The medication from Powell helped, but her whole right leg still throbbed. Fortunately, there were only minor lacerations, and no broken bones or signs of permanent muscle damage. But there would be heavy bruising for weeks.

She tugged the blanket tighter around her shoulders as she sat in her cabin. After visiting sickbay, the shower had been a godsend – a chance to scrub off the salt residue and try to understand it all.

Anxiety gripped her stomach as it replayed in her mind, even though the specific details got blurry after watching the bridge go up in flames. Helplessness had utterly consumed her. Unable to rescue herself. Unable to help anyone. Unable to know if James was on the bridge when it happened.

But eventually, the shelling stopped. A life ring landed near her and she was hauled aboard. Powell's smooth words were in her ear, assessing her injuries, reassuring her that the shock would pass – a nice, warm shower would help.

Well, the shower had helped – so tranquil and undisturbed after the brutal shelling - but she wondered how long her ears would keep ringing.

The relief to see Theodore's smudged and bloody face on deck had been overwhelming. She'd hobbled over to him, ignoring the seaman's call that she should report direct to sickbay. Theodore would have the one answer that she cared about, and she wouldn't have to make a big deal about getting it. He could probably read it in her face because it was the first thing he said.

He's alive. James is alive.

A quivering sigh rattled her chest as she sat, tugging on the blanket again. Fucking hell, James had almost died today. The thought buried an ache deep in her chest that tightened with each breath. And if he had? All that opportunity, all that potential lost. Suddenly, in one bursting fireball, the truth slammed into her, stripped her down to a realization that she hadn't wanted. She loved him. She wanted everything about him.

In that moment, the company - everything her life stood for - meant nothing. Only one thing had mattered and the thought still seized in her chest. James almost died today and she'd never…. She'd never.

But what now? Now that James still lived? The rational part of her knew that Icarus damage reports still streamed in, but the list was already substantial. She heard that they – somehow in the midst of their beating – managed to disable the Black Pearl. A well-aimed shot to her aft deck resulted in a brilliant explosion, and the shelling of the Icarus immediately stopped. The pursuit stopped, too.

But the Icarus managed to limp away. She didn't know anything about their present position. But it didn't really matter so long as the Pearl wouldn't be able to find them here and continue the attack.

She gripped the blanket impossibly tighter with a sigh. She knew she should be sleeping. Dawn wasn't all that far away, and after the shock of today, her body could use it. But her mind just wouldn't stop spinning. There was just…she needed…she didn't want to acknowledge what she needed.

It would spell the end of everything. Her purpose here. Her career. But was it already too late after today? After the damaged ship that required more money to fix, and with no arrests to show for it. Just eight dead sailors.

Another pang shot through her, her thoughts turning instantly back to James.

God, she needed a drink. Several, in fact. It gave her the excuse.

She limped down the corridor, still clutching the blanket tight against the smell of smoke lingering in the air. The engines rested quietly below decks, their duty more than done for the day as they anchored for the night. A couple lights were out, but otherwise, the corridor looked as it always had. Oblivious to the destruction that had rained down upon the Icarus just hours ago.

She knocked on his cabin door, heedless of the hour.

"Come in. "

She tried to ignore the flip of her stomach at actually hearing his voice. It had no right to be so comforting.

The door closed behind her and she offered a small, closed-mouth smile as she took him in. Black pajama bottoms, gray v-neck t-shirt, and bare feet as he sat on the small couch. His hair, combed in his long absent coiffed-commodore style, had some volume that her fingers suddenly itched to rake through. A highball of scotch rested on the table in front of him and a cigarette dangled from his lips. A shocking, thick strip of white bandage wrapped tight around his left bicep.

He'd never looked better.

She nodded down at the highball. "Looks like the bottle didn't break today."

"No. Help yourself."

She stepped over to the cabinet, righting another highball and splashing in the brown liquid. Her eyes dropped closed as she took a hearty gulp, the scotch burning her throat that still stung from the salt water. She turned back to face him, watching as he took another drag on the cigarette. "Didn't know you smoked."

"I don't." His gaze followed her as she walked over, sitting next to him.

"May I?"

He cocked a brow, but easily relented and held out his hand. She hadn't quite meant to take the lit one from him, instead thinking that she'd get one from his pack – that was nowhere in sight – but she accepted his offering. She pursed her lips and inhaled the long absent, familiar taste.

"Didn't know you smoked, either." His voice held a rich, rumbling quality that she'd never heard from him before. Was it from the smoke? The stress of the day?

She exhaled a white cloud, handing it back to him. "I don't."

He took it back with a gentle nod, the corner of his mouth ticking up in vague amusement. "Did Powell fix you up alright?"

"Yes – but you probably already know that from his report."

His words deformed around the cigarette. "Yes, but I still wanted to hear it from you."

"What about you? Your arm?" She took another gulp of scotch.

"Took some shrapnel. More a passing glance than anything serious."

She nodded slowly, adjusting the blanket tighter around her shoulders. "Glad to hear."

He leaned forward, resting his elbow on a knee as he reached for his tumbler. "So what happens next?"

Her brow furrowed as he tipped the glass back in a smooth go. "Next?"

He hummed noncommittally around his cigarette. "You'll report back about the attack. Of the financial and human toll paid with no pirate conviction to show for it." He took a deep breath, tilting his head in consideration. "Honestly, the Admiralty probably won't even need your word. They'll read my official report and it'll be over on the spot."

"Probably. This isn't a shining victory by any stretch. And those men…." She felt her throat constrict as she looked at him, remembering the anxiety that gripped her to wonder at his fate.

"Have not died in vain - God rest their souls." His eyes dropped closed as he sighed deep. "I refuse to let that happen."

"I don't know that you'll have much of a say in it."

"Then Groves'll see to it."

She quirked a brow. "You assume Groves will be your replacement?"

"He's the only other man in the Caribbean fleet capable of the task."

"He's never captained a ship before."

"Not officially, but there's not a more competent captain."

"He's untested."

"He's battle hardened and learned from the best." There was no note of pride in his voice, just a curious note of sadness. "You'll see to his appointment? After my removal."

She shook her head with a guffaw. "I'm not likely to see to anything after this. This...this happened under my watch. It's the second of my plans to solve this mess that's gone awry."

"This wasn't your fault."

"No more than this specific instance isn't your fault."

"Felt the need to caveat that, did you?"

"I didn't come here to point fingers." She tipped her glass back, downing the rest of her scotch.

He leaned forward, stubbing out the remains of his cigarette in his empty tumbler. "They why are you here?"

"Truthfully?" She didn't mean to sound so tentative, but the word had passed.

He turned to look at her, his brow furrowing. "Why would you lie?"

"I could tell you I'm here for the scotch." She dropped her empty glass to the table besides his before leaning back. His scent of clean soap and something fresh - enticing - reached her, sparking warmth in her blood. Would he respond if she just kissed him? Her breath quickened with the thrill of unknown anticipation. Would he kiss her? Push her back against the couch? Remind her how alive they both were?

Was it so wrong to want another person so desperately?

The distant part of her brain screamed yes, but the rest of her was already past the point of no return.

She sighed "But...I thought you died today." She met his gaze and the air charged, crackling with electric promise. Had it always been there? She didn't fucking care anymore.

Lips met in a firm push, a solid touch of affirmation and need. His lips were surprisingly soft as they slid against hers, his breath hot on her skin . The feel of his hand against her neck, the telltale strength in those fingers coupled with the tender touch, rushed liquid heat between her thighs. It was so fucking good, but not enough. Not near enough.

She yielded, opening her mouth for him to plunder. And he did - so eagerly, so thoroughly, drawing her tongue into his mouth to suck gently. A moan slipped from her throat and he swallowed it. Her hand settled on his thigh, kneading the muscle in an attempt to coax him closer.

She sighed against his lips. "I shouldn't want this…but god, tell me you want this, too."

He groaned, nuzzling along her jaw. "I've wanted this longer than I should. Longed to make you lose that fucking arrogance and fall apart."

"Fuck, James. I had –."

"When I found you in his arms – I wanted to take you against the bulkhead right there. Show you who's really in charge here for fucking once."

She surged against his lips, everything in her screaming. Let him take her. Let him claim her. She battled him in the kiss, pushing up against him, desperate to just have him.

He caught her lip between his teeth, nipping lightly before withdrawing. "Now you tell me – is it worth it to you?"

His words cut through the fog in her brain, straight to the rational part that fully damn well knew better. This would be the unequivocal final nail in the coffin after today. But her blood sang under his touch and the genuine light in his green eyes utterly undid her. He almost died today, and she almost lost so much with it. So much that she wanted. So much that she was tired of denying.

She couldn't kiss him fast enough, drowning in his deep growling exhale as he pulled her close.

In a flurry of movement, she fell back against the couch under him, shifting her legs to allow him to rest in between them. There was no hiding the solid muscles that he kept so effortlessly concealed, nor his hard arousal that pressed eagerly against her. Her hips rocked against his and it's so damn not enough good.

Her fingers tugged at the hem of his t-shirt until it was gone, and she clung to the broad, strong shoulders as the buttons of her shirt fell away. She gasped as his lips explored the newly exposed skin, raking through his hair. The rest of her mind shut down completely as his touch set every nerve aflame.

The sudden loss of his heat and pressure pulled a whimper from her as he withdrew to bare her from the waist down. A groan rumbled in his throat as his eyes raked appreciatively over the sight before him. "Fuck, you're clean shaven."

She chuckled throatily, rolling her hips invitingly. "Surprise."

He groaned another filthy sound - mouthing, kissing down her naval, her stomach until he tasted her with broad strokes of his tongue, the teasing graze of his teeth. The sudden rush of oh fuck yes sensation pulled a cry from her as her hands gripped his hair tight. It was so much, so consuming, and oh so damn good.

But right now, his mouth just wasn't enough.

"No, not now, James - please. I just - I need to feel you." She tugged on his hair, mewling as he licked one last stripe across her soaked entrance, followed by a teasing kiss.

He raised up and she met his hands to remove his remaining clothing. It was entirely too long before she assured him that he didn't need anything, and he settled back atop her, sliding finally oh deep inside. She felt so full, so fucking right, and they both struggled to breathe. Until he started to move - then it was impossible to breathe.

Grunts tore from them in unison as their bodies connected, over and over, sparks shooting up her spine. She groaned, clutching him close. "So much better than I imagined."

His hips stuttered in a harsh thrust. "Don't say things like that."

She chuckled throatily, raking her fingers down his back as he moved again. "You don't want to hear how I thought about you in the shower the morning after we met? How I came around my fingers? Imagining it was you?"

His lips sealed to hers, swallowing her cries as the driving rhythm of his hips increased. Words dissolved into incoherent babble, hands raking, gripping as the rest moved quickly. So soon, so good, not soon enough , faster, oh fuck, James!

Her mind floated above her body and it couldn't be more perfect. She kept her legs tight around his waist, holding him close as they both drifted, lost in the post-bliss haze. Would it always be like this with him?

She sighed, sated and content, hugging him closer. "Ugh, I want to fucking do that again."

His answering chuckle danced along her shoulder. "I'm not as young as I used to be, darling."

"Later, then. But I will hold you to your earlier offer." Her lips brushed his cheek. "I still want your mouth."

His lips curled in a smile. "And I still want to give it to you. Until you beg for mercy."

She groaned, her inner muscles clenching around him. "Keep talking like that and you might not get any yourself." She flexed around him again, delighting in his short hiss.

"Mmm, you'll be the death of me, won't you?"

"Don't you doubt it. But not yet…not so soon after…" Her words faltered and worry crept into the lines of her face, tearing through her bravado to expose the concern beneath. The jumble of emotions that she didn't want to voice aloud as she gazed into his so-green eyes.

He lowered to nuzzle her neck, the touch comforting, reassuring. "You didn't lose me…if you're not careful, you may never lose me."

She huffed a breath, still holding him close. "Even when we're both unemployed with no prospects to our name?"

His answering sigh gusted across her skin. Even he couldn't deny all that loomed over them. Even he couldn't easily let go of his duty and responsibility to accept a life in disgrace.

She shook her head slowly, trying to sort through everything. There was no going back from this now. And she'd always been better at solving problems than admitting defeat.

Angling her head, she met his lips in a soft kiss, carding a hand through his hair. He kissed her back with such fervor, as if it was the only thing that made sense.

Maybe it was.

"Guess we have until dawn to figure this out."

"Together?"

"Together."

Them bloody bastards! What'd they have to go banging up his Pearl for?! And what the hell kind of merchant ship had guns on it, anyway?!

Jack paced, furious and frustrated and wild-eyed. Anamaria already told him that he looked like a caged zoo animal. He'd never been to the zoo, so he really couldn't say. Didn't like the principal of them, wild things deserving their freedom and such.

But that one well-placed gun shell had crippled his freedom. Lit up the fuel tank like bloody fireworks.

It was only a miracle that no one had died. A couple of burns and bruises, but that fireball hadn't taken any lives with it. Jack couldn't say that he hoped for the same on that other ship.

That other ship that rankled him. Incensed him. He ain't done nothing deserving that. Yes, he opened fire first – like any honest pirate – a'cause theIcarus was worth her weight in gold. But it were a ruse A dirty, rotten trick- nay! A trap!

But who? Why?!

Rushed footsteps thundered up the stairs to the bridge. "Captain!" Gibbs' panting breaths slurred the words. "Ship off the starboard bow! Making fast – the Dutchman !"

"No. Not good. Not good!" He fished around his console for binoculars, lost somewhere in the shuffle. Ah ha! He moved for the window, raising them to look where Gibbs pointed. "Not good." Of course, he'd recognize that masthead anywhere.

Gibbs looked hesitantly back to Jack. "Orders, captain?"

"Unless someone's managed to pull a spare fuel system out of their arse, we're with the tide. Doubtful Jones is equally deprived." It would be plain as day to Jones and his men that the Pearl were damaged. That's probably the only merciful reason why Jones hadn't started blasting him yet. It wouldn't be a long lasting gift.

But so what? Say Jonesy takes the Pearl out from under him now, then what? That honeytrap Icarus would still be out there. And how many more honest and dishonest pirates would she claim?

Jack lowered the binoculars. "Not good." He turned for the radio, switching the receiver to Channel 1. Any pirate worth his salt at least monitored Channel 1. Never knew when the navy would run up your arse, or some passerby would report you for floating.

He coughed once, twice before depressing the receiver, summoning his best proper, English gentleman. "Ahoy, vessel south-southwest of Montserrat. You look to be a purveyor of SAILFISH. I'd like to barter a deal. Channel 13, if you're interested." He didn't dare say a word more. Less them navy lads pop in to interrupt him, to remind him to conduct business off the main channel.

Bloomin' blighters.

"Channel 13 for sailfish."

Jack had never been so pleased to hear the equally cultured voice. He switched to receive on Channel 13.

"Ahoy, sailfish."

A soft snicker. "Ahoy, oyster."

Oh, good. Jack worried that maybe Jones wouldn't recognize him. "We appreciate you're willing to deal. We're rather hungry."

"Yes, you look hungry. Deal with another ship fall through?"

"Sadly. The Icarus. Took us for everything we had, left us high and dry."

"The Icarus? You don't say."

"Have you had rotten dealings with her, too?"

"The worst." Jonesy's voice had only ever dropped to that low, ominous register twice that Jack could recall. Interesting. Very interesting indeed to know that whatever - whoever - this Icarus was, it was personal for the other man.

"Well, after we complete our deal - she should be just around the island, if you'd like to claim reparations."

"Our deal first. I believe the thirteen credits from our last transaction are spent."

"I've only used two! Maybe another half this past year. Check your books again, my credit's good."

"Hmmm, two indeed. You've had far more'n that. But if you gave the Icarus half as rotten as she dealt you, you can have your sailfish free today, on account of the generous tip."

Jack breathed an immediate sigh of relief. "Wonderful! Yes, excellent. Thank you for your continuing generosity."

"Only until next time, oyster."

Next time. Jack could work with next time. Today mattered more.

With Jones giving him a free pass and instead pursuing the Icarus , he could free his mind to tend to his beloved Pearl . She needed so much love after the past couple of days and reassurance after that awful name.

His Pearl was no oyster. The nerve of some people.

Theodore straightened his posture as Norrington entered the wardroom. Ever since his CO had caught him embracing Cutlena, he made sure to sharpen up his actions. Yes, he knew better than to fall so far from proper naval decorum, but, well. He was only human and he'd denied himself so long where she was concerned.

But therein lay the question. Even if he had his way, he didn't know what could really be different. Any entanglements with her would jeopardize her assignment, as well as any prospects for him. Maybe when this was all over? Yes, she told him that he wasn't the one she wanted but he'd felt her melt back into the press of his body. Maybe he stood a chance yet.

She'd never admitted that Norrington was the other man that night. It was clever of her. To let him do all the speculating, maintaining her innocence, even if look on her face had given her away. But, of course, it was clever of her.

Cutlena had always been clever. Even from that moment when she locked the library door behind her ten years ago.

She stood, opposite the wardroom from him now, quietly to herself as the rest of the crew quieted down. Theodore wasn't surprised. The last two days since the Pearl's attack had been taxing.

Norrington drew a breath. "All hands, listen up." The rest of the din died away, all eyes and ears on him now. "Your service these past two days has been exemplary. I could not have asked for any better of anyone in performance of your duties. Duties made all the harder for the losses suffered. Our friends, crewmen, and fellow sailors. But as long as we continue this fight, their sacrifices are not in vain."

A few nods of assent and calls of "aye, sir" sounded. It made Theodore's lips pull into a small, closed-mouth smile. Never doubt a sailor's spirit.

Norrington nodded. "And rest assured that this fight is far from over. Toliver and his team have worked tirelessly to restore the engines to 85% capacity. Guns from the undamaged starboard battery have been transferred to the portside. The majority of the bridge was largely damaged by the explosion, but limited control has been restored to a few consoles. As such, shipboard operations will still be commanded from the bridge but largely executed out of auxiliary control."

The commodore paused, glancing at him. "Groves has spoken with each of you regarding new shift rotations. We're four days out from Port Royal, and once in port, you will all be granted a leave with full compliments while repairs are made to the ship. But until then, we will maintain battle readiness alert level. And we will continue to support each other as admirably as we have the past two days. Without doubt, more challenges lie ahead, but we will come out on top."

He paused for a brief moment. "Any questions?"

A general chorus of "no, sir" rose from the crew. Cutlena, for her part, still stood silent and watchful.

Norrington nodded. "Then, all hands to stations. Toliver - stand ready to get underway."

Sure enough, in the next 12 hours that Theodore spent posted at auxiliary control, the engine coolant pump coupling jammed twice and the radar antenna stopped transmitting for three hours.

He had to keep reminding himself that it could be worse. They could be stranded for good. The lifeboats could be inoperable. More of the crew could be dead.

He fished in his bunk for his hidden bottle of whiskey, quickly pulling the cork. There was no need to bother with a glass. He took a long drink, followed by another as he tore at the buttons on his shirt.

Oh, well. Tomorrow was another day. Another 12-hour shift that would start in less than six hours.

He knew he should have sacked out sooner when the next day found him with wire strippers in hand.

It had been years since he'd needed to fall back on his basic mechanic skills, and he'd never proven to be much of a handyman, but under Toliver's guidance, he knew just enough to be dangerous. And quite literally, too, since he was splicing battery buses together. Cutlena had stared at him nervously, with wide eyes, from her station the whole time.

"Alright," he twisted the last two wires together, capping off the connection. He spoke into his portable radio. "Toliver – the green and orange wires are connected."

"Green and orange. Copy that." A banging noise followed Toliver's words. "Stand by, bridge, to energize Main Bus B."

He replaced the panel cover, waiting for word. If Main Bus B couldn't supplement the failing Main Bus A, then this would be a much shorter trip than advertised.

Jenkins let out a victory whoop. "Nav guidance restored to the bridge."

"Available voltage levels rising across the ship." Toliver confirmed. "Well done, lieutenant."

Theodore couldn't stop a smile, hefting the wire cutters as he spoke back into the radio. "Copy that, Toliver."

Norrington came up behind him, speaking into the receiver. "Good job, Mr. Toliver."

Jenkins cut in. "Transferring nav data from auxiliary control. Bearing confirmed and locked. Auxiliary control switched to reserve."

Norrington turned towards the man. "Keep a live channel open with auxiliary control. We only gained control here as a bonus with more power, but if we lose Bus A completely, auxiliary control will already need our live position."

"Yes, sir."

"Sir!" Simmons' voice commanded attention, radioing in from auxiliary control. "Incoming radar contact, two points forward of starboard beam! Long range."

Theodore couldn't believe it, looking to Norrington for confirmation. "Long range?"

The commodore threw open a ship-wide channel. "All hands, brace for impact. Helm – change course, heading broad on the starboard bow. Swing our stern around now ."

Theodore adjusted the channel on his radio. "Starboard gun battery, stand read-."

A bone-shaking explosion rocked the ship. Water sprayed up on the ship's starboard side, sending a dousing mist in through the blown out bridge windows. Nothing that should short out the already precarious panels, but it still wouldn't take much.

Norrington squinted ahead as the ship continued to turn. "Do we have visual yet?"

"Just barley, sir. " The watch reported. "Presenting her broadside to launch another attack. It – Christ, it looks like the Dutchman again, sir."

"Dutchman ?" Norrington fixed a glare on Cutlena. "Don't you control him?"

Her face hardened, displeasure and anger rampant in her features. "We'll see." She turned to her laptop, fingers flying furiously over the keyboard as all Theodore could do was stare.

Since when did Cutlena – and the EITC by extension – control Davy Jones? Of course, it had been suspicious when the Dutchman broke pursuit off St. Kitts, but he hadn't actually considered that she gave Jones orders.

"Sir – another incoming!"

Similar calls to brace for impact were issued, but at least their stern and broadsides were covered now. A direct hit to the bow wouldn't be as detrimental . They weren't in good firing position, so Theodore held the starboard battery at the ready.

A definitive keystroke sounded from Cutlena's computer just as another explosion seared his eyes and pounded in his ears. Just off the port bow, sending up a fantastic spray of water through the broken windows. Various cries rang out as water doused people and equipment. He quickly threw the radio behind his back, ducking his head against the incoming water. Blinking the water from his eyes, he looked back towards the bow, just able to see the dark figure of the attacking ship ahead.

"Target confirmed. Flying Dutchman dead ahead and moving towards present position. She's run out her colors."

Cutlena shook her head, brushing wet hair form her face. "No response yet." Angry frustration coiled her words tight. "Jones is on his own."

Norrington shot her a pensive look. "Then, so are we."

She visibly paled, gulping as if to swallow some terrible realization. "Very well."

The commodore's wet shoes squished across the floor as water sloshed with the ship's movements. He stopped at the mostly defunct radar panel, pressing a button to call up the controls. "Torpedo status?"

Theodore's eyes widened on the word, but relayed the call down to auxiliary control, waiting tensely for the response.

"We have no-"

"Incoming!"

The ship violently shook, the smell of smoke and burning metal filling the air. He stared wide eyed down at the smoldering, ripped-up remains of the bow. The billowing smoke rose thick and black, wafting into the bridge, pulling a cough from his throat.

A blaring alarm sounded from Jenkins' panel and he quickly shut it down. "Fire alarms and suppression systems active on forward Decks B through E."

"Bridge," Simmons in auxiliary control came back over the radio. "I repeat again, negative ability to arm or launch torpedoes. Both systems are offline and unresponsive."

Theodore's heart sank. "Acknowledged." Were they still too far out of gun range? Not that they had any real ability to maneuver or place aimed shots.

"Bridge! From the watch, we've taken up position abeam on the portside. Dutchman tracking around our portside."

He poised his hand over the receiver, drawing a breath to unleash the portside gun battery. Even if it the Dutchman wasn't in range. It would make him feel better than just sitting here, getting blown to hell.

Three quick shots rang out, each shaking the ship with violent rolls and jarring vibrations. He lost his footing and stumbled into the nearest console, hearing cries from other crewmen similarly knocked off their feet, more water splashing up through the windows. The smell of smoke and destruction hung heavy in the bridge as people pulled back to their feet.

Norrington stumbled to the radio console. "Simmons…report?"

"Sir, I- she hit – fire – unresponsive." Static interrupted Simmons' response, further making Theodore's stomach drop. The number of available options was running precariously thin.

"Simmons?" Norrington tried again, his grip visibly tight on the radio receiver.

"Sir," Jenkins' voice was heavy with helplessness, "helm is unresponsive. Simmons will have to confirm if he has our present bearing and coordinates."

Cutlena blinked, wide-eyed and looking strangely defeated. Such a foreign expression on such a sure woman's face. "What…what does that mean…?"

Norrington forced a visible swallow, his face hardening with a solemn resolve. "We've done all we can, and we cannot afford another hit like that." His gaze landed on Theodore who recognized the look and knew exactly what came next. "Abandon ship. Abandon ship, all hands to lifeboats. No exceptions."

His feet moved on instinct, hand hesitating over the emergency klaxon before he flipped the switch. The terrible, garish blaring horn sounded in all corners of the ship, Jenkins and others abandoning their posts and making for the designated rendezvous point. Powell would see to getting the wounded moved, and Simmons would start shuttering auxiliary control.

"Simmons." Theodore tried his radio again. "Come in?"

" Sir – we've cleaned up….signal. Crew….assembly point."

"Groves?" Norrington's voice drew his gaze. "Does Simmons have our last nav data?"

He dreaded to know the reason behind the commodore's question as he pushed his radio button. "Simmons, come back – do you have last nav data? Repeat – last nav data?"

More explosions sounded outside the ship, violent rattles and shakes, more struggling. He hissed as his hand caught the sharp edge of a console as he staggered for balance.

"Confirmed. Position…data acquired."

Norrington nodded. "Excellent. You'd better get to the rally point, Groves. The crew needs you now." He stepped towards Theodore, burdened determination in his gaze.

Theodore drew a sharp breath, the realization slamming into him. "No, sir. They still have you. You said no exceptions."

Norrington's mouth ticked up in a resigned smile. "Only the captain can countermand his own orders."

Theodore drew a breath to protest, but he was quickly cut off.

"You've always been an exemplary officer. By far one of the best that I've served with. Good luck and Godspeed to you."

He shook his head, jaw tensing in frustration. "This isn't the 1600s, sir. You don't have to go down with the ship."

"There's nothing waiting for me back there. Just my third lost ship in two years, and a damages suit from the EITC. Or have I forgotten something, Ms. Beckett?"

Theodore cut her off. "James, this is insane!"

"Not when you're going to need cover to escape capture or destruction. Away over the starboard side and for the love of God, stay out of range." He nodded reassuringly. "I'll do my best to hold them off, but you have to go right now. That's an order."

He forced a hard swallow, reaching out for James' hand and sharing a vigorous shake. "It's been a true honor. Godspeed to you, James." He turned towards Cutlena, ignoring the lead weight in his chest. "Come on. We have to go now."

She stood, soaked and unmoving, seemingly paralyzed by either fear or indecision. It was hard to tell.

"Cutlena?"

Her eyes sought his, as she drew her bottom lip between her teeth, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, Theodore. I'm not coming, either."

"Am I the only one who understands what no exceptions means?! You don't have to go down with him!" He turned back to James, pointing at her. "Tell her. Order her!"

"Theodore, listen. Please." Her calm words drew his attention back, feeling his heart already break further at the defeat in her eyes. "I failed. This whole thing – it's a failure. With Norrington's removal, comes my removal, and yet another lost ship..."

"Then fix it. Come with me and make it right."

She scoffed. "Do you honestly believe my father will allow that? Or my bosses? They've sent me here and all they've gotten is a bigger mess. I refuse to live with that put upon disgrace."

"God, Cutlena." He looked miserably at her. He hadn't realized that she could still hold such sway over him after all these years. "I just…"

She stepped up to him, taking his hand. "You have to go. The crew needs you more than ever now. And you'll do great. You always have." Her other hand cupped his face, drawing him into a solid kiss. A kiss of regret, a kiss of goodbye. His hands flew to cup her cheeks, desperate to keep her close, to commit this one moment to memory.

She sighed against his lips as they parted. "This is my choice."

"I know." Heartbreak showed plain in his face, but he didn't voice the sentiment. With a deep sigh, he pulled from her touch with a final nod and a glance back at James before he forced himself to abandon the bridge, slogging through the sloshing water.

God, he needed to keep it together. No matter that his commanding officer and the woman occupying his thoughts were both giving up everything. And for what? For pride? For dignity? He wanted to yell at both of them - convince them that they were idiots and there was so much more worth living life for. But there was no time.

The crew. He needed to think about the crew. To pull them through this.

Then, he could fall apart.

He ran down the stairs towards the deck, taking in the evacuation operations. The first boat was already in the water and the second one sat poised in its davits.

Simmons looked to him, bracing against the lifeboat. "Sir! All crew aboard, except for you, the commodore and Beckett."

"Excellent. It's just me." He didn't miss Simmons' shocked look, the questions burning in his gaze. But there was even less time. "Make preparations for launch."

"Yes, sir." Simmons' voice was tight, but he knew his naval discipline.

Theodore's heart raced the whole way down the side of the ship, his stomach knotted with heartache as the lifeboat bobbed in the waves. A voice screamed in the back of his head, still stunned by the situation. God dammit. There was no reason for them to both fucking die!

He reached for the radio receiver, contacting the other boat. Even he marveled at even tone of his voice as he conveyed orders. Pull away from theIcarus. Stay clear of the incoming fire. The harbor on the far side of the island was the destination. He could see shots from the Dutchmansplintering the water around them, hear them ping off the hull, the bulk of fire still directed at the Icarus .

"Copy that. " Toliver's voice came over the radio. "We'll take up rear position, captain."

"Roger." Theodore sighed, his heart clenching.

Captain. It shouldn't be him. Not like this.

"Oh my god…." Simmons' voice sounded over his shoulder. "The crazy bastard…"

Theodore looked out the window, stunned to see the Icarus lining up towards the pirate ship, smoking bow first and start to gain in speed.

Another sailor muttered with a disbelieving laugh. "Oh shit, he's going to ram her."

"Fat lotta good it'll do without the torpedos." Simmons shook his head solemnly.

Had they found a way to arm the torpedoes after the crew disembarked? He could only hope. The anxious knot in his stomach tightened as the Icarus continued to close the distance. And he was powerless to stop it. He and the crew could only wait. And watch.

In a mix of horror and fascination, the bow of the Icarus slammed into the side of the Dutchman in a fantastic burst of flames. Fire spread along the Dutchman's main deck as the obliterated bow of the Icarus started to pull her down into the water. His stomach dropped through his feet as flames engulfed the front half of the Icarus . If there was any hope for James and Cutlena...well, they hadn't wanted hope.

The rest played out in agonizing slow motion. The cessation of gunfire, the chaos of the Dutchman 's crew abandoning ship, the sinking of both intertwined ships. Rescue operations. Confirming that, as expected, James and Cutlena were not to be found among the survivors. Setting a course for the harbor.

Theodore didn't consider himself a particularly religious man, but as he watched the rising bubbles and floating flotsam where the ships had previously stood, he offered up a prayer. A prayer for their souls. A prayer for his and for the strength to carry on in their stead. A prayer for the continued safety of the crew.

For there was no doubt in his mind. If the Dutchman hadn't been sunk, the crew wouldn't have reached the harbor alive. But James and Cutlena changed that. They turned what was already a failure into a victory. There would be at least thirty arrests, and one less famous name on the seas.

At least, Jones hadn't numbered among the survivors either. Better for a captain to go down with his ship in the face of disgrace. Just like James.

As the boats continued to plow through the water towards the security of the harbor, Theodore Groves vowed to do everything in his power to continue the work that James and Cutlena started.