasn't proper, but nothing about any of this was proper. Her reputation would sooner recover from her spending the night in close quarters with him than it would from her having spent all of this time in Tortuga in the employ of Jack Sparrow. And at least if he was here, he could protect her from any more of Beckett's men who saw fit to come calling.

"If you do that then we'll only both be on the floor, and that seems absurd," she finally stepped back - but not by much, just enough to avoid temptation so that they might speak.

"I cannot rightly take your bed while you sleep on the floor," he said, his tone broaching no room for argument.

Theodora didn't seem to care about his tone, though.

"James, when was the last time you slept in a decent bed? Take it. I'll be fine. You've been through hell, you need to rest."

"I've been through no more than you have in the last year," he pointed out.

"And I was lucky enough to have a very nice man offer me a bed despite the fact that he thought I was out of my damn mind," she pointed out, eyebrows rising defiantly - before she added with a cheeky grin "And I like you almost as much as I liked him."

"I forgot about the genius of your humour," he said flatly.

"Don't lie, we both know I'm quite unforgettable."

His face softened, and from the way she blushed in response to it he knew that he didn't need to say out loud that he quite agreed with her on that score.

"I…it would not be proper."

"I'm not very proper," she pointed out "Look, it's big enough, we could sleep - fully clothed - back to back. If you're not comfortable with it, that's fine, but I'm not taking the bed while you're on the floor. The entirety of Tortuga is absolutely certain that we're-"

At his sharp look she caught her words and adjust them at the last second "-being improper right now anyway, so I think sleeping side by side is just within the realms of acceptability. It's hardly really any closer than you'd be if you slept on the floor by the bed, anyway. Unless you don't trust me not to try to ravish you in your sleep."

"I would never accuse you of-" James spluttered "-my thoughts are only for your honour, practicality be damned."

"I know," she gave a fond smile "That was another joke."

He hesitated, eyeing the bed, which was damn more tempting than he wanted to admit.

"…Does the door lock?"

"Of course. I put a bolt on it, too - why?"

"Because I'm having second thoughts on the ravishing," he replied drily.

The way Theodora's arguing faltered at that while she gaped at him in surprise brought a proud smile to his face. She wasn't the only one who could make jokes.

A/N: A "joke". Sure, James. I have to give all of the credit in its entirety to James' point about Hattie to LouAsteria on AO3! Thank you!

Also major gratitude to carpeastra over on Ko-fi who let me know that my links in my chapter notes on AO3 weren't working. It happens sometimes and I fix it when I can, but on the off-chance it happens and I don't notice it, my Tumblr username is esta-elavaris, my Instagram name is miotasach, and my Ko-fi name is eriathiel — I have no intention of changing any of them, so if you want to find them, that's where to go!

I also have to thank the insane generosity of the people who have been able to support me over on Ko-fi, as I've been brought to tears multiple times by it! The reviews and comments too, honestly, I'm just a very tearful person apparently, but I'm very grateful for you all. I still don't have any housing updates to give you, unfortunately, I'm still just waiting to hear back about my application, but hopefully it'll all be fine. I can stay with my friend 'til the end of February, so we just need to hope for very swift miracles over the next ~5 weeks.