The next several days were spent lugging wood up the cliff for the signal fire. Rochelle did as much as she could, feeling proud to be able to accomplish as much as she did. Jack took the woven rope from their raft, using it to latch various pieces of driftwood together, and drug then up the hill without using his shoulder.

On the fourth day since they'd landed on their new island, they had their pyre completed, and the island better mapped. They hadn't found anything else from the shipwreck, but had located a banana tree, and several tuberous plants to add to their meals, and Rochelle had become quite proficient at fishing.

Jack's shoulder was getting better, he still had to be careful with his movements, but he had given up the sling. All in all things were well in hand, it was just a matter of waiting. The seeming ease of everything, and lack of communication over the kiss, made them both a little uneasy, as if they were waiting for the next disaster.

Frustrated and confused, Rochelle retreated to the pool to clean up. She washing her chemise as best she could, then left it to dry on a large rock in the sun, using the time to work the knots out of her hair and paddle around in the cool water.

Sighing, she dunked her head under the water, swimming toward the center of the pool. When she surfaced again she lie back, floating gently, her hair flowing around her in the water, eyes on the forest canopy.

The whir of the water in her ears made everything seem far away, the bird calls, the faint sounds of the forest. It was relaxing, and she felt at peace for the first time since she'd washed up on shore. Actually, since before she'd left London.

As it was she was hardly aware of the telltale sounds of approaching feet, or of a hand brushing back leaves and branches. She was aware though when Jack's voice rose, letting out a surprised curse.

"Oh Jesus God! I'm sorry!" he cried, and Rochelle lifted her head. She scrambled to gather her hair her, using it as a floating shield while she sank low enough for the water to brush her chin.

"Go away Jack!" she screeched. He had turned his back, one hand covering his eyes for good measure.

"I didn't know, you were gone for so long and I was calling your name."

"Well, what did you think I was doing? I told you I wanted a bath!" Her hair was drifting away from her body, and she panicked, scooping it back frantically while keeping herself submerged.

"You shouldn't have taken so long!" There was an edge of worry to his voice, and she might have felt bad, had she not been so mortified. Exactly how much had he seen?

She only dimly became aware that he was talking some more, sounding a bit more agitated. "... the food will spoil if you don't eat it, and I'm not saving it for you. Besides someone needs to go up to the cliff and check on everything."

"Then go!" she hollered at him. "I'll get my own meal. Just get out of here so I can get dressed!"

"Fine!" He dropped his hand and marched out of the clearing, thankfully not giving her another glance. Embarrassed and annoyed, Rochelle climbed out of the pool and laid on the grass, finding a bit of sunlight to help her dry before yanking on her chemise.

It was a short time later when she emerged on the beach to find the fire banked, and a few already cooked yuka left on a palm leaf.

She ate them quietly, still annoyed and not overly hungry. When she was finished, she sat a bit closer to the glowing embers of the fire, back turned, and started finger combing her hair so it would dry quicker.

When it was close to being dry, the raven locks falling to her waist in waves, Jack returned. He stopped outside the ring of the camp and stared. Rochelle could feel his eyes on her, and just as she looked up at him, he glanced away and sat down on the other side of the fire.

"Didn't see any ships," he said, tossing the spyglass into the open trunk. "But I did some thinking while I was up there, worked out a schedule."

He finally looked up and met her eyes. "To avoid anymore, uh, accidents."

"That seems fair." She turned around to face the coals, flinging her hair over her shoulder in an arc.

"I figure in the mornings you have the pond for an hour, and I'll use it in the evenings. We'll carry on like we have been for everything else, still scouting the island for food, fishing, and checking for ships."

"That works for me."

And it did, both of them were fine with the schedule, but without the need for constant work the days grew tedious and annoying and started to take its toll on them; arguing and bickering more than ever.

It was three days after they had decided on a schedule for the pond, and Rochelle was searching for their dinner. They'd managed to collect a few mussels from the deeper rock pools near the cliff, and Jack had caught a snapper before going for his bath. Rochelle was searching for yuka when she tripped over a tree root hidden under fallen leaves, and fell through the brush. Scrambling to her feet, shoving back her hair and grimacing at the twigs stuck in it, she found herself staring at tree trunk she'd never seen before, the bark was different.

She looked up and squealed in delight; above her were branches loaded with small green orbs. Quickly she found a knot in the trunk, and shimmied up the tree. She reached out slowly and plunked a lime from a branch.

Without even waiting to get back on the ground again, she bit into it, tearing the skin with her teeth and spitting it out. The flesh was sour, but pleasantly so and she knew it would be healthy. The last thing either of them needed was to get scurvy.

She ate the lime quickly, discarding the peel. Rochelle made a basket with her chemise and picked several more of the fruit. When she was satisfied with her haul, she carefully made her way back to camp, marking the way as she went.

Disposing of the limes into the trunk to keep them safe, she went to the pond to tell Jack the good news. Before she broke through the clearing she called out, alerting him to her presence.

"Give me a moment!" he called back.

Rochelle crept forward, eyes downcast. She stopped near a large palm leaf that blocked the pond from the path they'd made. She could her splashing on the other side.

Feeling bold, and more than a little curious, she leaned to one side and carefully inched the leaf back a fraction, peering through a gap. Jack had just climbed out of the water, his back turned toward her.

Water ran down from his sodden hair, running over his toned back and down the swell of his equally toned backside. He shook his head, sending droplets of water flying. Leaning just slightly, he reached up to tousle his hair, sending more droplets flying.

When he was satisfied with his hair being dry enough, he reached over head, stretching. Her eyes traced the way his muscles bunched, his shoulder blades drawing together as he slowly lowered his arms, muscular and strong.

Rochelle knew she should turn away, but a part of her thought it was only fair after he had undoubtedly seen a good bit of her. She bit her lip and continued to watch him. However, he was starting to turn now, to retrieve his clothes from behind him.

She gasped and straightened up, letting go of the leaf just before he twisted around completely. She cursed herself for making a noise, and for the sudden movement; she could only pray that he hadn't noticed anything while she waited for him to dress.

After what seemed like a lifetime, Jack's shadow fell over her as he brushed back the palm. He smiled at her, light and genuine as always. "Now, what is this fuss about? What did you see?"

"I just..." she stared up at him, hoping her face wasn't turning red as her gaze fell to his chest, slightly exposed, and suddenly thought of how well developed he was, and how his smooth his bronzed skin looked. She swallowed and looked up at his smiling face. "I found a lime tree!" she declared.

###

Two excruciating days passed. Rochelle could barely look at Jack without having the strong urge to kiss him, and sleeping next to him made her overly warm and on edge. He hadn't brought up the kiss, his accidental glimpse of her, or her intentional glimpse of him – she would bet money that he knew.

Of course she didn't bring it up either.

She wondered how much of his past flirting had been teasing. She found she didn't like the thought that any of it had been insincere, and that set her edge even more.

They were combing the beach again, after a particularly high tide in hopes of finding more wreckage. The day was cooler than it had been, the sky overcast. Rochelle was mostly lost to her thoughts, her eyes unfocused as she walked, and she only came to herself when she heard Jack laughing.

Looking up, she found him rolling a barrel up the beach, his pants wet from fetching it out of the ocean. He stopped near her, scooping out a small trench with his foot so it wouldn't roll away.

"Would've done well to have this when you set my shoulder." He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

"Is that rum?"

"Sure is. Has the cook's mark right there." He nodded to the top of the barrel.

"Oh, my." She stared at it for a moment. "Oh! We can use it for the pyre, it would make good fuel, wouldn't it? Make it burn brighter, easier to see if a ship passed."

Jack sucked his teeth, looking at the horizon; a storm was brewing. He turned back toward her, lips a thin line. "I don't think we should. It has other uses."

"Jack!" she gasped. "You can't mean to drink it?"

"No, princess. I mean that if anything happens, a wound or something, it can help fight infections."

"But we're safe, we've been safe. I think it would be better to use it to hopefully get off this island, rather than worrying if we're here for ages."

"We haven't been 'safe', we've been lucky!" Jack sigh loudly, shoulders tense. "Something could happen, we can't predict anything. Look at my shoulder, what if I had broken my arm?"

"We have fresh, clean water, surely that helps? The fire should be our first priority."

"No, Rochelle!" He slapped the barrel for emphasis.

She narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms tightly. "Just because you've grown up on the sea, doesn't mean you get the final say. My opinions are just as valid as yours, I am not stupid!"

"I'm not saying you're stupid!" They were now close together, voices raised, and she wasn't sure how that had happened.

"Well, it certainly feels that way!"

"All I'm saying is that having alcohol on hand could be the difference between saving a limb and losing one. But you wouldn't know about that, would you?" He sneered, completely riled. "You haven't had to fight a man on the table while the physician went to get the bone saw. You think setting my shoulder was ugly and painful? I can tell you holding a man down while he loses an arm is a hundred times worse, and that's not about to happen to you!"

He face was inches from hers, eyes hot and breath ragged. Rochelle opened her mouth to reply, but a crash of thunder drowned out her words. They both jumped, and the sky opened up, dumping a deluge upon them.

The wind came next, so strong, it picked up Rochelle's sodden hair and slapped it against her face. Jack motioned for her to get back to camp while he dealt with the rum barrel.

Rochelle obeyed him, racing back to the sanctuary of the trees and their lean-to. Even with the quick dash, she was still soaked to the bone. Shivering, their banked fire long since drowned, she watched as Jack rolled the barrel into the camp, stopping it by the trunk for protection. In a moment he was huddled next to her, just as soaked.

They hunkered down together behind the lean-to, using it as a shield against the chill wind coming off the water. It had been early afternoon when the rain started, but with the storm the world plunged into twilight, broken only by claps of sheet lightning.

As the time passed, the storm never lessening, Rochelle tried several times to engage Jack, but he only shrugged her off, stoically refusing to look at her. Giving up, Rochelle shivered violently when a droplet of water rolled down her back, her entire body shaking with it.

Jack seemed to take notice of that and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her flush against his side. She found herself burrowing a bit closer, thankful for his warmth, but painfully aware of the way his shirt was plastered to his body, the wiry strength coiled in his arm.

"Are you still mad?" she asked after another moment of silence. "I'm sorry I'm turned it into a fight. But you made me feel like a child, and I didn't care for it. I've spent so much of my life having my thoughts and concerns brushed aside, you'd never done that before."

"I'm not mad," he said softly, the words almost lost next to the howl of the wind. "I never meant to treat you like a child, because you are not a child. I am more than aware of that, believe me."

She shifted just enough to look at his face, stony and serious, eyes focused on the waves crashing below them. "If you're not angry, then why won't you look at me?"

"Like you said, this isn't the right time; doubtful it ever will be, seeing as I'm no gentleman and you're a lady." He stopped and swallowed, jaw clenching. "But you're enough to test anyone's patience, that's why I think it best I don't look at you when your chemise is soaked through and I can see every curve like that day at the pond."

"Do you mean that?"

"Mean what?"

"Any of it... all of it."

Jack heaved a sigh and finally looked at her, resolutely meeting her eyes. "You know you're beautiful." He paused, licked his lips. "But it's more than that... so much more."

She could scarcely breathe, couldn't look away.

"I teased you because that's my way, and I didn't think it meant anything... at least to you. Now I'm not so sure, but the fact of the matter is that you're a lady and I'm a criminal, and nothing will ever change that."

"But you're a good man."

He snorted, bitter. "How do you figure that?"

"Because in my experience having titles and land and money does nothing more than make you an insufferable prig, but you are a good person. Your actions speak louder than any title ever could."

"Then I'll continue to keep my actions to myself." He let her go and looked away, knees bent slightly, elbows resting on top.

"Jack–" Rochelle cut herself off, biting her lip. Not exactly certain what she was doing, only going by a faint voice in the back of her mind, Rochelle turned and knocked Jack's arm aside, throwing one leg over his lap. She placed his hand on her waist and met his shocked gaze.

"Rochelle, what are you doing?"

"What we both want, but you won't do."

"You don't mean that... you said yourself things are confused. I didn't say any of that to coerce you... I would never. God, Rochelle, I would never, ever force anything." He creased his brows in worry.

"I know." She reached up, placed her hands on either side of his face. "Jack? Do you care about me?"

"Yes, so much it scares me." His voice was soft, almost reverent, and she watched his eyes dip down to her lips. She smiled.

"I care about you, too." She leaned in closer, until she could see the flecks of gold in his eyes, feel his breath on her chin. "I think I have ever since you turned up with oranges from the stores."

"I knew I fancied the moment you stepped on ship and glared at me; you're not one to back down, you have too much fire in you."

"Jack?" They were closer now, lips almost touching as she spoke.

"Aye?"

"Be quiet."

###

Dawn the following morning was clear and quiet, the air thick and heavy from the rain. It was barely light when Rochelle opened her eyes, she was splayed across Jack's chest, gently rising and falling with his every breath.

Turning her head, she propped her chin on the back of her hand and watched him while he slept, biting her lip to fight a grin, her stomach fluttering in a giddy sort of way. Her gaze drifted over his face, noting the way his lips curled in a contented smile. His hair, bleached nearly white from his days in the sun, looked more like burnished gold in the early morning light.

He shifted a bit in his sleep, and she shivered when his hand slipped from her shoulder to the small of her back; she realized that they were in nearly the same position they had fallen asleep in. She could no longer hold back her grin.

Rochelle had expected things to be awkward, all of her knowledge coming from the whispered titters of her classmates at finishing school... and that one terrible French novella. But it hadn't been, not even close.

With that thought, she realized that while she liked watching him sleep, enjoying how boyish and peaceful he looked, she wanted him to wake up. As if he had heard her thoughts, Jack drew in a sharp breath through his nose, chest puffing, and let it out slowly, tickling her face.

Jack lifted his left hand and rubbed his eyes; scrubbing his face while he yawned. He blinked a couple of times, staring at the leaves above them, before lifting his head to look at her. He propped his arm behind neck and grinned at her.

Rochelle returned the smile and giggled.

"What are you laughing at?" The hand still spread across her back moved, tickling her side.

"I don't know?" She giggled again.

"As long as you're not laughing at me." He closed his eyes again, lips twitching.

"I would never." She paused. "At least not to your face." Rochelle shimmied up his chest a few inches until her lips were nearly touching his, "it's too handsome of a face to be laughed at."

He opened one bright blue eye, brow quirked. "Is that so?"

"'Tis." She grinned before kissing him.

The kiss was slow, languid, and Rochelle braced her hands on either side of Jack's head, fingers sinking in the sand as his ranked up and down her body; the rough calluses raising gooseflesh on her back.

His arms circled her waist as he rocked to one side, using his weight and the momentum to roll them until he was hovering over her. He rested his forearms on the ground by her head and placed his knee between her legs, bracing himself to his weight didn't crush her. As it was she was most definitely trapped.

"Shouldn't we go check on the signal?" she suggested lightly, looking up at him blandly.

"That's not much fun." He grinned before dipping his head toward her neck. "This is, though," he muttered, punctuating each word with a kiss along her neck and shoulder.

Rochelle hooked her leg around his hip, and gripped his face, bringing his mouth to hers. "I suppose it can wait for a while."

"I thought you might see things my way." He laughed before kissing her again.

###

The boredom that had crept in without the need for urgent work, the maddening tedium of the long days, had been broken. Words flowed and their hands explored, learning about each other in the most intimate of ways. They spent evenings curled by the fire, Rochelle singing finishing school songs, and Jack teaching her all the constellations.

It was the third morning since the storm, they were breaking their fast before going about the chores of the day; checking the signal fire, gathering wood for it and their own camp, fishing and searching for food. Between all that would be stolen kisses, playful fights, and love making.

Rochelle banked the fire and knelt behind Jack, arms wrapping around his waist, her chin propped atop his shoulder.

"Do you remember when you wanted to come to this island and I was worried. You said we might find paradise."

"Aye?" Jack craned his neck, eyeing her.

She pressed a kiss against his bare skin and smiled. "You might have been right."

He laughed, a little forced, and Rochelle pulled back a bit to look at his face. He only smiled, trying to look bright. "We've found paradise, hm? Even with a lecherous scoundrel like myself?"

The words were said lightly, but the corners of his eyes were pinched. "Are you worried about us?" Rochelle frowned. "Do you regret it?"

"No." He shook his head and cupped her cheek. "Believe me when I say this, with us, is the best thing to ever happen in my life. However, having already been on the wrong side of the Commodore, I'm not sure he'll take lightly to the fact I've ruined his daughter."

"What my father doesn't know won't hurt him."

"That's the other problem, isn't it?" Jack dropped his hand, untangling himself from her and stood. "We leave the island and then I'm back to an ex-pirate and you a lady, the Commodore's daughter."

"Is that what you think? We leave here and this ends?"

"It will, though, Rochelle. You'll be under your father's eye, and he won't let you have anything to do with me. If he ever found out about everything here... I'd be hanged."

Rochelle shot to her feet, indignation surging through her. "I won't let that happen. I won't let my father... it won't happen, Jack. It can't happen. I don't want it... I want you." And she did, in every way that counted. She wanted him, always.

Jack wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, and Rochelle tucked her head under his chin. "I want you, too," he whispered, breath rustling the hairs atop her head. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything, but things will be different when we leave here."

"What if we never leave?" she whispered, hugging him a bit tighter.

He chuckled. "While being with you might be paradise, this island is not. One day we will leave."

"And when that day comes, I'll tell my father off."

"I don't doubt it." He kissed her forehead, lingering for a moment before pulling back. "Right, why don't you go check on the signal, and I'll see I can't find some mussels for supper."

Rochelle nodded, watched him walk down the beach before turning and heading up the cliff; grabbing the spyglass from where it hung on a branch.

The walk up the cliff was effortless now, the path worn and easy to follow, her legs used to the climb. Coming level with the top, she found the signal fire still burning; she added several pieces of dried wood, stoking the flames until they roared up over head before dying down again.

Moving closer to the edge of the cliff, the fire to her back, she fitted the spyglass to her eye and started searching the seemingly endless horizon. Rochelle slowly trailed over the expanse of water, not wanting to miss anything.

She lowered the spyglass, blinked a couple of times, and continued her search. At first she thought it was a cloud, light and fluffy. She blinked again. This time she realized what it was; the telltale sails of a first rate ship.

Rochelle squealed in delight and dropped the spyglass. She flung the rest of the wood onto the pyre, making it grow higher and higher. Then she raced to the side, looking over the edge until she could make out the pools below, knowing Jack was there.

"Jack!" she shrieked. "A ship!"

Before there could be any reply, or to even check that he wasn't underwater, Rochelle started racing down the cliff. She was laughing and giddily calling Jack's name while she ran. She was close to the bottom of the incline, where it bled into the sandy beach, when her foot caught on a vine stretching across the path.

Her ankle twisted, knee buckling and she went crashing to the ground, crying out in surprise. Rochelle turned to land on a pile of fallen palm leaves and husks, hoping to keep from scraping herself on the rocky cliff side. As she landed, her side taking the brunt of her fall, her head cracked painfully against something hard. Her vision swam, eyes watering from the pain in her ankle and her head. She blinked, tried to sit up, but the world was spinning and her vision darkened around the edges. The last thing Rochelle was aware of before she fainted was Jack calling her name, voice bordering on hysterical, and his warm hands on her forehead and lower back.

When she came to again she wasn't quite sure where she was. It wasn't where she'd fallen, she wasn't even sure it was their camp. Whatever was underneath her was soft, cushioning her in a pleasant way, yet she also felt as if she were floating, warm and tingly.

Rochelle wanted to open her eyes, but it was too much effort and she was so very tired. But warm, and everything seemed very pleasant. Very pleasant indeed. She took a deep breath, and snuggled a bit deeper into the blankets. Blankets? Yes, she was in a bed. How strange. The floating feeling was still there, but as she lie there she started to become more aware of a rocking sensation, the gentle roll of a ship as it coursed through the waves.

A door opened, rather forcefully and a voice spoke – Captain Smithson! – "I'm sorry sir, I tried to stop him."

"It's fine, captain," another voice... this one wasn't familiar, yet she knew it. Her father. There was a pause, shuffling feet and the door closed. Her father spoke again. "Well, Mr...?"

"Jack is fine, sir."

Now she wanted nothing more than to open her eyes, but she couldn't. She wanted to sleep. Oh, sleep would be heavenly right now... but Jack. Jack was there. She wanted to see Jack.

"Jack. Alright, and what might I do for you?"

"With all due respect, sir, I have been sequestered in the physician's quarters since you brought us on board."

"Yes, I'm aware. To recover, you've been under a lot of stress... a bit malnourished–"

"I am perfectly well, thank you for your concern." She knew Jack well enough to note the sarcasm in his words.

"I have asked after Miss Hawthorne's health without so much as a sideways glance from the physician, or anyone else I've posed the question to. While I understand under normal circumstance this would not be any of my business, I feel that after nearly a month of doing everything within my power to keep her alive that I am somewhat entitled to know what her condition is. Sir." The word was added with such contempt, such barely suppressed ire, that the fog clouding Rochelle's mind cleared enough for her to wonder if her father might throw him in the brig.

As it was her father snorted, and a chair creaked to her right. "Rochelle is doing well. She has a bump on her head and a broken ankle, but it was a clean break and the doctor believes it will heal on its own. He's given her laudanum for the pain; she's been resting."

There was another pause, lulling Rochelle, and she would have given into the oblivion of sleep had her father not spoken, rousing her again.

"You were worried."

"Yes, sir. No one would tell me anything, and she had hit her head..." Jack's voice grew soft, and she strained to hear it. "I thought the worst."

"Mmm," her father hummed. "The unknown is the worst, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is." Jack took in a sharp breath. "May I? Then I'll go ask the captain if I can be of use."

"I don't see why not."

She had no idea what was happening, but then she felt Jack growing close and the bed sank a bit as he leaned over, his breath tickling her cheek. "I told you it would be alright. We made it. Together."

Rochelle fought to open her eyes, desperate to see his face, to prove to him she truly was well. She managed to blearily blink them open for a second, just long enough to meet a pair of bright blue eyes, as clear as the ocean surrounding their island. She smiled, eyes fluttering closed as she drifted back to sleep.

###

Rochelle thought she might go mad. She'd been put on bed rest upon her arrival at her father's estate, which she had agreed with at first; her ankle was broken. But this was bordering on the ridiculous, a month was more than enough time to heal. She'd survived on a bloody island for heaven's sake, she was not a delicate little miss.

However, she was still stuck in her room. It was a grand room, to be sure; whitewashed walls, beautiful wicker furniture, a large wardrobe stuffed full of new dresses, and an ornate bed that was more comfortable than her old one in London.

One wall was taken up on large bay windows with a reading nook, and French double doors that opened onto a balcony. From her position on the bed she could see Charlestown sprawling down to the sea, her father's estate situated atop a hill like a beacon. When she was on the balcony she could make out the port, watch as ship came and went, wondering if Jack was on one.

He had not come to visit, indeed she had not heard a word from him or about him since she'd been on board the rescue ship. The lack of news angered her to the point where she barely spoke to her father, though the man was busy and hardly noticed. The maids and butlers did though.

It was breakfast time, and one of the maids entered her room with a tray. Rochelle turned, watching the young woman place it on the table next to the bed.

"I wish to see my father," she said.

"Alright, miss. I'll tell him you wish to speak with him, I'm sure he'll be up after he's eaten and checked–"

"No." Rochelle shook her head. "I will go to him."

"But you're on bed rest, miss."

"I'm fine. Ready a bath, I'll wear the new lavender dress." Rochelle looked up, caught the other woman's eye. "Please. Truly, I am well enough to go downstairs and see my father."

"Very well, miss." The maid nodded. "You eat and I'll draw a bath."

She reached out, squeezed the maid's hand. "Thank you."

Mid-morning had Rochelle knocking on her father's office door. Her ankle was sore, she had used a parasol in place of cane to be careful of the stairs, refusing help from any of her father's employees, wishing to do it on her own, but she had made it.

Her father's voice sounded on the other side, granting her entrance. She was delighted at his surprise when he looked up and found her standing there.

"Rochelle! You should be resting."

"I've rested enough, father." She walked into the room, taking a seat primly in the chair before his desk. She arranged the skirts of her dress, fiddled with the white lace lining the sleeves that reached to her elbow.

"Where's Jack?" she asked, breaking the short silence that had fallen over them.

"Ah, yes. Mr. Greene." She quirked an eyebrow, silently urging her father to continue. "We decided upon that when he enlisted with the Navy."

"When he what?"

"He has been pardoned for his past... dealings. With a clean slate, I urged him to join the Navy."

"Ordered him, you mean." She pursed her lips, trying to quell her anger, sure this was his way of ensuring she never saw Jack again.

"It was a fine deal. He was pardoned as a criminal and ex-pirate, and already promoted to a Sub-Lieutenant. I believe he'll have a promising career ahead of him." Her father leaned back in his chair, seeming rather pleased with himself.

Rochelle glared at him. "A fine deal, indeed," she snorted. "All this to keep him away from me. He is my friend, father. He's saved my life more times than I can count!"

"Exactly, and for that I am eternally grateful, which is why he's been afforded these opportunities."

"You didn't even let him see me."

"I did, he spoke to you on the way home. After we arrived here he and I had a long chat, and he came to see things my way."

"And it's always your way, isn't it?" Rochelle stood, looking down her nose at him. "I wasn't in my right mind when I saw him. I should at least have the right to say goodbye to him... to thank him for everything."

"You may write him. He did leave a letter for you."

"And you haven't given it to me!?"

"It only arrived today. The lad has been rather busy settling in before his ship launched." Her father reached out, picking up a sealed envelope from his desk.

Rochelle snatched it from his hands, still glaring. "Did you read it?"

"No."

"Good." She turned on her heel and started to leave, back straight.

"What does he mean to you, Rochelle? Honestly."

She turned back and met her father's gaze straight on. "Everything."

She left without another word, hobbling up the stairs to her room as quickly as she could. Once she was away from prying eyes, she flopped onto her bed and broke the seal. Jack's penmanship was neater than she would have guessed, but she knew he was educated. He wrote with a strong hand, sure, and just a bit of a flare to it. It was like him; confident and teasing.

I'm sorry, Rochelle.

I know that isn't enough, but I truly am. I'm sorry to be writing this letter, I'm sorry I can't see your face. Most of all I'm sorry this is goodbye.

I'm sure you're angry with your father, I won't tell you not to be... I'll just say that I understand, and I wish I had been wrong that day on the beach.

I wish a lot of things.

I love you, Rochelle. It's selfish of me to say that now; I should have said it when I had the chance, told you that every day we were on the blighted island. I'm sorry for that too.

But I do I love you, and I always will.

- Jack.

"Stupid, insufferable man!" she rolled her eyes despite the warmth swelling inside her chest at his words. "Well," she muttered to herself after a moment. "These blasted men want to decide my life? We'll just see about that!"

###

Jack found it utterly bizarre to be wearing a Naval uniform. Stranger still to be saluted as a commissioned officer.

A few days from port, on their way to Antigua for their new station, he found himself with a break in his duties. The ship he was on was a behemoth gunship, slow and made for warfare, captained by his old friend Mr. Smithson. From Antigua they would be going after pirates, Jack thought it some joke on the Commodore's part.

Standing on the quarterdeck, looking down at the bubbling sea below, he was reminded of a day when he'd been in similar position, offering Rochelle an orange, and turned away. She had not left his mind since his arrival in Charlestown. He was thankful she was alright, would continue to be safe and sound. That didn't make leaving any easier.

Deciding he would pass his time below deck, possibly reading or helping the surgeon take stock; something that would hopefully occupy his mind. He'd made it down the steps, blinking to adjust his eyes to the sudden darkness of the hold, when a commotion from the crows nest caught his attention.

He paused, straining to hear. "Messenger ship coming up the stern!"

That was strange, he thought. Apparently so did several others as he found a gaggle of men milling about when he returned topside.

"What do you see?" Smithson called.

"It's one of ours, sir. Looks to be in a hurry!" The young man in the crows nest called.

"Drop the sails, try to hold position. I want to see if they've a message for us."

It was scarcely an hour later when the smaller vessel stopped on their port side, requesting permission for a boarding party. The men were put to work, securing lines and bringing out the gangway.

Jack was back on duty, checking course with the helmsman and didn't pay much attention to the goings on below. But soon there was a rustle in the crew, a tittering wave of gossiping whispers like a bunch of old ninnies.

"What is it?" One of the cabin boys asked from the steps leading to the lower deck, trying to crane his neck to see.

"A woman!" another boy hissed. "Most beautiful woman I've ever seen... I think I'm in love."

Jack turned, his heart thrumming in his chest. He shouldn't hope – it couldn't be. Though he couldn't think of another woman would commandeer a naval ship, for surely that is what had happened.

He excused himself from the helmsman, who was only half-listening as it was, and pushed past the young men crowding the steps. Shoving his way through the throng of men, he finally caught sight of the woman at the center of all the fuss.

Standing primly in a moss green dress, raven hair pulled back in a low bun, and a small veiled hat sat jaunty atop her head was Rochelle. In her hands was a closed parasol that she thumped against the planks, resting both hands on the handle. She looked at the men around as if she were an angry school teacher, trying to find which of the lads had disrupted her lecture.

Though her ire wasn't what he took note of; her face was fuller again, the dark tan fading back to her normal pallor, cheeks rosy and fresh. Her hair had a glossy sheen under the noonday sun, and her eyes were focused, bright. His chest ached at the sight of her.

"I am looking for Sub-Lieutenant Jack Greene." Her voice rose over the din of chatter, effectively silencing the crew. Several men stepped back, allowing Rochelle a clear line of sight, and all eyes turned toward Jack.

He straightened like a proper officer, heels together and shoulders back. "At your service, marm."

There was a moment where they stood staring at each other, he doubted anyone else noticed the small hitch in her breath when she first caught sight of him. He wondered if she only saw the uniform or if she was noting other changes in him, like he had her. Finally Rochelle forced herself into action, all but stomping up to him. In heeled shoes the top of her head came level with his nose, rather than brushing his chin. She tilted her head back and looked at him. He kept his head lifted, as if undergoing inspection from a senior officer.

"You left without saying goodbye," she said, voice softer now.

He glanced down, meeting her eyes. "Didn't have much say in the matter."

"See, that's the problem. You had a little say, I think. I had absolutely no choice, and I am very cross about it."

"So I see." His lips twitched. Rochelle glared.

"The fact of the matter is that I am a grown woman; I have survived a disastrous shipwreck and nearly a month on a deserted island. I have become quite headstrong and stubborn."

Now he laughed, teasing. "You always were."

"Don't interrupt me, I am making a point." She waggled a finger at him for emphasis. "After going through these trials I am determined to live my life as I see fit, and not have it governed by anyone but myself. I made my father see the errors of his ways for deciding things on my behalf."

"Should I be worried?" he wanted to keep it light, uncertain of what she would say or do. He wasn't sure he could handle any type of rejection on her part.

"You are a right ass!" She shoved him, forcing him to reel back a step. "I made my choice weeks ago, you know I did! Father says I'm allowed to stay in Antigua while you finish out your post assignment. After that you and I will return to Charlestown."

He could hardly believe what he was hearing, wondering how she managed such a thing. "He's leaving you unattended with an ex-pirate?"

"Not an ex-pirate. A Sub-Lieutenant in the Royal Navy, whom I am in love with. But I do have a letter from father for Mr. Smithson, hoping he will keep an eye on me."

"Oh." Jack let out his breath in a whoosh.

"I believe this would be the point where you kiss the girl, Mr. Greene," Smithson called. "I'll even turn my back so I won't have to lie to her father about untoward relations between the pair of you." And he did just that, even so much as barking an order to the crew.

Afforded a small piece of privacy, Jack looked down at Rochelle. "I only–"

"Jack?"

"Aye?"

"Be quiet!" Rochelle gripped his lapels and yanked him down for a kiss.