Were James the more fanciful sort, he might've awoken the next morning and feared that it had all been some sort of strange, fantastic dream. That he'd open his eyes and be met with the sight of some squalid Tortugan tavern and that none of the very good parts of the last few weeks had actually happened at all. As it stood, though, he was not the particularly fanciful sort…but contentment still washed over him in tidal waves when he opened his eyes and was met with the sight of deep red hair in utter disarray.
"Are you awake?" He murmured.
Theodora sighed into his shoulder "If I say no, can we stay here forever?"
He chuckled, tightening his hold on her.
"Would that we could."
Beckett would give them a week, perhaps two, to find their footing before he began expecting James to fulfill the duties of his new role. But there was much to be done before then. He would have to see to Governor Swann - seek him out, make some sort of contact, get a plan in place. Theodora wouldn't be content to allow Sparrow to languish for long, he knew that full well too, even if he doubted there was much she could actually do about it. Then there were all of the less cloak-and-dagger matters. Establishing a household - finding a new maid (preferably one whose loyalty was not first and foremost to Beckett), a cook, food, clothing. Although, given the previous night, that last part did seem rather a shame.
"May I ask you something?" He asked quietly.
"Just this once."
"My thanks," he teased, then he hesitated and she must have sensed he was no longer joking for her eyes blinked open and she looked up at him from under her dark eyelashes "Back in Tortuga, you told Sparrow that you don't believe it possible for us to return to your time. Why?"
Her lips thinned and her eyes closed again.
"Is it not worth trying, once this is all over?" He entreated "Even if not to stay, then for you to see your father once again. For me to meet him. For you to…to have a chance to say farewell."
The words, or rather the topic of conversation in general, hurt her - he knew it did, based on her heavy sigh and how she tried to hide her face in his shoulder. James hated that, but he had to speak on it. She had to know it was something he'd be willing to try. Not only because any man living would at least be somewhat curious to see centuries into the future, but because it was where she'd hailed from. He had a terrible feeling that he'd never fully understand her unless he saw it for himself. And he would very much like to meet her father - the one who she clearly had nothing but respect for.
Theodora's respect was hard-won, and he doubted something like a blood tie would grant it automatically. He wasn't sure whether he should be relieved or disappointed that he'd never have the chance to set out to win the man's approval (although, truth be told, it could have never stopped him from marrying her regardless), but for Theodora's benefit it did stray more towards disappointment. He knew that it bothered her that they may never meet. Were his own father not dead, he'd have been curious to know what he might've made of his wife.
"Bootstrap said the gateway - the door - is locked to most. Only a few can cross through it. It confirmed what I more or less already knew."
"Is it not worth trying? Can you not…convene with this Achtland and see if she might allow it?"
"She's not a travel agent, James," she snorted softly despite how she'd grown unnaturally still where she was pressed against him "But even if she could…that in itself isn't what makes it all impossible."
Did he need to ask her to elaborate? It seemed not, for he was aware of her foot tapping relentlessly against his shin as she deliberated on her next words.
"Things are simpler here. Here, if somebody wants to start anew they can move a couple of hundred miles in any direction, take up a new name and get on with things. It's how I got away with it all when I first arrived here - I'd've never managed it back home. Not with technology the way it is, I'd have been rumbled for a liar within a day of making port. And even then I was still certain I was going to develop a bloody stomach ulcer thanks to all of the stress of it. I probably still will before all of this is over," she grumbled and he grimaced in response "But even if we did manage it and emerged on the other side, you couldn't live there. There'd be no trace of you - you wouldn't be able to…to get a job, or have a bank account, leave Ireland, be treated by doctors or dentists…any of it, really. And if anybody started digging into who you were, they'd suspect you were some sort of sinister figure because you weren't traceable. It would bring trouble. Serious trouble."
"A visit, then? Surely we wouldn't need all of these…these traces for that?"
"With my dad you absolutely would," she replied "He'd be digging into your past within twelve hours of meeting you. And when he couldn't find anything? More serious trouble."
"If we told him the truth, then?"
"James…" she sighed "And say what? Alright da, long time no see, anyway here's my husband - I do apologise for the flying visit but he's an eighteenth century admiral, you see, and we can't be gone long. Gotta be getting back, you see, plagues to catch, pirates to fight and all. When will I see you next? Never, probably, it's complicated. We'll tell the grandkids all about you, though. We might show them your picture if we ever get it back from Davy Jones, because he's a thing that exists where we live now. All right, see ye then. Even if he believed any of it and didn't think we were off our mind on drugs or part of some sort of cult, he'd…he'd…"
Her voice threatened to waver.
"I didn't mean to upset you," he said, tightening his hold on her and hoping she might find comfort in it.
"You didn't. It's just…it's shite," she spoke in tones that were too slow and measured to be natural, stopping every now and then to take a deep breath in before she could continue "I love that you'd even think of this - and I love you even more for it. But as things stand…sure, I didn't get a chance to stop and say goodbye, but I didn't have any of the sadness to ruin it, either. I didn't know my last day at home would be my last day at home. I didn't know the last time I saw my dad would be…would be the last time that I'd…"
Her effort to keep her voice steady had been valiant, but at that point she lost the fight and it cracked…and James felt bloody awful. Why had he opened his mouth? On this morning, of all mornings? They should've been basking in the afterglow of the night they'd just had. And instead he'd blundered his way into topics best left untouched and brought her to tears.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have dredged up the matter," he sighed.
"No - no, it's okay. I seem to remember somebody once telling me that I can't shove these things aside forever."
Despite the deep, shuddering breaths he could feel her taking in as she lay pressed against him, the sobs were not abating. That didn't surprise him, though. How long had she bottled it up? Too long, he'd wager. In fact, it wouldn't surprise him if she'd kept this all locked up tight since the time he'd caught her weeping in this very house not long after her initial arrival.
"A wise fellow indeed. But…I am sorry. Not only for bringing it up but…also for the role I play the matter."
Her response took another moment, pushed out in the gap between sobs.
"What do you mean?"
"Your plan was once to come here, do what you believed you must, and then return home. Were I not here, your woes would be a far sight less permanent."
"Were you not here, I'd have gone mad some time ago. Were you not here, I wouldn't have found a fraction of the happiness. I don't grudge it. But I don't want to put that on you, either, because that wouldn't be fair."
"I am your husband, by all means put it on me."
He knew he'd misspoken when her lips twitched into a smile, but he didn't have it in him to roll his eyes at her when the tears were still in her eyes. At least, he reasoned, he could hold her now. Comfort her properly, without fear of awkwardness or impropriety. A mark of how far they'd come. Every now and then a tear would drop from her face, down onto his bare shoulder, prompting him to press a kiss to the top of her head, waiting patiently as she rode out the worst of the heart-wrenching sobs. It was only when she did that she spoke.
"I wouldn't change it. If it wasn't for who I left behind, I wouldn't even look back at all," she confessed quietly "I was comfortable there, but not happy. I'm happy here…"
"But not comfortable?" he ventured.
It was then that she finally stopped hiding her face against him, and he took the opportunity to wipe away her tears.
"Not yet. Not with everything that's going on. If it was all like this, I would be, but…well…we're not that lucky, are we? But I'd rather be happy than comfortable."
"One day you shall be both," he vowed.
The smile she offered in response to that was a still sad one, and he resisted the urge to reiterate his promise. It was easy to see how she might struggle to believe it - with Beckett breathing down their necks and the consequences of her saving Sparrow likely weighing on her even now.
"I hope so," she finally said.
"I'll make sure of it," he said, and then he hesitated "…But…if…"
It was hard, finding the words to say what he knew he must. Not least because of the way he made his chest tighten as he stared at the ceiling and tried to muster the will to say them.
"If a day comes when you feel you must return - that you would in fact be happy and comfortable both if you did return after all - I should not stand in the way of it."
"James."
Her eyes were red-rimmed when she did finally rest her chin on his chest to stare up at him.
"I would not like it - indeed, there is little I could imagine liking less - but I would not prevent it. On the contrary, if it was what you felt you must do, I would see that it happened."
"Was last night that bad that you're wanting rid of me already?"
"I'm being serious, Theodora," he said and then breathed a tired laugh, wondering if the joke wasn't meant to hide the fact that she was taking his words the entirely wrong way "If every night of my life was to be like last night, I should die the happiest man in existence. But I mean it. I hope it does not - I pray it does not - but if a day does come where you believe you would be happier if you returned, do not let me stand in the way of that."
She watched him silently as he spoke, a furrow in her brow - and this time she didn't joke, so he knew she was truly listening.
"It…" she sighed "It hurts. It does. It hurts to talk about, which is why I try not to - and it hurts to think about, so I try not to do that, either. Like it- it physically hurts, in my chest like there's something tearing there…"
He knew well enough what she meant, because it was the same sensation that had come over him as he'd just spoken. It had been greater still when she'd been taken captive by Jones.
"…I don't miss the life I had there. I miss Ireland itself, and I miss the people. Me dad's the worst, not even just because I miss him the most, but because…because I know he'll never stop looking for me. He's not the sort to spend a couple of years looking and then finally give up and start trying to make peace with the fact that he'll never know, he's like the fucking Terminator, he'll never stop. He'll spend the rest of his life trying to track me down, even if he thinks it's just a body he'll be looking for in the end, he'll still keep looking. And I've…I've doomed him to that."
"No. Not you. You didn't make the choice to come here."
He said nothing more after that. What could he say? There was no fixing this.
"It still feels like my fault," she said quietly "And maybe I could go back - for a week, for a month - say all of my goodbyes, leave properly, but I can't. I don't know beyond a single fleeting shadow of a doubt that I'd be able to come back again afterwards, and the only thing that hurts more than this is the thought of that. I'd never get over it if that happened. I'd never forgive myself."
Relief and guilt warred within him at her words. And then she sniffled and added "So you'll need to find another way to get rid of me if you want to be free to go off and seduce Amelia Simmonds now you've bedded me."
Now James did laugh, even if only tiredly, before sighing "Well. You know what they say about the best laid plans."
That, at least, earned a laugh from her - and a kiss, pressed to his collarbone.
"Tell me about it," he said.
"About your secret love for Amelia Simmonds? Given that I've only just discovered it, I'm not sure I can."
"About your childhood. Your father. Your family," he paused and then added "If you'd like."
For so long asking about her past had seemed like some sort of taboo subject. Initially because he thought he was dredging up memories of a cruel and violent husband, but also because it was always obvious she'd rather discuss anything but. If she still had no wish to talk about it he would accept that, but he wanted to know. He wanted her to be able to tell him.
"I…" she took a view moments, visibly mulling over what story she wanted to tell as she drew circles with the tips of her fingernails on his chest "We went camping once. Me, my dad, all of my cousins and uncles - well, not blood cousins, his brothers in arms and their kids, you know? My dad was always the scary one, according to them, but I never really saw it. Not unless he was really angry, but that was rare. Sure, he was growly and shouty at times, but he never scared me. Well, my cousins were pissing about while they were filling their water bottles and ended up not closing the cask up properly after the fact. Just sheer stupidity, really, they were all lads, all teenagers, too busy playing the big man with each other to actually pay attention to what they were doing. By the time they realised what they'd done, most of the water was already gone - it'd all leaked out into the dirt. We were in the wilderness, the water was meant to last us the whole four days, and we had less than a quarter of it left before the end of day one."
James listened quietly.
"When they realised, they were all terrified. I hadn't had anything to do with any of it, but they forced me to be the one to break the news to my dad because they were all shit-scared of him. It wouldn't have helped their case. Can you imagine it? Four big teenagers hiding behind my ten year old self."
He could imagine it - to his amusement.
"What did you say?"
"Oh, I dropped them right in it. I could hear their souls leaving their body as I strode up to my dad and told him 'Da, Tommy and his pals spilled the water'. He'd just finished setting up the tents, he turned to me, he took it in, he looked at each of them slowly in turn. You could've heard a fucking pin drop as everybody braced themselves for the bollocking of a lifetime. And then he responded."
"With?"
"How much is left? Very calm, very collected."
James smiled. Yes, that sounded just about right.
"He didn't pitch a fit, he didn't start screaming or throwing insults, he went straight into problem solving. Oh, they got a right talking to afterwards, not least because they'd been absolute shitebags and made me break the news rather than owning up to what they did, but that always stuck with me. He was furious, and he was worried, but neither of those things would solve anything. So he focused on what would help until the problem was fixed…and then made sure the problem wouldn't repeat itself after the fact."
When she was done speaking, she looked up from his chest to his face and tilted her head in curiosity at the smile on his face "What?"
"In the wake of both of your exits from this house," he squeezed her arm to take any potential bite out of the words "One detail of your time here remained a true marvel in the eyes of our former maid."
"Oh, god."
"It's not bad," he said "Or at least, your role in it is not bad. Hattie could never quite get over your behaviour during the attack on Port Royal by Barbossa's crew. In particular, how you did not hesitate to return to your post by the door when I returned - when you thought I was a second intruder. Despite your obvious fear, despite your injuries, you returned and you prepared to fight. It was fairly in character for you - I know that even better now than I did at the time - but now it makes even more sense."
"He taught me a lot. More than anybody, really. I wouldn't have survived long here without that."
"I don't know about that."
"Hm. Maybe. Thanks to you. But I'd've been dead weight."
"I don't know about that, either," he snorted.
"Then you're sweet - which I do know about," she murmured, and then she pushed herself up onto one of her elbows so she might kiss him "I'm not going anywhere. I'm your wife, James. While there's breath in my body, you're stuck with me I'm afraid."
And that seemed a very fine thing indeed.
End of Part Two
A/N: I debated over where to end part 2, given that there's still a ways to go before we get to what would technically be the third movie itself - we have a little interlude in Port Royal, with all of the scheming and politicking that goes into this setting thanks to Beckett's presence and the games Theo and James are now forced to play thanks to their goals and what has been changed. But I think this is a neat place to end it, and the slight tone change with the introduction of our new villain will be a, erm, fun way to begin the next part. There won't be a big time-skip like there was between parts one and two, though. According to the internet sources, there's around two months between the end of the second movie and the start of the third, and I think there would be too much going on for Theo and James during those months for me to skip over it so we're not really in the third movie quite yet. Plus now we get to see them as a proper married couple!
Next chapter will feature more than just these two, though, as fun as this has been! We have some old friends in Port Royal who I've very much missed writing! I can't believe we're already starting the final part, though. I have a looot planned for it, so hopefully it'll last a while…but either way I'll end up going into full mourning once it's done. This has to be one of my favourite (if not my all time favourite) stories I've ever written.
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