A/N: My final flufftober '23 fill for these two! This is the final bit in the little mini storyline I had going on with these - it's first referenced in day 10, it builds a bit in day 21, and we dig into it properly here. It's been a fun month of it, thank you guys for the lovely feedback!


On their final night in London together, Theo had to concede that she hadn't had half as bad a time as she'd expected. In fact, she hadn't had a bad time at all. Sure, she spent the first couple of weeks waiting for all to suddenly turn bitchy towards her, using things she'd said when her guard was down to mock the begloved Irishwoman who may or may not have been a witch, but…it didn't happen. And now their final social occasion, their farewell dinner, was drawing to a close, and she had to accept that it simply was not going to happen. Screw interdimensional time travel, this was the real miracle.

She'd even taken to dressing how she actually wanted to dress. Alright, leggings and band shirts were still out, but to her own tastes as far as fashions of the time went – rather than cosplaying as whatever she thought people would expect Mrs Norrington to appear. Which often meant dressing how Elizabeth would.

The last of their guests, Lord and Lady Montague, remained in the drawing room as the others left in order to finalise business, and everything was looking decidedly golden.

"I'll confess, Admiral Norrington," the older man insisted on continued use of James' former title – a mark of respect, she thought, "I was prepared to come here, listen to some hare-brained scheme, before throwing what little gold and help I possibly could at it merely as a personal favour to Governor Swann."

"Oh really, Henry," his wife scolded, very half-heartedly, from where she sat beside Theo.

"I wouldn't say it now if it had all proven true," he pressed on. "I confessed myself impressed, by your plans, by your lovely wife, by you, by all of it. And very optimistic. You go forth with my full backing, and not just the sort that I offer out of obligation to save any awkwardness."

Theo smiled, bowing her head as Lady Montague – or Alice, as she insisted she call her – squeezed her arm as if in agreement. Her experience with the upper crust of English society had begun with Beckett, and he was an act she had no wish to see repeated.

The Montagues stood, James and Theo following suit as Henry continued.

"I wish you luck, not that I think you'll need it, going forth – and going forth with all the support you might need, from myself at least. And my contacts in the north. I've already written to them, I did so last night so I could reassure you of that fact before we saw you off."

It was taking all Theo had not to start literally jumping for joy. As James expressed his thanks, Alice rounded on her and pulled her into a tight hug.

"Speaking of writing, you must promise to do so! You've been such a breath of fresh air, Theodora, I'm going to miss you sorely when you're gone! You must come again. I insist, I really do."

"I will," Theo laughed. "I promise, I will."

Her penmanship with a quill was improving, so with any luck James wouldn't be obligated to scribe whatever letters she had to send.

The goodbyes were lengthy, but the moment they were out of the door and well out of earshot, Theo was hooting a laugh and throwing her arms about her husband in celebration – not content to let him downplay his success here. Only after that did the tiredness that had been culminating over the course of their time here really hit, and she returned to the sofa and sank down onto it with a sigh.

"You made an enthusiastic friend in Lady Montague. For life, I should think," James said as he followed her in.

"Careful, James, you're brushing against condescension – all that's missing is a pat on the head and a good girl."

Although that last part might be worth revisiting at a later date. He chuckled, walking to the bar cart and pouring them each a drink before he sat down on the couch beside her, handing her the crystal tumbler of whiskey.

"I know these things are tiring for you, but if it's any consolation you handled it all marvellously."

Theo made a humming sound, taking a sip and sighing. He was right – they were exhausting. Not even just because of the cultural differences, which one wouldn't expect to exist between two such small neighbouring islands, but because of her origins, too.

"It wasn't so bad as it was when I first arrived," she admitted. "I…have more stable footing now, than I did back then. Don't need to be paranoid that if I say my favourite colour is blue, it'll be a secret code for I worship the devil every Tuesday night in these times."

"No, that would be red," he said drily.

"Duly noted."

Back when she first arrived, it had been toughest. Having to constantly self-edit and really think over what she said before she said it, thinking of how she could skew an anecdote to fit the time – or if she could at all – by which point, the conversation had often moved on and she was left standing quietly like a lawn ornament to the side. With James, it had always been surprisingly easy. Even before he knew, when they were just talking, and he wasn't trying to finagle details of her past out of her. And now she didn't have to worry about it with him at all. A safe haven in human form.

It was Theo's own humble opinion that she was at her best when she could speak her mind and crack her stupid jokes and, well, breathe. That hadn't often been possible in Port Royal. Because they were of this time, and because they seldom shared her sense of humour – and going into this, she'd expected it to be more of the same. Amplified, perhaps, because this was London, where all of them had hailed from.

But either island life had made those there less friendly towards newcomers, or the old lot just really resented her for what she'd found with James. Then again, maybe arriving as a castaway, living in the jungle for a bit, and then running off with a pirate…multiple times…had something to do with it, too. Who knew?

In any case, she'd lucked out here – and she was relieved, but exhausted still. And more than a little sheepish.

"I'm sorry."

"For worshipping the devil?"

He had not sensed her change in tone, thinking she was still joking. There was a precedent for that, wasn't there? Theo was content to let it rest there, unsure if it was really a conversation she wanted to have anyway. But then he turned his head and regarded her fully, and the silence became a little less comfortable than it usually was between them.

"Sorry for what?" he asked, and then when she did not respond, asked again. "Theodora?"

"It…doesn't come naturally to me. Not here."

"What doesn't?"

"The social side of it. Here."

"She says as we sit here, drinking to her success."

"We're drinking to our success, don't be daft."

"I'm drinking to yours. Now tell me what you meant. Was someone unkind tonight?"

"Not at all. But…"

Well, they were having the conversation now. What good would it be to sit and make him pull teeth and figure out what was bothering her via a series of yes-or-no questions?

"…this is what wives are supposed to do, isn't it? Here, I mean. Take joy in organising dinner parties and playing hostess and filling every spare hour of every day with luncheons and dinner parties and balls? Representing the team in the sophisticated social circles – the ones not inhabited by pirates and sex workers, anyway. It's not exactly…"

A marriage to a fine woman. But she wouldn't use those words – because they weren't meant for her ears, because it would appear the matter of Elizabeth still weighed upon her (which it genuinely did not), and because it didn't exactly convey how she felt. That made it sound like she doubted his feelings for her, or like she had no self-worth…which had never been one of her problems. God bless her dad and how he'd raised her.

"I don't fulfil the traditional job requirements," she finished lamely.

Then, though, she saw how he looked almost outraged by her words and winced.

"I'm not saying I don't think you're happy. Only that it would be understandable if you were…oh, I don't know. Frustrated, now and then, at having a wife who you always need to explain to people."

In all of their time together, they hadn't ever really had a chance at living in a normal manner up until now. There'd always been some sort of grander game at play – some new adventure-slash-mortal peril tugging at their tailcoats. The bits in-between that kinda sorta resembled normality had been breathers. Blips between storms – between maelstroms.

James smiled a little as he bowed his head, and Theo wasn't sure how to even begin taking the gesture. Had she really sounded that ridiculous? God, she shouldn't have opened her mouth at all. But when he raised his head again and looked to her, the smile slipped away, and she knew her worry had shown on her face.

Sighing, he bent forward to set his glass down on the floor, and then took her free hand in both of his.

"Do you think I have none of the same fears? Three centuries of progress lies between here and where you hailed from. Between myself and then. And you have given up much for me…have sacrificed much for me..." as he spoke, he ran his thumb over the knuckles of her gloved hand. "I believe that you are happy just as you know that I am. But, sometimes, I do fear that one day you may grow to question whether it was all worth it. For you have sacrificed plenty, and I have gained much. I have gained everything."

"Everything you've gained, I have too," she insisted. "I never regret the choice I've made. Not even in passing."

"And nor do I. I do not wish for a wife, Theodora. I want you. As you are. However you are. However you will be. And as for needing to explain you to people – if they do not possess good taste, that is their own affair. I enjoy being among the lucky collective who do."

Theo felt herself flush, but he was not finished. He slipped one hand away from hers and brought it instead to cup the side of her face, thumb running across her cheek just as it had with her knuckles, urging her towards him so that he could kiss her – a kiss that was so slow and filled with such adoration that she was sure she wouldn't be able to string another sentence together for at least an hour.

He pulled back, but kept her close, pressing his brow against hers.

"And I confess, if you suffered a head injury and began to take joy in little other than place settings and the town gossip, I should still love you but I would mourn it," he teased. "You take little joy in these sorts of gatherings? Good. Nor do I. So I know I will never need to suffer through them unless entirely necessary – and when those times do come, I'm afforded the opportunity to witness you, to use your own wording, charm the pants off of those necessary. Now tell me, what facet of any of this is supposed to disappoint me?"

"What if I tell you I really am a witch?" she teased, pressing another kiss to his lips as if to prove her mood had lightened.

"I shall carry your broomstick for you with great pride," he promised.


A/N: I wrote so many fills for so many fandoms this month, and had a lot of fun experimenting. I even wrote one for Beckett, which turned out to be a lot of fun. A lot of them ended up on AO3, but all of them are on my tumblr - esta-elavaris