A/N: I am very behind on comments/replies to just about everything on every platform rn because life do be life-ing, but I read every single one and I appreciate them all! I'll catch up soon 3 x

Anyway, spending Valentine's Day with James and Theodora, just as Queen Achtland intended.

With the adrenaline and the shock coursing through her, it was impossible to feel the impact of James landing atop her. Yes, she was aware of the shoulder that drove into her chest, and the elbow that dug into her ribs, but there was no pain. Only impact, and breathlessness.

He recovered quickly, rolling off of her to the left, but then he lay as she did, flat on the ground, face tilted up to the heavens, breathing heavily.

Reality came back in gradually, but not yet fully – dripping in with small details, here and there. The stone beneath her, digging into her back and her tailbone. A slow, persistent throbbing sinking into her ribs where his elbow had landed, thrumming in time with her racing heartbeat. And the cold. It was so, so cold. She hadn't been this cold since she was last at home.

Sitting up was a challenge in itself. Her limbs impossible to feel and refusing to comply. The last time Theo lacked control over her body to this extent, Elizabeth found her washed up and fried to a crisp on the beach. Arms trembled and vibrated as she pushed herself up to sit, her lungs worked overtime regardless of the fact that it felt like she wasn't actually getting any of that air at all, and speaking was up there with flying in terms of feasibility. Even her legs, splayed before her, trembled and twitched like she'd just ran a marathon.

One of James' hands clasped hers – gently at first, and then when he seemed happy enough that the tremors were just that, and not an attempt to shake him off, his hold became firmer. She hadn't even noticed he'd sat up, too, until then. His hair fell about his face in dark wet curtains that he watched her intently through, bringing her palm to the sodden chest of his shirt.

"Breathe with me," he instructed.

She would. She'd have to, if she didn't want to pass out. But there was something more pressing first.

"Y-y-y-you…" she had to pause then, gasping for breath and stealing herself to force out the other two words. "…ju…you j-j-jumped…in."

At that, his expression changed – more unguarded than she'd ever seen it, his eyes painfully vulnerable as he sucked in a breath of his own, one that she felt stutter beneath her hand, before he finally responded.

"Of course I did."

Even if she'd been capable of speaking properly, she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to find the words to respond to that. The fact that she trembled hard enough to trigger earthquakes saved her from having to try.

When he began to move, it took all of her willpower to stop herself from clinging to him, not yet wanting to be alone for even a single fleeting second. Instead, though, she forcibly loosened her numb hands, and let him draw back, fixing her gaze upon her knees. The water had rendered her nightgown transparent, she realised, and were it not for her modern clothing beneath, she'd be entirely on display now.

Rather than standing up, as she'd expected, or leaving, as she'd feared, James pulled away just enough to reach for the coat he'd discarded before diving in. Dragging it towards them, he pulled it about her shoulders, eyes fixed firmly on the ground behind her while he did so, until she was covered. Despite that, though, she detected no trace of embarrassment on his face. His refusal to look at her was out of respect, rather than his own discomfort.

Once it was about her shoulders, he dipped his fingers beneath the collar, under her hair, and dragged it out from beneath the coat so that it wouldn't remain dripping down her back. As he did so, his own hands twitched against the back of her neck, proving he wasn't so calm as he might appear.

"Y-you should…it's your c-c-coat-"

One firm look silenced her suggestion. Then, however, his features softened, and he took one of her hands in his once more. When it trembled in his grasp, but she didn't pull away, he paused. She expected him to return to their little guided breathing exercise, but instead he lingered a moment, smoothing his thumb across her knuckles. Then, before she could react, he brought it back to his chest, and they breathed.

They stayed out there on their cliff for what felt like mere minutes, as well as an eternity. But soon, as their ability to piece thoughts together in a coherent manner, it became obvious that they had to move if they didn't want to be seen – because being seen would lead to having to answer questions. Theo got the sense that he was in as much of a mood as she was for an interrogation.

As he retrieved her Docs from the beach, she slowly and shakily rose to her feet, pulling the coat tightly around herself and trying to stop her teeth from chattering. When he returned, they walked in a silence that was more dazed than uncomfortable, although he did frequently turn his head to take stock of her, visibly fighting back any offers he might've been tempted to make that would see him carrying her back to Elizabeth's home.

Only when they reached a garden path that was very much not the gates to the Swanns' mansion did she pause, no longer mindlessly following him.

"Your house," she said, her throat dry and words raspy.

"I cannot send you back to sit, alone, in the Governor's mansion after this."

The fact that he knew her well enough to know she'd return and do just that – sit alone, refusing to wake anybody or discuss what had happened – sent a pang through her. Although a pang of what, she couldn't quite place. So she nodded silently, and followed him into his house.

Something about stepping into a house, any house, made everything real. Or, at least, it brought reality back, making all that had occurred that night feel like a strange nightmare that she was now in the process of waking up from.

And that made way for something she didn't expect. Awkwardness.

Evidently, she wasn't the only one feeling it, either. Beside her, James scraped his still-wet hair back from his face, appearing to find the first few steps of the staircase fascinating for a few moments, before he cleared his throat.

"Clothes."

"What?"

"Clothes. Dry ones. I shall…I shall find something for you to change into. If you would wait in the sitting room, the fire should not have died out – in fact…"

Had she not been warring with approximately five-hundred-and-seventy-four of her own emotions, she might've found it funny. How endearingly awkward he suddenly found himself being. Instead, she was just left finding it, well, endearing. She followed him into the sitting room, her boots dangling from one hand and his coat still hanging about her shoulders, and watched as he quickly and efficiently built the fire up enough to last them through to the year of her actual birth.

Then he left the room with all of the speed of someone being hunted for sport. Looking about her, she decided not to risk spoiling his furniture and huddled on the floor by the hearth instead, after depositing her boots in the corner.

Her brain still rebelled against most coherent thought, exhausted by what had happened while still feeling painfully on edge. As she sat, she brought her knees beneath her chin and curled her arms around her legs, almost as if she feared that the shark had decided to follow them onto dry land, and her limbs were still at risk.

When he returned, it was with a white bundle and a blanket, and he blinked when he found her on the floor.

"I didn't want to spoil the furniture," she said quietly.

Whether it was the responding look on his face that had her realising how ridiculous it sounded, or just hearing it out loud, she flushed and looked away.

"Hattie is abed, so I could not ask if she would lend you some of her clothing…"

She was relieved at that. He was doing a good job at pretending what had just happened wasn't as horrifying as it truly was, but she suspected his maid – or anybody else for that matter – would not achieve that feat so easily. If she had to speak to someone who appeared shocked or appalled by the whole thing just now, she'd risk losing her own composure.

"…so I had to select some of my own clothing. It's hardly ideal, but you should at least be warm and, er, decent…"

Theo nodded slowly, wishing she had any idea what to say. Even Miss Manners herself would've been hard-pressed to write down what the exact etiquette for circumstances like these were.

"Thank you," she said – and that would have to do.

"It's no matter. I can…I can fetch us tea. While you change. After I've done so myself."

"I'm all right, thanks."

It appeared the offer was as much to give himself something to do as anything else, seeing as he winced and then replied.

"Whisky?"

"God, yes. Please."

That did a little to break the ice. He smiled tiredly, nodded, and took his leave. Theo rose shakily to her feet, and then paused for a few seconds – mostly to make sure she'd be able to remain standing. She felt a little lightheaded, but her knees held up. And she could at least be grateful that she was too shaken to feel the full brunt of the awkwardness just yet.

After closing the curtains – because the last thing either of them needed were rumours of her kicking about his sitting room in nothing but wide doe-eyes – she turned to what he'd brought. A nightshirt, and a thick blanket. The latter to offer her something resembling modesty rather than warmth, she suspected.

She peeled off the nightgown, and then her sports bra and denim shorts, breathing a sigh at the latter, because denim soaked in seawater was incredibly unforgiving. Parts of her thighs were already rubbed red raw and angry, but given the injuries she'd escaped on this night, she didn't really have it in her to sit and cry over something as minor as that.

Her saviour's height was a double-edged sword as far as the nightshirt was concerned – for while it fell well down to her shins, but this only meant that the chest fell scandalously low, having her looking like something out of a tediously racy period drama before she tightened up and tied the drawstrings there as much as possible. That took her a minute, too, her fingers clumsy and uncooperative.

By the time James returned, she was back on the floor, her clothing folded and set aside. He regarded the bundle with a flush; if she'd had her wits about her, she'd have hidden the shorts and bra underneath the nightgown. Still, the blanket was big enough for only her head and her hands to be visible, as well as her hair, which tumbled in damp waves down her back. Back home, this was the sort of look she'd go for if she was ready for a Netflix binge. But there was a strange sort of comfort to being in this state now. There were few comforts from home she had access to now, and while she doubted he was about to whip out a laptop and ask if she'd prefer Gilmore girls or Downton Abbey, it was something.

Then he presented the bottle of whisky, along with two glasses, and she decided she liked that far better than Netflix anyway.

He'd changed into a dry shirt and breeches, but his hair was still down, combed back from his face in a rather marvellous homage to the wet look. The whisky bottle and the glasses sat atop a tray, which also boasted a roll of bread with a thick golden crust, and a jar of what looked like jam.

At her confused blink, he explained.

"The sugar in the tea would have helped. This is…improvisation."

"You don't have to do this, you know."

"I want to do this," he said firmly.

"…Thank you."

"Please stop thanking me."

The weight of the request was lessened in how he kept up a swift pace of activity as he gave it. Carefully lowering himself to the patch on the floor opposite her, he set the tray between them, then opened the jar of jam, before turning his attention to the bottle.

He poured her glass first, and then one for himself. Theo downed hers in one, only realising he was doing the same when she set her empty one down again. He caught her eye, coming to the same realisation, and there was a moment where – god help them – they snickered. He didn't even lock up afterwards, as she'd expected. Instead, he poured them another helping each.

This time, she made no move to take up the glass again. The only way this night could get more mortifying would be if he had to carry her back to the Swann's mansion because she got too pissed to walk. Instead, she cleared her throat, lowering her gaze.

"I thought they only hunted at dusk and dawn," she explained weakly.

"I believe your knowledge refers primarily to great whites. The one we encountered tonight looked to be a tiger shark. They swim inland at night, in order to hunt."

There was no reproach in his voice. Merely factual observation.

"…Oh."

The one we encountered. At this point, she was fairly certain she'd feel less shit about the whole situation if he'd stood on the shore and shouted encouragement at the shark. The only thing she knew about tiger sharks was that they were one of the most deadly, too. Her face paled further – her nose going numb for how quickly she could feel the blood rushing from her features.

"I'm…" she had to stop and clear her throat. "Captain Norrington, I'm so sorry."

"You're sorry?"

"My stupidity had you jumping between me and a tiger shark on the hunt tonight, obviously I'm sorry!"

"You did not ask me to jump into the water."

"I know-"

"In fact, I recall you rather vehemently insisting that I should not."

"But it didn't stop you!"

"Nothing could have stopped me, Theodora."

For a few seconds, Theo did nothing but stare at him. And he did nothing but stare back. Then, finally, she spoke.

"Of course you did."

Judging by his expression, there was no need for her to clarify that she was echoing his earlier words. Instead, he watched her. Intently.

"Of course you did," she repeated again, "because…because I live here, and you would do the same for any resident of Port Royal? As…as a duty…sort of…thing?"

Nobody could ever accuse her of being eloquent. As she spoke, James lowered his gaze to his lap, fiddling with the blanket he'd brought. Had she ever seen him fiddle before? Silence hung between them, and even though he wasn't looking at her, she could see the response formulating in his face. But then he did look at her, and it all fell away, leaving just one word.

"No."

Part of her – the part that didn't dare trust what was directly in front of her…along with the part that insisted this, every single bit of it, was a terrible idea – was tempted to start searching for more reasons why he might've done what he did. That he was a fan of grand gestures when it came to winning over the pals of the woman he actually was into. That he was practising for his Jackass audition a few centuries early. That he had a fetish for tiger sharks that hadn't made the final cut of any of the movies…although it would've made his stint on the Dutchman a more exciting time for him, if true.

All of those theories died when she saw, when she really saw, how he was looking at her. That was explanation enough.

"That you should sit here thinking it is you that owes me an apology…" he breathed a tired, humourless laugh, shaking his head.

"You saved my life tonight. I'm not exactly in a position to give you the cold shoulder."

"I don't wish for your forgiveness."

"…Oh."

God, but he was the most confusing bastard in this hemisphere and century both-

"No," he rushed to clarify. "I mean, I do wish for your forgiveness. I…I wish for it very much. But not on those terms. Not if it might only be bestowed because you think my actions tonight mean that I am owed it."

"Don't they?"

"They do not. The only reward I sought for what I did was your wellbeing. Your life. Had I been able to sleep tonight…had I not chosen to go walking…" he shook his head as if he hoped that doing so would shake him free of all of those perilous what ifs, "…I will not sit here and offer excuses and justifications for my behaviour that night, not least because you're hardly in much of a state to listen to them, but you must know that my intention was never to embarrass you."

It took Theo less time than he'd probably expected to accept that much from him.

"All right."

"All right?" he echoed disbelievingly.

"Petty crap like that never seemed like your kind of thing."

Which was partly why the move had sent her reeling to begin with. Too bone-tired to dress up her words in eighteenth century speak, she expected them to draw in at least an eyebrow raise, uncouth as her phrasing had been. Instead he huffed a laugh, smoothing a hand tiredly over his face.

"I'm not sure I deserve even that shred of good faith."

Feeling charitable – and mostly not having any heart for an argument – she stayed silent. He took that silence as an opportunity.

"Conversations such as this are hardly within my realm of comfort…" he admitted slowly.

"Crack a joke and avoid the situation, it works glowingly for me," she mumbled, taking a sip of her drink.

Apparently he wasn't content to give that a whirl.

"I am sorry, Theodora. Truly. For the pain and embarrassment that I caused you that night, and…"

He faltered then, pausing to clear his throat, the glow of the fire making it difficult to tell whether he was flushing or if it was just a trick of the light. Theo set her glass down on the tray between them – which he then slid aside, finally meeting her eye again.

"…and for giving you the impression that I do not enjoy your company. Greatly," as he spoke, she knew she already looked like she was doing her best owl impression, but he wasn't done. "If you wish to leave Port Royal, I will do all in my power to see it done…however, unfair as it might be for me to say…I have no desire to see you go."

Something that felt very much like adrenaline returned to her, pushing through the fatigue, but doing nothing to clear the fuzzy static from Theo's head as she stared at him in disbelief. Only after ten solid seconds of that staring did she accept that she really had heard him properly. And that she wasn't reading too far into his words. Because she'd given ample time for him to cough and clarify 'because if you don't, Elizabeth will be pissed off at me' or something along those lines.

When those ten seconds threatened to stretch into thirty, he bowed his head and took a swig of his own drink, having to reach for the tray where he'd pushed it aside. It was that sudden bashfulness that had Theo plucking up the courage to make a confession of her own.

"I've spent the last few weeks trying to rid myself of any feelings I had for you, and all the time beforehand denying completely that they even existed."

"Had?" he echoed, his face only just betraying a hint of downcast as he returned his glass to his tray.

"Does it matter?"

The weakness in her voice gave away that her use of the past tense hadn't been entirely accurate. Despite her best efforts, these last few weeks. Even before that, really, for every very good reason she'd listed to Elizabeth as to why she should not and could not get attached.

"Why would it not?" he asked.

"Because of the very beautiful, clever, brilliant, societally-approved woman up the hill who you'll soon be proposing to," she pointed out drily, before adding belatedly. "Or so I'd guess."

"That guess is mistaken," he replied, voice gentle.

When she stared at him then, he returned the gaze evenly…and softly…and hopefully.

Logic screamed at her to be dismayed. Because this changed everything. Not just on a personal level, but on a grand-scheme-of-things, world-ending, the plans-of-ancient-sea-goddesses scale. And that couldn't be good. Could it?

But Christ, she was tired. And scared. As well as lonely. And she was hearing that the man she had feelings for actually returned them – despite everything she'd been telling herself since her own feelings started to grow. It was difficult to know whether to laugh or cry. Ordinarily she'd have flat out refused to do either, but in her present state (and much to her own horror) she didn't have much say in the matter. So she did both.

A small mercy came in the fact that it wasn't extreme. She wasn't pissing herself with laughter while also sobbing herself into a fit of hyperventilation. No, her eyes misted up, and she breathed a few disbelieving laughs, but they were cut short when faced with the heart-rending sincerity on his face.

"Are you mad?" she asked. "Surely this is…this is what just happened talking, or…or…"

"I am thinking more clearly, as far as this matter is concerned, than I have in months," he insisted.

As he spoke, he leaned forward and clasped one of her hands in his, squeezing gently. The increased proximity that brought about seemed to dawn on him at the same time it did her, and he shifted as if tempted to back up – worried, maybe, that her decision to name him a madman had been a rejection.

But then Theo squeezed his hand back, and he shifted forward rather than back. At first he moved painstakingly slowly, as if to erase any doubt of his intention and leave her time to put an end to it. Instead, her eyes instinctively fluttered shut, one tear slipping down her face thanks to her earlier flurry of emotion, and then his lips were on hers.

By modern standards, the kiss was tame. His lips slotted over hers, one thumb coming up to wipe away the tear that had just fallen, but he did not deepen it – nor did he try to cop a feel, or move the kisses downwards, towards her jaw and neck. None of that surprised her. The way that it knocked her off her feet (or would have, if she'd been on them) did. A sign of the times or of the man, she didn't know, but the way she melted when he drew back a little, only to lose composure and kiss her again - like he was powerless but to do so - could not be ignored.

For it was so very, very dangerous. And she couldn't bring herself to care about that fact.