I made ya'll wait longer than I intended, so here's a nice fat chapter for you. I agonized over it longer than I should have.

Much love to those still reading/reviewing/showing interest in this little project of mine. You da best.

October 29, 1776

"I just think it's outrageous. That's all."

Sarah's arms crossed over her chest as she watched him move the last of her belongings inside the saddle pack. Though he did feel badly for her, the sour look upon her face made him want to laugh. He instead offered a smile from the other side of the horse General Washington had so graciously provided for her journey to Fort Tryon.

For the first half of it, anyway. From what he understood she'd have to trek the last part of the journey on foot.

"It's for your safety, Sarah." She sighed, casting her gaze back toward the encampment at North Castle where they had spent the better part of the last month. He ran a hand down the horse's broad neck before checking the reins for the thousandth time. "General Washington only has your best interests at heart."

"If it were only a matter of safety, he'd be making you leave too." James cocked an eyebrow as their eyes met again. Her mouth pulled into an unhappy line. "Do you not agree?"

"Sarah..."

"Answer the question, please."

"Of course I agree with you." He moved around the horse to face her, gesturing back towards the camp. "But it's dangerous here. There could be an attack any day." And while that was true, the words sounded empty even to his own ears, considering how often he'd spoken some feeble variation of them over the last day and a half. He hated that she had to go. Truly. But the truth of the matter - indeed the full truth that he had not yet shared with her - was that Washington's original suggestion had been to send her back home to Philadelphia. Lieutenant Harrison - Washington's Aide-de-Camp and James' acquaintance-turned-friend - had imparted as much to him in the glow of campfire three nights prior, his tongue loosened from one too many nips of brandy. And whether it was the drink or the pleasant bond of their camaraderie, James had somehow managed to convince the Lieutenant to convince Washington to send her to the Fort instead. We are on assignment per Dr. Franklin's directive, James had insisted. I need her near. Remarkably, Washington had agreed to the change. She'd still be connected to the front lines in some capacity, but she'd also be out of harm's way.

He'd be lying to himself if he said he didn't feel somewhat relieved by it.

"Oh, that's right. Thank you for the reminder." She smacked her forehead sarcastically. "I forget that you men are immune to musket balls."

He stifled another laugh. "Not quite. Though one might argue, better they hit us than the women and children we aim to protect." He suddenly felt stupid for the inclusion of himself in that we, but Sarah didn't seem to notice. "Besides, there's no need for two of us here. I bet there's a story to be had at Fort Tryon."

"Then why don't you go, and I'll stay here?" Her eyes flashed an angry green, startling against the backdrop of the snowcapped trees. "To send me away simply because I am a woman - you do realize how idiotic that sounds?"

"Aye. I do," he said softly, hoping to appease her. It was a lucky thing they were alone; if anyone overheard her, she might not be allowed to come back at all. Washington was a fair man, but a stern leader and James had quickly ascertained that compliance in his camp was not only crucial - it was necessary. Even more so for the journalists permitted to observe, interview, and record for their dispatches to the Gazette. Still...if he were Sarah, he'd probably be feeling a bit cross too. "But this is war, Sarah," he continued as a gust of wind whipped between them, sending a shudder down his spine. "And General Washington's word is law around here. It might not seem like it, but he is trying to protect you." And I am, too.

"By relegating me to an outpost," she retorted, pulling her cloak more firmly around her shoulders. "Where only the women and children reside."

"Now that isn't true." He offered a cheeky grin. "There are soldiers at Fort Tryon."

"You're missing the point, James." She gestured behind him. "I want to stay where the action is. Where there's a story. And instead I'm being forced to leave it all behind, to sit quietly and twiddle my thumbs across the water while you get to stay and report on the happenings on the front lines simply because you are a man." She sighed through her nose, setting her jaw firmly. "I think even you can see the injustice in that."

"Is that what this is all about?" He shook his head slowly, still trying to keep the conversation light. "You are angry that I might get a better story than you?"

"That is not what I -" Her mouth clamped shut as one of the soldiers came stomping over, eyeing Sarah rudely.

"You ready?" he demanded, the irritation in his voice as clear as day. Sarah's eyes narrowed but James cut in before she could speak.

"Nearly. We're just saying goodbye." The man muttered something he couldn't hear, clomping his way past with an irritable scowl. James watched as he went to fetch his horse, then turned back to Sarah with a raised eyebrow. "He seems pleasant."

"Yet another blessing that's been bestowed upon me." She made her way over and James held out a hand to help her mount. She had a stony look upon her face and was pointedly avoiding his gaze, which he found to be equally annoying and hilarious. If she was this irritated without knowing that he'd been involved in the decision, how much worse would it be if he told her this had been his idea? She adjusted herself in the saddle and took hold of the reins but he did the same, pulling them - and her steed - toward him.

"Sarah," he said gently. She huffed, and the exhale momentarily left a cloud in its wake before disappearing into the chilled October air. "I will see you soon. Right?"

"Not if the good General has anything to say about it," she grumbled and he finally laughed as she clicked her tongue, spurring the horse to move. But he held on, silently refusing to let her go until finally, finally, she turned her gaze downward.

"Sarah," he said again. Something lurched in his chest as the wind picked up again, moving tendrils of her hair across her face. It was only dawning on him now that she could be gone for weeks or even months and he had no idea when he'd lay eyes on her again. He opened his mouth and paused, his mind grinding to an unpleasant halt. Be safe, his heart prodded. I will miss you.

"You know you look like a fish gasping for air right now," she suddenly stated, effectively removing whatever tenderness might have almost found its way into his goodbye. He rolled his eyes as he released the reins.

"And you look like a laundress on her way to serve alongside the other camp followers." Her face pinched with annoyance, angrily yanking the reins to turn about.

"You are a perfect arse, James Hiller," she said over her shoulder. "And I shan't miss you, not one bit."

"You're the one who started it!" he laughed, shaking his head. She didn't reply; instead she turned her head over her shoulder to cast one final look at him, the curve of a smile on her lips. It sent yet another surge through his body, stronger this time. He had half a mind to run back up to her and say something, anything, that might make her laugh or smile before she left camp.

But he didn't. He just stood there watching until she and her guide were swallowed by the trees.

November 11, 1776

"Gentlemen...I have surprising news."

James' ears perked up as he fumbled in his coat pockets for his notepad. He had learned quickly that when General Washington spoke, it was imperative to pay attention lest he miss something of import. Even more so when he found himself allowed inside the General's tent for a briefing.

"The British have begun moving back to Manhattan. I suspect they are mobilizing to attack Fort Washington - our last stronghold in Manhattan." The General's face looked grim as he moved the pieces around his map. "It houses some of our finest troops and a large amount of our armaments and ammunition. This Fort and its outposts are critically important to the war for both sides." James' pencil stilled as his mind finally caught up to the words rapidly scribbled on the page in front of him. Fort Washington - a critical outpost, he had written. A desirable target. And a mere hop, skip, and a jump from Fort Tryon.

Which meant if the good General's suspicions were correct, Sarah could very well be in the direct line of attack.

"Sarah's at one of those outposts!" he blurted before he thought better of it. General Washington turned to look at him, his face eerily unreadable.

"Yes," he said slowly. "Your friend who wanted to see action is about to get her wish." Something sharp twisted inside of him.

"General Washington...sir." He stared at him intently as James faltered beneath his steady gaze. "Is there a way to - to send word? Or perhaps -"

"Mr. Hiller." Washington straightened, crossing his arms slowly behind his back. "I am in the middle of a briefing."

"I - I know. Sir," he stuttered, and though all eyes in the tent were now fixed solely on him, he somehow couldn't find the pretense to feel embarrassed. If the British attacked the Fort, then -

"Perhaps it would be best for you to wait outside." It was obvious by the tone of his voice that this wasn't a suggestion. James swallowed, then jerked out a nod before exiting the tent into the cold November afternoon.

He paced the length of the camp in a rush, mind abuzz. Maybe Washington was wrong. Or maybe this was little more than precaution, strategic preparations being set in place for a just in case maneuver. But the harder he tried to convince himself, the less he believed it. General Howe had had his sights set on New York since his arrival earlier that summer, and word on the street was that he'd even received a bloody knighthood for his victory at the Battle of Long Island. Fort Washington was an obvious - not to mention strategically beneficial - next step. And Washington was preparing for an attack. Elsewise he wouldn't have said anything.

James trudged upward to the lookout point, heart in his throat as he scanned the barricades of the Fort across the water. He and Sarah were no strangers to open battle by any means, but it had felt decidedly different at Lexington, Concord, Bunker Hill - because he had been there too. It had put his mind at ease knowing that he could keep an eye on her while he too took on the risk of reporting on the battlefield; as if by virtue of them simply being together, his luck would rub off on her or the graces of Providence would continue to shelter them both from any harm.

But this...this was different. Sarah wasn't here, was instead somewhere across the water, far out of reach and on the wrong side of the battle line. It's for your safety, Sarah, he could hear himself saying not two weeks prior when she'd been departing the camp and oh God - oh God, he had believed it then too. Had been lulled into a false sense of security that if the soldiers' wives and children were safe at the outpost, then Sarah would be safe too. He had failed only in remembering that this was war, and war was nothing if not volatile.

The wind rushed off of the Hudson in a violent gust, whipping small pellets of ice against his cheeks but he barely felt it. All he could think of was Sarah, somewhere over there, completely unaware of the imminent danger she was in.

And there was nothing he could do to warn her.

November 16, 1776

Cannon fire.

It echoed across the valley and into the hollow of his chest, compounding the dread that had found its way there in the days following Washington's announcement. James scrambled to the lookout for a better vantage point, and the sight of British warships on the water sent his heart plummeting. They had lost the chance to send word to the forts to evacuate.

The battle had begun.

It became apparent very quickly that their forces stood no chance against the British Navy and Hessian troops combined. General Howe had orchestrated a masterful assault by land and water combined, concurrently attacking the northern, eastern, and southern flanks of the Fort. Perhaps our obstacles will deter them, someone muttered. Our forces are 3,000 men strong, someone else chimed in. But amidst the din of battle, the words felt hollow and James couldn't muster the will to hope. These were, after all, the same men who had argued endlessly the last few days as to whether they should stand and fight, or flee, and Washington had determined that he would travel to the Fort today to assess the situation - only to instead be awoken by the firing of cannons. The General's indecision had cost them the opportunity to choose.

And now, it seemed, the Fort as well.

He had never felt so helpless as he did now, surveying the defeat playing out before their eyes. Heart in his belly, he tried to write down what he was witnessing but found his gaze continuously turning back on the forsaken Fort. He longed for a spyglass, desperately; though the thought was foolish, he wondered if it were possible to spot Sarah from over here, the group of the camp followers, someone, anyone. By virtue of something as simple as mere proximity, a single bullet or errant cannon blast could kill one or two of them, or kill them all. Their crime? Being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The fates of the camp followers - and the Fort's soldiers, for that matter - now hinged entirely on luck. Collateral damage, his mind supplied as smoke billowed out over the water. Casualties of war. Irony.

Sarah had been sent away to keep her safe and it could now very well be the cause of her undoing.

He felt like an idiot - having been so antsy for war, itching for a fight, somehow quietly convinced that its violent hand would never touch him, would never impact him on such a jarring, personal scale. Of course he knew people died in war. He had seen as much with his own eyes, had hunkered down behind fences or trees or hillsides as men not much older than himself had fallen dead around him, had bled out or sputtered last words no one would ever hear. Men like Dr. Warren. Men like Sarah's cousin Tom. But those men had willingly put their lives on the line - they had known the risks and had taken up arms to fight anyway. Those men had died heroes. They had died soldiers. It was how he had compartmentalized it all over the course of the last year and a half, had effectively driven out the visions of death that had begun to plague his dreams. And more than that...he hadn't known those men. Hadn't seen them cry, or laugh as they parried his stupid jokes, or seen their face light up upon receiving a makeshift locket crafted from his mother's gold.

He hadn't...cared, for those men.

His throat tightened uncomfortably as he cast a harried gaze over the men standing beside him. The planning and plotting of America's greatest colonels wouldn't be saving a single soul this day, but no one had to speak aloud what their truer thoughts were. They were losing. But in spite of everything - in spite of all that this meant and would mean in the months to come for Washington, for the effort, for them - Sarah was all he could think about.

And so it was for the hours the battle raged on.

And on.

And on.

"Fort Tryon has fallen," General Washington said.

Four words.

Four words, but it suddenly felt as if the earth had shifted beneath his feet. James turned to look at Washington whose eyes remained fixed across the water as he spoke. "There's nothing we can do for those poor souls." All of them? he wanted to scream but his tongue and his body and his lungs had gone numb. The stunned haze of his fear left him mute but he waited for more, anxiously eyeing the General - who said nothing else and instead passed his spyglass over to Lieutenant Harrison, then turned and left with the shadow of defeat playing heavily upon his features. Panicked, James snatched the spyglass from Harrison's hands before he thought better of it. He couldn't breathe - couldn't think beyond the desperate desire to find her as his eyes frantically scanned what used to be the outposts. Please let Sarah be alright, he begged, maybe to God, maybe just to himself. It was a futile effort, impossible as it was to see anyone, much less someone specific, from so great a distance. Instead all that met his gaze was the destruction. Fire. Scorched earth. Clouds of smoke billowing upwards and upwards and upwards into a darkening sky.

"God almighty," Harrison suddenly breathed out from beside him as he lowered the spyglass with shaking hands. "They're raising the Union Jack over Fort Washington."

"That's it, then." General Washington's voice from somewhere behind them, heavy with defeat. "General Howe has prevailed." Bickering voices soon faded into a distant hum in James' ears, rapidly drowned by the swell of his own despair. No. No. This wasn't it, surely? They would not just continue to stand here, arguing over the plethora of what ifs when lives were still on the line, when Sarah was somewhere over there possibly wounded or trapped or taken by one of those damned German mercenaries, lost or abandoned somewhere in the surrounding wood, terrified or alone or -

Dead.

"I've never seen him look so...disappointed." Lieutenant Harrison's voice suddenly cut into his dreadful ideations, hushed with concern. "So...helpless." James was reeling, scarcely making sense of what he was saying as he shifted his gaze toward him.

"What?" he whispered at the same time Colonel Reed angrily countered,

"He is in danger of becoming a parody of a General." It was only then he realized they were talking about Washington, bickering once again over his failure to make a decision in time. Some distant part of him knew this was important - was critical even - but he could not find it in himself to care. Who gives a shit? he wanted to shout as he watched them argue. Innocent lives could have been lost today and you stand here prattling on over a single man's feelings? What if Sarah had perished this day? How would he ever forgive himself, knowing that sending her to the Fort had been his suggestion, had been his pathetic attempt to keep her near? What if -

"I pray Colonel Reed is wrong," Harrison said but his voice was warbled and stilted, as if he were underwater or far, far away. James' feet began to pace of their own accord, his eyes shifting to the Fort, to Harrison, then back to the Fort again. He couldn't listen to this anymore. He couldn't focus, couldn't seem to get ahold of himself as panic swallowed his better senses, and his mind, oh his mind, conjured up images he couldn't bear to think of and if he stood here for one more minute he was going to hit something or yell or -

"What happened to Fort Tryon?" he exploded, whirling to face Harrison. He gestured wildly toward the Fort. "To Sarah?"

"Women and children will be returned to us." The man eyed him strangely, as if he had suddenly grown a second head but he didn't care - didn't care how he looked or how he sounded because what now? What now? Harrison seemed to take notice of his despair and placed a comforting arm around his shoulders. "This may be war, James," he said gently, "but there are rules." Rules are why she's over there in the first place, damn you. James shuddered out a breath, tension thrumming through his chest until he thought it might strangle him, or render him even more useless than he already was. He made to speak as his eyes moved once more to the fallen Fort.

Then froze as he spotted movement on the water.

"What's that?" he breathed, pulling out of the man's embrace. He rushed back to the edge of the lookout, squinting against the sun's reflection on the water. A boat. It was a boat. "I think it's - yes!" His heart leapt. "It is! The camp followers from Fort Tryon!" He whooped with excitement, near to overcome with newfound hope, as he turned and sprinted toward the lookout's exit point.

"James, wait!" Harrison shouted from behind him. "We need to send a convoy down to the water to meet them!" But he didn't listen. He didn't care. Didn't care as he stumbled and slipped down the hillside, still slick from the snowfall a few days prior. All he knew was that he had to get to that boat. Had to find her, had to lay eyes on her so that he knew she was alright, that she was safe and whole and alive. Should there be consequences, he would deal with them later.

Right now, Sarah was all that mattered.

The moment his feet landed on stable ground, he sprinted as fast as his legs would carry him toward the boat now pulling to shore. "Sarah!" he hollered. A sea of frightened, pallid faces turned to look at him as he approached, but he paid them no mind as they began to disembark. There was only one face he sought. Only one. He moved past them quickly, lungs aflame from his exertions, his heart pounding an insistent rhythm against his ribs. Where was she? "Excuse me," he barked out, shoving his way past to leap onto the boat, now half empty. It was then he spotted a cloak he'd seen countless times before, a cloak that he knew, and he rushed forward with her name on his lips - only to be met with a cold stare from a stranger. He pulled back, muttering an apology. The dread that had so permeated his mind for half the day swelled once more as his eyes eagerly moved from one face to the next. He didn't see her. Oh. Oh God.

Oh God, he didn't see her.

Panic began to set in as he turned back to shore, half-mad with the possibility that he had missed her somehow, that she had gotten lost within the small crowd on the beach and hadn't heard him calling for her. All that met his gaze was the backsides of the displaced camp followers, now heading towards a group of soldiers barreling down the hillside. There was no one else here. Sarah wasn't on the boat. She wasn't here.

That could only mean -

For the second time that day, it felt as if the foundations of the earth had shifted but this time he was falling - falling fast and deep into the belly of the void, into cold, into darkness. The worst of his fears were coming to fruition, revealing themselves in the bottom of an empty boat and he couldn't breathe now - he couldn't breathe, couldn't fathom how he was going to tell Moses, Dr. Franklin, little Henri. He turned back toward the water blinking away tears, desperately hoping to spot another skiff making its way across. This couldn't be it. It just couldn't.

And then all at once - the earth shifted back in place. Light spilled over the fog clouding his mind, compelling him to rush forward once his eyes finally found her - sitting in the very back of the boat with a woman laying on her lap, hair unkempt, soot smeared across her cheeks but very much there, very much alive. "Sarah," he choked out, sinking to his knees as her eyes rose to meet his - at first wary, wide with fear, but then soft with recognition. "Thank goodness you're safe." Thank God. Oh thank you, thank you God.

"Yes," she said, barely above a whisper. "I'm safe." He choked out a relieved laugh, then turned to yell over his shoulder.

"We've an injured woman here!" The soldiers rushed over as James' eyes found Sarah's again, eagerly searching her face. "What happened to her?"

"A cannon blast," she whispered. "And her husband, he...he was killed right in front of us, we saw him fall and..." She gestured oddly, turning her head to look back across the water. "...and she took up his position but she was...she was hit..." The boat shifted as the soldiers boarded.

"Out the way!" one of them shouted and he obliged in a daze, leaping over the side of the boat onto the rocky bank. One man lifted the woman from Sarah's lap while the other crouched down to her eye level, barking out a question.

"Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," she choked out, but the sound of it was so broken, so unlike the Sarah he knew, he didn't allow himself to think as he stepped forward again, extending a hand toward her.

"Let's go," he said gently. She turned to look at him, lip trembling. "Come now, Sarah."

"She should come with us," the soldier snapped. The boat rocked again as he stood upright, holding out a staying hand. "I don't think you should -"

"She's coming with me," James cut in, head snapping toward him.

"On whose authority?" the man demanded, incredulous. "We've orders to - "

"I don't give a damn what your orders are," he pressed. "She's not a camp follower, she's a journalist. You will leave her be." The soldier's face dipped with disdain.

"Why should we listen to you?" he scoffed. "Who are you?"

"I'm..." Here he faltered. He was what, exactly? Her colleague? Her friend? Those titles fell remarkably flat, given the crazed desperation that had so plagued him the last few hours. That didn't make any sense though because - that was what he was. Sarah's workfellow. Sarah's companion. The harrowing reality that he held no claim on her felt inexplicably wrong, yet that in and of itself felt confusing too. What was he?

And why was it suddenly so important?

Cool fingers slipped between his own, bringing him firmly back to solid ground. He met Sarah's gaze with stilted breath, startled by what he found within her painful gaze. Fear, yes. Worry. Relief of her own. But perhaps what was most staggering of all, what suddenly served to fill his heart near to bursting, was the depths of trust he found there. She'd never looked at him that way before and it was there, in the stillness of but a few seconds, he found his answer. "I'm family," he said softly. He moved his eyes upward, fixing the soldier with a steady stare. "She's my family. And she comes with me."

The man's eyes darted between them for a moment, uncertain; then with a shake of his head he turned and left, muttering under his breath. James nodded at Sarah and helped her disembark but it was not until she landed on her feet beside him that he noticed how badly she was trembling, near to quaking as the winter air blew mercilessly off of the water.

"My God," he murmured, quickly removing his coat. "Are you alright? Where's your cloak?" She moved her arms stiffly into his coat sleeves, blinking a few times as he buttoned it for her.

"I am alright," she said quietly, her eyes moving beyond him. "That woman needed...my cloak, she was freezing and had...had nothing..." Something ugly caught his eye as she spoke, hidden at first by the edge of her hairline. He reached out without thinking, fingers brushing softly against the wound on the side of her head - his fingers came away stained red. She winced at the contact and he struggled to catch a breath, to calm a suddenly-racing heart.

"You're bleeding." She looked in his eyes then, her gaze watery.

"James..." Her lips parted as if she might speak.

And then she burst into tears.

Something bold, something distinctly protective washed over him in a single, heady wave and he didn't think twice before stepping forward to pull her firmly into his arms. "Hey," he said softly into her hair as she melted into his touch. "I've got you. You're alright." Her shoulders shook as she wrapped her arms around him, sobbing bitterly into his chest. He let out a half-sob of his own, near to overcome by the multitude of what ifs still endlessly turning over in his mind but he just pulled her closer, swearing to God and to himself that he would never let this happen again. Never, ever again. "It's alright, Sarah. I've got you."

I've got you.

Evening fell with a quiet solemnity. Wounded camp followers were tended to; those who had seen their husbands fall and were fit to travel journeyed back to the city, faces pale and eyes still dim with shock. James had retired to his own tent on the outskirts of camp with Sarah in tow, following her visit to the camp doctor. Her injury had been mild - the result of flying debris from a cannon explosion, the doctor had surmised - and ever brave, she not allowed herself to be bandaged up. Save the supplies for those who need it more, she had insisted. James had tried to persuade her to no avail and, though he worried over the wound and haunted look in her eyes alike, he was glad to see the return of her stubborn streak.

Supper had been a sparse stew, and she had only taken a few bites before she had regaled him with all she had witnessed over the course of the day. She told him of Molly Corbin; of how they had both watched her husband die, along with so many others. "It was like a night terror I could not wake up from," she had whispered. "So many men, James. Falling right before our eyes as the King's Navy fired upon them...and we, powerless to do a single thing to stop them." She had turned a tear-filled gaze upon him, her features heavy with remembered terror. "I thought I was going to die."

So did I, he had wanted to say. I've never been so scared in all my life, not knowing what had become of you. But he had instead offered her what seemed meager reassurances, his heart ever-heavy with the guilt that he'd put her in harm's way in the first place. You're safe, he had whispered to her countless times over as darkness had fallen. You're safe now, Sarah. And she had nodded, fingers nervously fidgeting the the loose threads of his coat sleeves still draped over her shoulders. Their conversation had begun to fade as the evening wore on and the events of the day had caught up to them both. As it was now, she was laying down on his cot with her eyes closed - just to rest them for a moment, she had said - but it looked rather now that she was asleep.

And for the last twenty minutes or so, he'd not been able to take his eyes off of her.

The gentle rise and fall of her chest. The fan of her eyelashes across her cheeks. The freckles dotting her nose, the soft swell of her cheekbones, the gentle waves of her wild red hair. Small details. Insignificant, he would have thought once - but now, now, all of it was like a tonic to his soul, a balm to the dull fear still hidden somewhere behind his heart. She's here, it reminded him. She's safe. It sent warmth through his body, the kind that lingered in the hollow of his chest until it ached. It had settled there the moment he'd spotted her in the boat and hadn't left since; soft and insistent, but there nonetheless.

He chalked it up to relief, of course. The events of the day had been gut-wrenching. Deadly. The camp was still thick with the weight of it, near to suffocating from the bitter reminder that life was fragile and war was hell. But as the hours had waned and he'd found himself sat by her bedside gazing upon her, there was something...else. Something that scared him. Something he could not explain.

Namely, just how much he longed to touch her again.

Sarah was lovely. He knew that. He'd always known that, and had never been so blinded by their bizarre rivalry so as to not notice that with each passing year, she grew lovelier still. But he'd never felt quite like this before; so keenly aware of how quickly everything could change, how stupid all of his previous grievances had actually been. How soft her hand had felt in his own. How wonderful it had felt to hold her on the beach. Each time it played out in his mind, it sent a strange flutter through his chest and belly and God, how badly he now wished he could reach out and wrap one of her curls around his finger. Take her hand in his own. Pull her close, hold her again, if only to assure himself for the thousandth time that though he could have lost her, he didn't. She was here and she was safe and she was alive and it was fine. Everything was fine.

So why this ache in his chest?

A sudden gust of wind shuddered through his tent, drawing his gaze to the darkness beyond. He had to leave, he suddenly realized - it was late, later than he'd thought, and his own eyes were heavy with exhaustion. Someone else in the camp would be willing to let him bunk with them, he was sure of it; yet he stayed where he was a few minutes longer, hesitant to leave her. Nothing had really changed, he tried to remind himself. They'd been separated plenty of times over the last three years. But the rationalization did very little to sway him, even as he forced himself to stand and begin gathering his things. Fear, uncertainty, relief, pain - all had nestled somewhere deep within, forever altering something he couldn't quite pinpoint. A shift in the fates. A turning of the page. And this newfound warmth, pulsing out with each beat of his heart every time he looked at her.

"James?" Her tired voice rattled him from his thoughts and he turned to look at her over his shoulder, offering a soft smile.

"Hey." He made his way back over, sitting crisscross on the cold earth. She watched his every move wordlessly. "You alright?"

"I am." She ran the heel of her palm across her eyes. "I think I was falling asleep just now."

He laughed softly. "I think you did, in fact." She sat up slowly, leaning back on her elbow as she moved her gaze behind him. She motioned toward his pack.

"Are you leaving?"

"I was packing up just now, yes." He nodded his head toward the tent's exit. "I am certain General Washington himself would personally escort me from the camp if I stayed in here tonight." She smiled at him, offering a breathy laugh.

"But this is your tent, James. I can find somewhere else to sleep tonight." She began to move but he placed a restraining hand on her shoulder, shaking his head slowly.

"Nonsense. I insist you stay here." He stared at her for a moment, his heart swelling with...well, he wasn't sure what. Something warm and pleasant, at any rate. He inhaled slowly, suddenly struggling to find the words he wished to speak. "I, ehm...Sarah. Before I go...you must know that I...I was..." He huffed as his heart began to race. "Today. Today, when I heard the cannon fire. I was..."

"What?" Her eyes searched his face intently, large and beautiful. Beautiful... "What is it, James?"

"I'm sorry." He grimaced, bowing his head in shame. "I am sorry, for...all the times I have ever been cruel to you. When the cannons first fired, and I watched as the smoke rose into the sky, all I could think of was how I might not get the chance to...to say those words to you." His eyes slipped shut. The words spilled out before he could stop them. "More than that, you must know that it was I who suggested you stay at Fort Tryon. Washington wanted to send you home. Please forgive me. I only - I only wanted you safe."

"James," she said softly. The sound of his name upon her lips stole the breath from his lungs but he made himself look at her, tears threatening for reasons he didn't know.

"I am a fool at times, Sarah," he whispered. "I know you know that. And I am so...so thankful, that you were spared." Silence fell for a few moments as she held his gaze, but it was a gentle sort of quiet - not cut through with discomfort or tension.

Then she reached out and placed a hand on his arm.

"James," she said gently. "You are no fool. A thorn in my side, yes. But no fool." He choked out a laugh, running a hand over his eyes at her iteration of his own words from a few months prior. She smiled at him and it lit up her face, sending some wild pulse of delight through his entire being. "I thank you for your apology, and for your honesty as well. But please know I hold no ill will toward you, James. When I first saw you today on the boat, after everything...everything that had happened. I do not know if I have ever known a greater joy." He huffed out a breath as his eyes smarted again with the sting of tears. Her own eyes watering, she squeezed his arm as she leaned in closer to whisper: "You are a good man, James Hiller. And I am so...so grateful for you."

The pulse of his heart skipped over itself, momentarily stealing any possible response from his lips. She looked positively ethereal in the soft glow of his lantern, and he was struck with a sudden, terrifying desire to kiss her. Instead he moved to place his hand over hers, the one that was still holding onto his arm. He studied their hands for a moment - noting how she didn't pull away and instead moved her thumb to brush oh so softly against his own - before looking back to her, nodding slowly. "I will always come for you, Sarah," he whispered. "I promise you that." She inhaled sharply and looked at him for a moment. Just - looked at him, her eyes brimming with something he could not identify.

"Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?" A hushed request for him, and him only. It sent his heart near to bursting, but he whispered out a simple,

"Of course." She laid back down gingerly, moving her hand from his touch - only to quickly take hold of his hand again as she settled into position. The renewed contact sent electric thrills up his arm and that same, strange flutter through his belly. She was so warm, he thought. So soft. Her eyes met his briefly, still holding the warmth and trust he'd found there earlier. She smiled up at him, soft and sweet, before her eyes slipped shut. Then her fingers wrapped around his in one final squeeze.

And it was there - in the quiet of that simple, familiar gesture - that he knew. Knew the weight of truth he'd been unconsciously denying the entire day as it came crashing down around him. The pain he had felt. The fear. The desperate panic. The guilt. The jealousy - yes, the jealousy - that had so consumed him the day Udney had approached them. The fierce desire to feel worthy of her respect, the surge of warmth in his chest when she smiled at him, the joy he felt whenever he made her laugh. Hand trembling, he gently moved the locks of hair that had fallen across her face, pushing them back as she sighed contentedly beneath his touch. He could not believe it had taken this long for him to realize the truth. He was falling in love with her.

God help him, he was falling in love with her.

A/N: I'm convinced that the writers/animators for this episode ABSOLUTELY threw the J/S shippers a bone. Seriously, watch it and notice how they emphasize James' concern/reactions. It's why I chose this episode as his "realization."

Merry Christmas to those who celebrate!