At World's Beginning

The Terrible Heart

James gripped Ona tightly and concentrated as hard as possible as the churning, grey seawater raced to meet them.

In an instant, their surroundings shifted. And instead of plunging into the ocean, they collided with the wooden deck of a ship.

James took most of the blow, landing hard on his back as Ona fell on his chest, knocking the wind out of him. She rolled off of him in one fluid motion, already on her knees and frantically taking in their surroundings with the dirk in hand. She held it defensively as if waiting for an impending attack. James was still trying to catch his breath.

He turned his head, noted the tarnished, dark wood of deck, and cursed.

"The Flying Dutchman," Ona observed grimly. They seemed to be in the fo'c'sle, if the swinging, mossy hammocks were anything to go by, which was a bit of luck since it stood empty in the midst of battle.

"I was actually... aiming for the Empress," James spoke, wincing as he tried to pull himself into a sitting position. "I suppose I need more practice," he added with a wry half-smile. The effort of using such a bizarre method of travel, coupled with his graceless landing, left him aching and breathless.

Ona pocketed the dirk and moved to kneel at his side, helping him sit up the rest of the way and lean against the hull. Her observant eyes caught what he had yet to realize.

"You've overexerted yourself."

James watched as she shrugged off his thick coat and held it out to him. He was about to protest when she added, "It's too large and cumbersome for me to wear in a fight."

He eyed his suspiciously, not liking the sound of that, but he took the coat without protest.

"It belongs to you, anyway," she added quietly, not quite able to meet his eye. "I shouldn't have had it to begin with."

"Well," he responded with a quick raise of his brows, "I appreciate that you kept it safe. I had not expected to see it again, to be honest."

I hadn't expected to see you again, either, he thought, taking the moment to really look at her. Ona's hair, normally the color of straw but now a deep gold shade, was still drenched from the rain, and her eyes looked tired and worn. Other than that, she appeared in better health than he could have hoped.

Yes, he was far more gladdened about that than the return of his coat, but he didn't say it aloud, knowing it would be far too familiar. They may have been imprisoned together, tortured together, and narrowly escaped impending doom together, but that didn't mean decorum was thrown out with the bathwater. Boundaries existed for a reason.

James slipped his arms through the sleeves and pulled it up over his shoulders, giving an involuntary sigh of relief. The inside of his coat was still warm, and while he tried not to blush at the knowledge of why that was so, he couldn't deny it surrounded him with an odd comfort that made him want to forget about this whole affair. No more Beckett, no more Jones, and no more bloody pirates. He was exhausted and wanted to sleep for about three days straight.

"I could try one more time," he said, closing his eyes and resting the back of his head against the hull. "Perhaps I can get us out of this mad storm and somewhere marginally safer. Preferably away from the battlefield."

"What you need to do is rest," she admonished him flatly. He almost smiled, but the gesture died before it was born. There was a question he was avoiding. A large, unspoken thing that hovered like a ghost between them, and there was only one way to rid themselves of this phantom.

"Ona..." he said, trying not to let his trepidation leech into his words. "That story you told. It wasn't... true. You only told it to Beckett so it would frighten the men."