A/N: You guys are trying to kill me off with the insanely lovely comments at the moment. Thank you so much! Honestly, I've been getting super in my head about this story over the last month or so, so I'm absolutely delighted to hear that it hasn't shown in the writing!

ANYWAY, a lot of this is filth. Mostly because things are really about to kick off, so we gotta make the most of the chances we have while we have them.

James did not move a muscle where he was standing by the window until he heard Theodora progress up the stairs, the creak of the floorboards in the hallway, and the final thud of their bedroom door as it clicked shut. It was then that he allowed himself to deflate, sighing heavily and closing his eyes for a moment as though it might afford him a bit of rest. Moving to the bar, he poured himself a glass of whiskey, and then he forced himself to slowly sit down on the couch despite how his restless mind desired for him to stand and pace. It warred with the exhaustion, and the exhaustion won. Taking a gulp from the whiskey, he grimaced at the taste - which somehow seemed stronger and more abrasive thanks to his state of mind - and thought back to his conversation with Beckett.

When Beckett "requested" that James stay behind at the end of their godforsaken meeting, and with no choice but to comply he stood back and watched as Groves escorted Theodora from the room. His wife kept her eyes to the floor as she departed, her face starkly white, save for the dashes of red splayed across . For that he could not blame her - although he hoped he did not look quite so fazed as she.

"I rather wonder, Admiral, why no mention has been made of your wife's affliction until this moment," Beckett commented blithely.

Standing, he moved to the bar where he poured them each a measure of whiskey.

"Theodora is a good woman," James said guardedly "I made no mention of her affliction not only because I believed myself capable of managing it. Nor did I have any wish to bring shame or embarrassment upon her."

"How touching."

Beckett appeared decidedly untouched, passing James his glass of whiskey before sitting down again behind his desk with his own. Turning the glass about in his hand, James pursed his lips and tried to look suitably chastised and apologetic.

"I see now that I need to take a firmer hand in doing so, but I am still confident in my ability."

"Yes," Beckett's response seemed a trifle more genuine now "I'll admit, I was surprised to see how you handled the situation. I was under the impression you'd be a bit of a…softer touch insofar as Mrs Norrington specifically might be concerned."

"It's for her own good," James replied "She believed herself to be helping, of that I have no doubt, it's a…a peril of these delusions of hers. But we cannot afford much more of that kind of help. Not if we're to eliminate the evil on these seas once and for all."

"You truly put such little stock in these notions of hers? From all that I've heard about you, Admiral, you don't seem the sort who might have much patience for somebody labouring under such extreme falsehoods."

"I…would caution you against taking them as gospel," he said carefully "As I said, my wife is a good woman, but she is not a well woman."

"Then what use have I for her?" Beckett asked silkily, and everything within James seemed to clench all at once.

But he did his utmost not to show it.

"Whether Theodora can be of any help remains to be seen, although I dare say I shall know one way or the other before long, and I'm rather intrigued to find out," Beckett said "Though I suspect I shall need your help to do so, one way or the other. You've shown a willingness, if not an ability, to keep her under control. I suggest you do so, if you don't wish to become a widower before your wife can even supply you with a child."

The vile little man watched him carefully for any trace of a reaction to the threat. James made sure to reward him with none.

By the time he was done turning the meeting over in his mind, he was glaring at his now-empty glass as though it were the root of all of his troubles. What was worse, he wondered? Having the peace and safety he'd previously believed to be so near snatched away from him, or finding out that it had never been quite so close at all? Now with the added trouble of knowing the thought of whatever concerned Theodora so much was enough to have her swearing a vow of silence while tears welled in her eyes? And he could not even wipe those tears away and assure her that all would be well because he found himself so overwhelmingly frustrated at her after the events of that night.

That was likely a contributing factor to her tears, too, for he knew what she feared - not only from whatever it was that her knowledge told her, but the fears born of that knowledge in the first place. That he might one day deem it all to be more trouble than it was worth and wish for an easier life. An easier wife. It might've been an understandable fear, especially given all that he was feeling on this night, were it not for the depth of the emotion he held for her. How could she not know that? Had she not remained by his side throughout just as much hardship? How could she feel like she could not tell him exactly what it was that he faced? There was little he would not do for her, indeed if anything, and they always seemed to be very much on the same page on that front when it came to one another - to the detriment of his nerves, oftentimes. So why would she not-

James froze, and the revelation felt like it had a physical impact as it hit him.

Theo managed to struggle out of her stress just before she was about to lose all of her patience and just cut the damn thing off of herself. Given what had gone on tonight, she doubted James would have much of a sense of humour about it if he came upstairs to find her dress in ribbons. The quirks of having a modern quasi-psychic wife were wearing thin on this particular night. Shit, it was wearing thin on her and she was the one acting like an arse.

No, a restless night was entirely anticipated. A half-assed delusional attempt at sleep, followed by a lot of tossing and turning, punctuated by anxiously listening to whatever bits and pieces of movement she heard going on downstairs. When he did come to bed - if he came to bed at all - she knew she'd then spend a few hours lying there, her insides twisting into knots in the awkward silence before she finally managed to doze off into a fitful sleep…if she got any sleep at all. And how could she bemoan it if she didn't? Her actions tonight had promised her husband a hell of a lot of stress, so in some weird way she supposed it was only fair if she joined him in his restlessness.

It was because of all of this, after all of that steeling herself for the exact sort of night she knew herself to be doomed to, that she had no idea how to react when she heard footfalls on the stairs not even a full hour after the bedroom door had first shut behind her. Slowly, so as not to let the bed creak beneath her, she rolled over onto her side, turning her back to the door. She wasn't going to pretend to be asleep, but she wasn't going to force interaction anyway. Not that it mattered, it wasn't like he was coming to bed already - he'd probably go to his study. Maybe he'd even sleep in the spare room tonight. Or all week. Not out of pettiness, but just out of a lack of desire to be in her presence. It would be entirely understandable if he took all of this as some sort of betrayal. She might, were she lacking possession of all of the facts. Facts she was purposely keeping from him, no less. And maybe-

The bedroom door clicked open, and Theo's mind fell silent. Mercilessly silent. It would've been funny if it wasn't so awful, too, because she struggled to remember the last time she was this nervous around James. Usually he was one of the few here she didn't have to be anxious in the presence of. Not in a bad way, at least. If they had any years to come, those soft, fond smiles that he kept a lid on in public but offered to her in abundance when they were alone together would surely let loose butterflies in her abdomen for all of them, but that was different. That was the good kind of nervous. This? This was hell.

James padded quietly across the room towards the bed, and then it sank behind her as he sat down.

"Are you awake?" He murmured.

"Yeah."

To her continued surprise, one of his hands fell gently to the leg that she had poking out of the covers, resting atop her knee and staying there.

"I had a thought," his tone was unreadable, but it was not sour as he spoke softly into the darkness "And I shan't ask you to confirm or deny it, for I rather suspect that you would not even if I asked. But I find that I must voice it to you regardless."

Theo said nothing. She didn't know what to say - she didn't know what to think. Only that she dreaded what might be on the way.

"I confess, I found myself irritated at your silence. At your refusal to tell me what precisely it is that you face. There…there is little, if anything, that I would not do for you, Theodora. How could you not see that?"

It was then that she did find herself opening her mouth - to argue, to insist that she did see it, that it threatened to bowl her over on a daily bloody basis, but he was pressing on before she could voice any of those very sincere assurances.

"But you can see that. I know you do. And more than that, I know you to feel much the same way about me. Astonishing as I might yet still find it every now and then," he said, thumb rubbing back and forth at her knee a couple of times.

"I do. Blame it on my exceptionally good taste, I s'pose."

As she did so, she finally rolled onto her back so that she could see him. He didn't lift his hand while she did, his palm sliding atop her bare skin until it rested just above her kneecap. While his expression was stil unreadable, the rest of his appearance betrayed his tiredness - he'd divested his hair of the ribbon that usually kept it tied back, and she could see from the disarray it was in that he'd spent much of the last hour pushing it back with his hand in spite of the stubborn tresses towards the front that continuously wormed their way forward again.

"I know you do," he confirmed again "And it was during the process of reminding myself of that in which I realised it had never once occurred to me that you might be doing this - whatever this is - for me."

It was difficult not to react. Especially knowing that the lack of a reaction was still a big reaction, but thankfully he seemed to mean his promise not to pry a yes or a no from her either way, because yet again he failed to pause for any sort of response.

"If I am mistaken, I'm running the rather large risk of sounding incredibly self-involved when I say I suspect you are doing what you are for me, but I do not believe myself to be mistaken. Answer after answer, theory after theory, I've raked them all through my mind - the mundane, the fantastic, the terrible - and this is the only one that makes sense. The only one that fits. We've spoken before on the importance of gut feelings, of instinct, and this is what my instinct is telling me. That you're setting out to prevent some manner of misfortune from falling upon me…and that doing so may prove dangerous for you."

Silence fell once he was done speaking - and while she knew he would hold true to his promise not to demand any indication of whether he was right or wrong, she couldn't help but feel like her silence was damning. That to not argue against it would only confirm his suspicion. But denying it could easily do so, too - even if it wasn't a blatant lie, one that he did not deserve, he was smart enough to know a double-bluff when he heard one. She'd already said that she wasn't going to get into some terrible little game of 'yes or no' which would only allow him to puzzle it out for herself, so the best response was therefore silence. But even silence and the best pokerface she could muster would never be competition for just how well James knew her, and she knew that. At least, she supposed, he didn't seem to grasp the gravity of just how grave a misfortune was set to befall him.

There was no denying it, and she refused to confirm it, and so she said nothing. Not because she hoped it might sway him one way or the other, but because there was just nothing to be said. And then her knee - her treacherous fucking knee - trembled beneath his hand. Her eyes flew to his to see if he'd noticed, and the realisation that lapsed over his face like a wave confirmed that he had. Sitting up properly, she watched as he lifted his hand from her knee to trace the back of his forefinger along her cheek, eyes fixed on her own.

"You cannot endanger yourself for me," he said "Whatever it is, I can bear it. There will be another way."

Now she huffed a laugh - a dry one, returning his gaze ruefully "James, imagine for a second if I'd said that to you. That you should never endanger yourself for my sake. What do you think you'd say back to me?"

"That is different. I am-"

"If the next words out of your mouth are a man, I swear to God, James…"

"Your husband," he amended.

"Marginally better," she murmured "But only because I like being reminded of it."

That earned her one of those soft smiles that always ran the risk of stopping her heart. Smoothing her fingers through his hair where it had begun to fall forward again, and remembering the time when she'd first done so in Tortuga - after far too long of idly wishing she could for an embarrassing length of time beforehand - she returned his fondness in equal measure as she watched the great stern and noble James Norrington fight back what might've either been a blush or a purr at the gesture.

"And," she added "I would remind you that I'm your wife. We're in this together. We're not the sort for half-measures. Not in general, really, but especially not where we're concerned. We…neither of us is the sort to give the other anything less than…than everything. So we can't ask that the other does so. It's not fair, and it'd never make a difference anyway."

"Do you spend much time casting such an acute and objective gaze over our marriage?"

"It's one of the prettier topics for thought on offer at the moment. Usually."

"…If I am correct," he said slowly - and she knew that he knew he was right, but admired the facade he kept up in pretending to still be on the fence "And I just berated you for ultimately acting in my interest, I am sorry."

"You've got nothing to be sorry for. I'd be falling to bits if I was being kept in the dark like this," she shook her head "I'm sorry I can't tell you more. I'm sorry I'm putting you through this."

"I'm sorry you're going through this," he countered quietly, finger moving up to trace against the cheek he'd struck "And I'm sorry for that."

"I'm sorry for asking you to do that," she replied, a sad smile rising to her lips "And I'm sorry that I can't think of more things to apologise for right now."

"An excess of apologies?" He suggested.

"I'm sorry for that, too," she replied with a great deal of mock-seriousness before regaining her former sincerity "I'm sorry for everything."

"Don't be. Not for everything," he replied.

And then he kissed her. There was no pretense of chasteness, not to this kiss, not after the night they'd just had. He kissed her like he couldn't possibly get close enough to her, and it was a feeling Theo shared, pulling him closer to her by his shirt and then all but climbing into his lap once he was properly on the bed. It was difficult to say what they were trying to convey most - thank god you survived this hellscape of a night, or please, for the love of all that is good, survive the ones still to come. It was always this way with James, with the two of them together, she was discovering. Sure, the sense of urgency varied, and with any luck the mortal peril would soon do so too, but it was always about the closeness. Not just scratching an itch.

She didn't know that it could be that way - not beyond the honeymoon period, not once the novelty wore off. Maybe it hadn't yet, but maybe it also never would. She'd always figured what they'd found, before they'd found it, was the stuff of fiction; made to be sold to bored and dissatisfied housewives or girls stuck with lads who were interested in little else than playing on a Playstation all day. Even were James a thoroughly modern man, she suspected she'd still have difficulty imagining him sitting in front of FIFA for hours on end.

Shifting her weight onto her knees, she knelt over him just long enough for him to divest himself of his breeches and then she was straddling his lap again, his arms wrapping tightly around her to pull her as close as possible, her nightgown the only barrier between them once they parted just long enough to yank his shirt over his head and discard it across the room. It was an absolute crime that the fashions-slash-uniforms of the day conspired to keep her husband covered up, because a life of action had certainly paid off. Theo loved his arms, especially wrapped tightly around her as they were now. His hands, too, roaming across her back, skimming down her ribs, trailing down to grab at her backside, prompting her to mewl pitifully into the kiss.

His chest, that was another thing she loved. It would be a shorter list to try and think of the things she didn't, as he'd teased her for before. The healthy tan he'd accumulated during his time in Tortuga (just about the only healthy thing about much of his time in Tortuga, really) had yet to fade, and she kissed her way down the expanse of bronzed skin, already taking on a sheen of sweat in this utterly unending tropical heat. Apparently tiring of the very rude scrap of fabric between them, James lifted his hands to pull at the ties holding the neckline of her nightgown shut but she batted them away, earning a huff of surprised and somewhat exasperated laughter. It turned to a low, rumbling murmur when she continued to kiss her way down his chest and he realised what it was she intended to do.

"You don't have to…" he murmured, perhaps fearing it was yet another effort for her to make amends.

And maybe his protestations would've seemed a bit more sincere were it not for what she could feel pressing against her inner thigh.

"I want to," she countered.

Lust clouded his already hooded gaze and he fell back on his elbows against the bed, allowing her to slip from his lap and continue her progress down his abdomen, pausing only briefly to dip her tongue into his navel before following the trail of dark hair that lay beneath it. Rather than lying back, he stayed leaning up on his elbows and a glance back up towards his face found his eyes fixed intently on her. It might've been enough to make her feel self conscious, were she not faced with very good evidence that he liked what he saw. It was that thought which had her maintaining eye contact as she wrapped her lips around him and took him into her mouth.

He was far too much of a gentleman to thrust up into her mouth - he always was, for this was hardly the first time they'd done this - but his hips flexed with the effort of not doing so, and she relished in bringing that famous self-control so dangerously close to snapping. Almost as much as she relished his touch when he reached down to thread his fingers through her hair, dragging it back and away from her face to afford himself a better view. Theo took it as a compliment when he twitched in her mouth and a few droplets slipped down her throat. She swallowed against his length and his breath hitched in his throat, prompting her to hollow out her cheeks, her tongue curling around the underside of him - and his hips did buck upwards then, in a way that seemed entirely of their own accord, but Theo was hardly complaining, especially not when a moan that was downright intoxicating rumbled up through his chest (because if she loved his voice, then his moans were a thing of beauty) and his hips stuttered upwards again.

The world narrowed down to only the two of them, here and now in this room, desire flooding her, doubling and redoubling the intensity of the ache between her legs with every reaction she managed to tease out of him. At least he wasn't wearing any breeches for her to ruin this time.

"I-"

He didn't have to give the warning, not with how ragged his breathing had become, along with the twitching of the muscles in his thighs and abdomen. Theo responded - but not how she knew he'd expect her to. Inhaling through her nose, she steeled her gag reflex and pressed forward, refusing to falter until the tip of her nose brushed his pelvis. Her action prompted another ragged gasp, and she hummed around him in response, which was all it took to have him spilling down her throat.

Sitting up, she scarcely had time to catch her breath, wipe her lips and work the ache out of her jaw before he was pulling her up for another slow, deep kiss, interrupted only when he tugged the nightgown off over her head. This time she helped him, throwing it away from the bed and dipping her head back down to kiss him again afterwards before she even heard the fabric hit the floor. Gasping into the kiss when she felt his fingers slip between her legs, she was rewarded with a groan from him in turn when he felt just how embarrassingly wet she was.

He paused for a moment, as though surprised - but she didn't know why, because that was always the bloody way, such was the effect he had on her - but then he breathed a low laugh.

"I'm flattered," he teased quietly.

"Shut up," she snorted.

The admonishment lost quite a lot of the impact it might've had when his fingers pressed inwards, delivering the stretch her body had been craving so badly. Her eyes fluttered shut, but the thumb of his free hand came to her chin and her murmured a rough "eyes on me" - an order which she would've responded to with "sir, yes sir" were it not for the wicked and well-practised angle his fingers were moving at within her. She came embarrassingly quickly, the second his knuckle brushed her clit, such was the state her little act of service to him had riled her up into.

Kneeling where she was on the bed, she held onto his shoulders for purchase as she rode out the waves, their breath mingled and her eyes never leaving his - not until the aftershocks waned and he withdrew his hand. Sighing her contentment, she sank down onto the bed beside him, pressing her thighs together as she did so to thoroughly wring out the last of her pleasure.

"I do hope you don't think we're done," he breathed, rolling atop her to press another kiss to her lips once she'd caught her breath "Or else I'll be forced to question whether I've been a selfish lover thus far."

"What?" She laughed "But you-"

"We're about to spend some dire amount of time aboard ships containing not only countless soldiers, Davy Jones, and Beckett."

"I'm not sure which of those last two is more of a mood killer," she snorted.

"Nor I," he agreed grimly "Which is why we must make the most of this time we have now, or live to regret it."

He didn't know exactly how correct his words might possibly end up being - although, it was clear, he was getting dangerously close to having that understanding dawn upon him.

"You need time to recover," she pointed out despite how she bared her throat to his attentions.

"Mm," he agreed, pressing a particularly slow kiss to where her neck met her shoulder "But you do not - and there is much we can do to pass the time until then."

That wasn't strictly true, but any desire she had to argue that point was gone when he began to kiss his way down her body, and coherent thought gave way to the embers reigniting between her thighs.