A/N: This is…this is mostly James Norrington thirst and tooth-rotting fluff. What can I say? (Except you're welcome.) Sixty chapters worth of slow burning is finally coming to an end.

James helped Theo out of the carriage, and the driver began the process of turning it and riding away almost immediately. They stared at the house quietly, simply taking in the sight, as the clopping of hooves slowly faded leaving little other than the rustle of the trees and the singing of the birds.

"It doesn't quite feel real, does it?" She commented softly.

"It'll feel no realer if we keep standing here gawking at it," he replied, pressing a hand to the small of her back as he led her up the path towards the door.

Theo stepped aside as he produced the key he'd been given by one of Beckett's men and slid it into the lock before he turned the knob, and swung the door open. But when she went to step inside, he stopped her with a hand at her shoulder.

"If this is the part where you tell me I'm not invited in, I'm going to be pretty cross with y-ah!"

Her teasing was cut short when he turned to hook his other arm behind her knees and scooped her up, leaving her scrambling to anchor her arms around his neck so she felt more steady. To his credit, though, he didn't seem to struggle to bear her weight. Her shock quickly gave way to giggles as he carried her across the threshold.

"You daft git," she snickered fondly, not just because it felt good to laugh but because she could feel the vibrations of his own chuckling reverberating through her face as she pressed it into his neck.

"You'll forgive me if I wish to observe at least one tradition," he levelled her with a lopsided half-smile that was downright roguish which threatened to knock the breath from her lungs.

"So long as the tradition doesn't end with me being dropped on my backside," she said.

"Never," he vowed, fingers squeezing where they gripped her thigh as if to prove his point.

It occurred to her vaguely then that it was perhaps the most intimately he'd ever touched her - as far as his hands were concerned, at least…which, admittedly, sounded a lot more lewd than she meant. Yes, they'd kissed, but his hands always remained strictly at her shoulders or above. Maybe at her back or hip if he was feeling particularly risque, but they never roamed. They'd slept side-by-side, but they'd hardly been handsy when they did so. Even when they'd trained together, he was so bloody respectful that if she wound up blushing when he made a correction to her poster or stance, it was purely because of her own treacherous mind.

James' eyes flickered to his hand, having apparently been hit by the same realisation as her, and then his gaze darkened with something that looked a whole lot like desire. Apparently her mind wasn't the only one that was treacherous. Whatever shone in her own eyes must have reflected what she saw in his, for his eyes flickered down towards her lips before he bowed his head to press his against them. The angle was awkward, and she could feel the strain in his arm as he lifted her up so that she could kiss him back more easily, but she couldn't find it in her to care, using the arm around his neck as leverage while she dragged the nails of her other hand gently through the scruff at his jaw and down his neck until her fingers rested at the patch of chest exposed by his shirt. She delighted in the shiver that drew out of him.

Seemingly as tired of being hindered by the uncomfortable angle as she was, he shifted to allow her legs to slip from his grasp, and the moment her boots met the floor, his hand was at her hip, helping her find her balance as quickly as possible while the one at her shoulder pulled her closer again, as though he couldn't bear to be delayed for but a second or two more. Stunned and delighted by his fervor all in one, Theo returned the kiss with just as much enthusiasm, the hand at his chest sliding up through the sparse patch of hair that was scattered across it, up over his collarbone and under his shirt and jacket to his shoulder, feeling the hard muscle there as she anchored herself and moved up to the soles of her feet.

"I know…" he broke the kiss to breathe the words, but then paused to kiss her again before he continued, like he couldn't bear waiting to finish his sentence to kiss her again "That circumstances forced our hand…in the timing of our…marriage..."

He might've been making a very good point, but she'd never be able to understand it if he kept kissing her like that while he made it.

"So…should you wish to wait…I would be more than happy…to respect…your…wishes…"

Once he was finished speaking, he pulled back - and chuckled when her lips futilely tried to follow.

"What? I-" she breathed, and if the kisses weren't enough to do her in, the mixture of sheer love and desire both with which he regarded her certainly would be.

It took her a moment to comprehend what he'd been saying, and another to formulate a response.

"No, I…do you want to…?"

She would respect it if he did wish to wait, of course she would, that wasn't a question - but Christ there wouldn't be enough ice in Port Royal to make a bath cold enough to match her needs after this. Frostbite wouldn't be enough to cool her down.

"Do I want?" He echoed with a low laugh, kissing her again - deeply and lingeringly this time before he continued at a murmur "Theodora, I am a patient man - and I endeavour to be a gentleman. But you have maddened me even since we lived here last, and since then we have lived together in one room, sleeping side-by-side no less…and I am but a man."

"I madden you?" She asked with a small smile.

The idea of having such an effect on the usually stoic man was…a lot. But not bad. Not bad at all.

"By your question, I'm not sure if I should be comforted or troubled by the fact that it is not deliberate."

"Rich, coming from the man that once promised me otherworldly pleasure back in Tortuga. You say things like that, and then say I'm the one that drives you mad."

He huffed a laugh "In truth, I don't know what came over me when I said that. Mostly, I wished to make you blush - and drive you to distraction as you do me."

"It worked."

"It did?"

"Mm. Took a brief break to think about other things in the brig of the Dutchman, you'll have to forgive me for that."

"I'll find it in my heart. Although I would point out that I don't recall using the word 'otherworldly'."

"I have faith in you."

He gave a low chuckle that sounded damn near dangerous.

"I usually prefer to undersell and overdeliver."

"Oh, you have a business plan for these matters, do you?"

"In general," he corrected her drily "But I would see that faith fulfilled."

Theo opened her mouth to respond, and then a knock sounded at the door and they started before downright deflating in unison.

"Beckett's maid. Sent to spy on us, no doubt."

"I really, really hate that little pillock already," she grumbled.

"No doubt I don't have to remind you not to express such feelings in anybody's presence other than mine?"

"Depends on whether he keeps telling me to speak properly or not," she replied flatly "All you English always think you're so clever when you say that - like we've never heard it before. It's exhausting."

He kissed her one last time, and let it linger "I like how you speak. Nonsensical as it may be at times - although I fear that's less a barrier of language and more…well, the other thing."

The knock sounded at the door again and he sighed ruefully.

"We'll bathe, we'll eat, we'll send her away."

"Can we do that?" she asked doubtfully.

"It's our home, we may do as we please."

She suspected that Beckett would beg to differ…but mostly, her mind snagged on the phrase 'our home', and the butterflies that such a simple set of words gave way to.

The disappointment Theo felt when the maid Beckett send ended up being a dour middle-aged woman instead of Hattie was probably very stupid. It had been a long time, of course she'd have found other employment while they were gone. Still, the woman's sourness made Theo miss the blonde all the more, for she made her feelings known when it came to catering to a suspected witch via her short, clipped tones and pursed lips. At least they wouldn't have much bother getting rid of her.

There was only one bath, and so they would have to take turns. While the maid focused on filling it in James' bedroom by the hearth (now their bedroom, she reminded herself), they went hunting for clothing. While the wardrobes and drawers were empty, James found a couple of chests tucked away in the corner of the attic, caked in dust but boasting clothing for the two of them. It wasn't a lot, a couple of day dresses, a shift or two, and a nightshirt of his along with some regular shirts and breeches, but it had her singing Hattie's blessings all the same. Apparently she'd had a whole lot of faith in the fact that they would return…and that she'd need her prettiest nightgown to sleep in - one that was all lace detailing and silk ties at the neck and sleeves.

Theo had pursed her lips in amusement and quickly bundled it into her arms along with her salvaged mauve housecoat while James was preoccupied with rooting around in his own chest for a clean shirt for the next day. She vowed that when she next saw Hattie, she was going to get down on her knees and worship the lass.

The maid took little to no persuading that she wouldn't need her help to wash and Theo was left to bathe alone. The horrible murky grey colour that the water soon turned had her glad that they'd been interrupted in the hallway after all - and she found herself quite unable to look at the bed without blushing, like she was a bloody teenager. The room had been cleared of accoutrements long ago, the only difference since their arrival being the big copper bathtub and the fresh covers on the bed, but it still somehow felt very James. She'd never really been in here before - it wouldn't have been proper. But it had his vibe imprinted upon it…as much as he'd probably scoff at such phrasing.

She scrubbed at her skin until it was pink, and then she saw to her hair until it was untangled and soft as silk, before climbing out. Such was her efficiency that the water had barely even started to cool and steam rose from her skin as she quickly stood and wrapped the length of linen that had been left around herself. If she lingered too long, took the time to lounge and soak, she'd start to think. About the photographs still in Jones' possession. About Jack, manacled in an infirmary somewhere. About her home, and how it somehow seemed impossibly further away now still. About how none of her family, both of the blood and found sort, would never meet her new husband. About how the fate of that husband still weighed heavily upon her shoulders.

There was a silent agreement between the two of them - between her and James - not to think about any of that now. With much still to come (she knew more than anybody exactly how much there really was), and plenty left to worry about, it would be all too easy to ruin their respite by thinking about it before anything could actually be done. After how long she'd spent pining for a time such as this, she knew she'd never forgive herself if she ruined it by dwelling or brooding, so each and every time one of these topics strayed too far to the forefront of her mind, she plucked it out of her head entirely. For later. Although she didn't envy future-Theodora when it came time to deal with it all.

For now, though, there were plenty of nicer things to consider. Their wedding, for one. Of all the ways Theo imagined herself being wed one day, on the few occasions she ever thought that she might actually be wed one day, the prospect of doing so in a dinghy with Jack Sparrow as the officiant had somehow never crossed her mind. Not least because she figured Johnny Depp would charge a premium for such a service back home. What also never crossed her mind was the matter of the vows. She'd more or less already given hers in her rush to assure him that she was serious, but she'd never expected that James might return the favour.

Admittedly, he'd done so reluctantly - taking a few moments to carefully consider his words before casting a resentful look towards Sparrow and tightening his grip on her hands and leaning in to murmur them in her ear where they might not be heckled.

"Some time ago, we stood before one another in the forests of Port Royal, and I told you that it was with great sorrow that my saving you had us stuck with one another, and that we would remain so until some stroke of good fortune saw us parted," he murmured.

Theo laughed softly - she remembered that conversation, after Will had snitched on her and brought James to her campsite. She remembered how much he'd intimidated her then, and how she'd had no idea what she was in for. It seemed it was a sentiment that he shared, for her continued.

"I know not what amuses me more now - how entirely wrong I was, or how I had no way of knowing just how entirely wrong I was. Although in truth, I'm glad I had no notion of what you would soon come to mean to me, for while I pride myself in my courage, if I did know I fear I'd have barely been able to speak to you at all."

She was not going to cry. She would not cry, damn it. That would be sappy and girlish and ridiculous and…her vision was clouding with unshed tears before she could think of another word to describe said tears with.

"I have spent far too long being blind to my feelings for you - and longer thereafter being powerless to act upon those feelings once I finally realised them. But no more. No more blindness, no more separation."

"No more doubt," she murmured.

He smiled then, a warm, brilliant smile as he gave a chuckle so close to her ear that it sent goosebumps all down her arms as he vowed "No more doubt."

It was as he pressed a slow kiss to her cheek, barely a milimetre from the corner of her lips, that Jack reminded them of his presence "We haven't gotten to that bit yet, mate."

Theo could hear the roll of James' eyes as he leaned back just enough to glare at the pirate "Then kindly do so."

"Fine, fine, I'll save me speeches for another time. By the power vested in me by this meagre and disrespectful crew, I now pronounce you husband and wife," he did so with a flourish, waving his hands at them in a grand sweeping gesture as though casting some sort of spell "You may now kiss the bride."

They were kissing before he'd even finished speaking.

It was a memory that already had Theo's cheeks blazing and a sort of giddiness washing over her whenever she remembered it - the sort that had her fighting back the urge to giggle to herself or take a few turns about the room just to expel some of the restless energy it gave way to. She doubted it was the sort of thing that would fade as time went on. The knowledge of what was in store tonight didn't help the anticipation burgeoning deep within her chest.

Once she was mostly dry, she changed into the nightdress, then pulled the housecoat atop it so that she could vacate the room and James could have his turn to clean up. The maid reacted with little more than a sniff and a muttered dismissal when she offered to help her empty and refill the bath, so Theo left her to it, and as she slipped out of the bedroom she found James in the hallway.

"Can you believe there was a woman under all of that grime?" She teased, running a hand through her wet hair.

The smile he gave in response was fond and hopelessly soft, and he caught her hand as she made to walk past him.

"There's bread, cheese, and ham in the sitting room downstairs. Don't feel like you must wait for me if you wish to eat right away."

It looked like she'd be reminding him of the wonders of melted cheese for their wedding dinner.

"I'll wait, it's fine. Would you believe me if I told you the three lumps of hardtack we've had in as many days left me completely full?"

"No," he said bluntly.

She laughed and squeezed his hand "It's fine. We can eat together. There's no rush."

Of course, she'd regretted insisting that the moment she'd set her makeshift cheese and ham toasties to melt by the fire, but she nibbled on a spare shred of cheese while she waited, sitting on the floor by the hearth in the sitting room while she listened to the movements of the maid about the house. James washed and changed perhaps even more quickly than she had - if anything, the filling and emptying of the tub took longer in both of their cases - and she listened from her spot on the floor as he dismissed the maid afterwards and then closed, locked, and bolted the front door in her wake. She didn't put up too much of a fuss.

Finally, James entered the room in a nightshirt that came down to his knees, and a pair of clean breeches. The effect was funnier than she let on - like it was a normal shirt that was just far too big, but she took it as a sign that she wasn't the only one who was nervous, and that warmed her. He was clean, though, his hair damp and to her great surprise, the beard remained.

"I'm handling dinner," she gestured vaguely to her set up by the fire "It's almost done melting."

"Not the wedding feast you dreamed of, I imagine," he snorted, coming to join her on the floor with one long leg stretched out before him and the other bent at the knee so his elbow could rest upon it.

"The husband I dreamed of, though," she teased - and delighted in the almost shy smile that twitched its way onto his lips "I wasn't expecting to see the beard again."

While he hadn't shaved it off, it did appear neatly trimmed.

"For tonight only, I'm afraid - it's all I can offer in the way of a wedding gift presently," he smoothed a hand over it "I know of your fondness for it. Come morning I must shave, and you must promise to still find me worthy of your desire."

"That won't be difficult."

"You're teasing me."

"Not at all."

He rolled his eyes, then he accepted the makeshift toastie as she handed it to him and took a bite.

"You don't believe me?" She challenged "Your nose."

"My nose?" He echoed.

"Mm," she nodded, swallowing down a bite of her own food "It's bloody criminal that I should find a nose so attractive, but apparently that's what you've done to me. Then there's your brow - especially when you furrow it at me like that as if I've gone mad which is, well, most of the time. Your eyes, of course, goes without saying, your jaw - bearded or unbearded - and your lips, especially after that display downstairs. I can't let the patch of chest that's been driving me absolutely mad these last few weeks go unmentioned, either, but I'll stop there before I say something entirely improper."

The food was so damn good after so long being deprived that it might've brought tears to her eyes were she not so distracted by the task at hand.

"I…" he faltered and then chuckled lowly, shaking his head "I find myself lost for words. Not least because propriety is so seldom your priority."

Theo took that as a challenge "Your voice, too, then. I can't forget that - it's even better than the nose. Your laugh, your smile."

"Seldom as they are seen."

"By those who don't know you properly, making it even more of a triumph that I'm spoiled by them," she countered, making a great show of considering what she might say next "Your hands."

She expected admonishment, but apparently a perk of marriage was that none came.

"Your arms, your shoulders - your legs."

"My toes?" He hazarded drily.

"No," Theo teased with a smirk "Your toes are hideous, I'm afraid, but I'm willing to overlook that when weighed up against everything else. And I haven't even begun on the non-physical attributes."

They'd both made quick work of their meal, but neither seemed too bothered about second helpings.

His response came in the form of a low chuckle as he shook his head "Shall I begin repaying the compliment? Is it my turn?"

"To overlook my hideous toes? I'd be grateful. And sort of relieved that you're not a foot man."

"A footman? Why would I be a footma-" he misunderstood, and she was glad for it, and even more when he finally sighed and shook his head, abandoning the line of questioning altogether "You're absurd."

"Thank you," she smiled.

"And perfect."

The smile faltered on her lips, then became a shade more genuine before she flushed and straightened her face.

"You accuse me of teasing you, and now you're mocking me," she said "Not very nice of you."

"You think you can rattle off compliments on my every attribute, but when I return the sentiment I'm the one who's making fun?"

"James," she gave a sigh of mock exasperation "You…Listen…You're really not grasping just how excellent your nose is."

"You're not grasping how perfect you are," he smirked.

"That, dear husband, is blatant flattery."

"I should think I'm allowed to lavish praise upon my wife," he returned.

And, damn him, she blushed even more.

"Yeah, well, there's something you should see and then you can make your mind up on the 'perfect' thing - and that wasn't an innuendo."

To his credit, he did a valiant job of stifling his smile despite the glee that seemed to have overtaken the both of them, but his expression soon turned confused and then carefully blank as she shrugged off her housecoat. She was painfully aware of how the light from the hearth illuminated her figure beneath the thin white linen of her nightdress, but she brushed off any self-consciousness and returned to sit on the floor once again, turning her back to him. Lifting her hands to the neckline of the nightdress, she pulled it upwards until it came to rest at the base of her neck rather than at her cleavage, sending the neckline of the dress down behind her to expose her back. Finally, she gathered her slightly damp hair in her hands and brought it round to the front of her.

Silence. Nerves buzzed within her chest - more than she'd ever allow herself to let on. And maybe those nerves were stupid, but she couldn't help in. In her time here, James had seen her sunburned til she was red as a lobster and utterly delirious, caked in dirt and sand and reenacting some eighteenth century version of Rambo, bruised and battered and covered in blood with her face busted up, hungover while somehow also drunken crying mess following his betrothal to Elizabeth, as a Tortugan witch-slash-pirate (two things he was not fond of), and finally as a half-starved escapee from the brig of the Dutchman. In hindsight, it was a wonder he'd wanted to marry her at all, really. The man really needed his head checked. To say that she'd been a bit of a mess during her time here was like saying Jack was prone to an occasional nightcap.

However, through it all, she could always be cleaned up. The grime could be washed off, the sunburn could fade, the wounds could heal, and at the end of it all there'd be something resembling a lady. In the right light, at the right time of day, under the right circumstances, if she was in the right mood. Still. A tattoo was a bit more permanent - it certainly didn't meet this time's standards of feminine beauty or desirability. She didn't want to disrobe and have him expecting some sort of expanse of smooth unblemished skin only to be greeted with a sketch-work shamrock filled in with watercolour splashes of green, white, and orange. Best to rip off the band-aid now.

Bowing her head, she bore the silence and waited. It was strangely invigorating, even if it was nerve-wracking. He'd seen her at her worst and at her strangest, and dubbed her perfect. Loved her. Married her. Would this ruin it? She doubted it, but as the silence stretched the worry gained an edge.

"Hattie's bruises," he finally murmured, tone unreadable.

"Now you see why I couldn't correct her," she replied.

He hummed in response, and then he asked "The colours? What do they mean?"

"They're the colours of the Irish flag - in my time."

"A tattoo?"

She breathed a laugh "Yeah. A tattoo."

"…May I?"

"Of course."

Closing her eyes, she sighed softly as she felt the pads of his fingers trace over the design.

"It looks like a painting," he commented.

"It was a big trend back home for a bit. The pirates and sailors of this time are in for a bit of a wait if they want anything like it."

"Yes, I imagine they are," he snorted softly "It suits you."

She was about to say that she wasn't sure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult given how she suspected he felt about tattoos in general, but then she felt his lips press against the patch of skin where the tattoo sat, soft and warm even as his beard tickled her, and her mind fell quite blank. Right up until, that was, he lifted his chin to rest atop her shoulder and asked quietly.

"Shall we retire?"

A/N: I've never written all out smut before but man, this story might be the one where I take the plunge. I wouldn't have ended here if not for the fact that I'm still deliberating that fact, and that I wanted to get a proper update up before Camp NaNoWriMo begins on Friday. But if I do end up writing it, you all have to promise not to judge it too critically because it's brand new territory to me.

Research tells me that women in these times didn't so much have nightgowns as just shifts that they slept in, but Elizabeth's costume in the first movie does look very nightgown-y, so either this universe boasts premature nightgowns along with their zombie pirates and vengeful gods, or they're very pretty shifts and Theo would just call it a nightgown anyway. Do I think anybody cares about this as much as I do? Nope. Do I still feel compelled to explain this very mundane detail? Sure do!