"I don't know what to do," Garren murmured, sitting in the Captain's cabin. He watched the shadow of the oil lamp flicker across his father's bearded face, hoping those wise eyes held some answer for him. "She won't even sleep anymore."

The captain shook his great head. "There is little you can do," he said, and an old ghost from his past deepened the weathered lines in his face. "She is like your mother. They both had a strong will, great heart, and a mighty powerful grief."

Garren looked down at the cracked wood of the table, and drew his mug of mead closer to him, listening to the storm break outside.

"Some things just have to be let go," His father said, voice gruff with emotion.

"I'll never let her go." Garren answered.

Garren left an hour later, staggering slightly only because the entire ship was rocking so violently. Still, if it weren't for the mead he would have been walking unfalteringly. Yet even that slight cushion on reality was ripped away when he reached his cabin to find its door banging against the wall and Maraea nowhere to be found. The grogginess gone, he whirled around and sprinted out on deck with a certainty she was there.

The rain was coming down in such sheets he could see only two feet from his face. He was almost instantly drenched by the icy, stinging pellets.

"Maraea!" he called, without any hope of her hearing. He could only dimly hear the voice of a man two yards away, screaming something about the sail at the top of his voice, and Maraea had not responded to anything Garren had said in two days. On a hunch he staggered across the pitching and slippery deck, only to find Maraea's post deserted. Wheeling around, he was slapped in the face by the spray of a wave that came over the railing and made the slick wood beneath his feet even more dangerous. Really worried now, knowing that in her state she could not withstand these conditions, he screamed her name again. Adrenaline coursed through his body and he forgot the cold and the treacherous footing. Noticing only the rain, which prohibited his spotting Maraea, he scoured the deck for her. He was beginning to panic when he caught a glimpse of a still, dark figure several feet away and clinging to the railing with what he was sure were fingers frozen stiff. Yet even as he bounded closer, a huge wave smashed over the railing and knocked him off his feet. For a moment all was salt and roar and pain as he was smeared across the old wooden deck. But soon he was back up, spitting out the water and keeping his eyes wide despite the burn of the seawater, frantically searching the area.

Maraea was nowhere to be seen.

Knowing then the worst possible thing had happened, he ripped open a nearby hatch and pulled out a roll of rope. Roaring "Man overboard!" all the while, Garren tied it to a metal winch as quickly as he could with his numb fingers, cursing them all the while. A nearby dark shape ran foreword to catch the rope and bellow his support while Garren tied the rope around his waist. Then, without hesitation, Garren threw himself over the side.

There was a long, sickening drop, with the raindrops tormenting him all the while, and then he plunged into the water. The movement was so rough the water felt like sand, and he was smashed against the hull twice before he managed to strike out, looking for Maraea. He yelled her name until he was hoarse, and then he kept on yelling despite the taste of blood in his mouth. He would find her, despite the rain, despite the storm, despite his own slowly stiffening body that no longer responded to all his commands.

Maraea had woken from a bad dream – the first sleep she had in days – with the icy blast of water up her nose and in her eyes and ears. Burning, choking, her exhausted body scrabbled uselessly against the wooden railing that she found beneath her fingers as the irresistible tide tore her over the edge of the ship. She hit the water with a wet slap, her rain-soaked shift instantly weighing down on her, a weight she felt was impossible to hold up. Her weak arms barely propelled her upward enough to get in one breath before a wave smashed over her head and dunked her under. Coming up again, she opened her mouth and cried the only thing she could think:

"Garren!"

But he wasn't there. Another wave dunked her under and this time she was below the surface for a good while before she managed to reach the air again, getting a mouthful of water along with the breath. Choking, she slapped at the water with her heavy arms, not even hoping to live, now, but driven to try by the basest human instinct. Feeling like she could hold up no longer, she summoned all her strength and kicked upward, using up the last bit of air she had in one desperate yell.

Garren was sobbing with frustration. The salt water on his face mingled with his tears, and they both burned his chapped and cold skin. He wrapped his arm around the rope, considering giving it a few solid tugs to let the man above know he was ready to come up. His self-preservation instinct was trying to take hold of him, but he refused to give up on Maraea just yet. Then suddenly, from nearby, came a choked, weak sound.

"Garren—"

Barely daring to hope, Garren lunged clumsily toward the sound. Flailing his arms in all directions in a wild attempt to catch her, he kicked with his legs to stay above water. When he hit something hard with one foot, he barely let himself take in a breath before he threw himself downwards. One flailing finger brushed something that felt like hair and he kicked himself down and towards it. A few moments later he barely felt the cloth against his swollen fingers, but he wound his hands in it and pulled the body to him. At last, he held her tight with trembling and exhausted muscles. Now he had to get her up.

Using the rope now, he got their heads above water. The rain beat on his face again, even more savagely, as he looked up and tugged the rope with all the strength he had. In response, a few moments later, they were yanked upwards and he held on with all his strength: with one arm to the woman, the other to the lifeline.

It felt like it took an hour to haul them up and onto deck. His screaming muscles almost gave out, but at long, long last a pair of hands closed around Maraea's arms and he had only to pull his own weight over the railing. He drew his dagger – marveling that it was still in his belt – and sawed through the rope around his waist. With slightly more energy now, Garren stood tiredly, refusing help, and carried Maraea's shivering body back through the pelting ice rain and into the dark shelter. He staggered down the familiar hall and into his cabin, shutting the door behind them.

Less gently than she would have liked, but as carefully as he could manage, Garren propped her against the wall and stripped her to the skin. He ripped all the blankets off the bed and wrapped her in them. She stood there, hair still dripping, teeth chattering violently while he stripped himself. Then he took her gently but clumsily and wrapped them both in the blankets before collapsing into the bed. Fighting off the sleep he so wanted, he forced himself to stay awake and warm her by rubbing her cold skin.

Slowly her chattering lessened. Her clammy skin became warm, and the tremors that racked her body slowed. Her pained breathing became only slightly irregular.

Relieved and spent both emotionally and physically, Garren gave himself to sleep.

The only reason Maraea woke before noon on the second day since the storm was because she became aware of the absence of warmth beside her. Slowly she swam out of the warm black sleep and opened her eyes, coming into her sore and stiff body. Her throat was dry and swollen, her lungs ached, and her entire body was bruised and encrusted with salt, as were the sheets she lay upon. She wanted Garren; she wanted him the way children want things irrationally when they are suffering. She wanted him there, didn't care he was a pirate or that his people had killed her father, she wanted him, she wanted him. In hellish panic, but too weak to do anything she lay there and let the tears leak from the corners of her eyes, run down to her ears and then onto the pillow.

When the door opened Garren entered, walking nearly as painfully as she felt, carrying two mugs of something that steamed and made Maraea so hungry it hurt. Garren smiled to see her awake, and set the mugs down on the floor and helped her sit up. With gentle hands, he let her drink. She didn't care that the liquid was so hot it burned her throat, the substance and heat from it were heavenly. After several drinks, she only just felt alive again.

She turned her stiff neck so she could look at him, tired and dragging himself, as he set her mug down. He looked up and she met his gaze and held it for the first time. Standing slowly, Garren pulled off his shirt and climbed into bed beside her. His warmth against her skin was irresistible and she rolled against him and let him hold her. The tiredness overwhelmed her once more and she let it.

She woke a day later. Garren was still there, holding her and stroking her hair. When he realized she was awake, he gave her a drink of water. Then he took her into his arms again and she leaned against his shoulder. At long last, he spoke.

"I thought I'd lost you."

Maraea took a moment to speak.

"I thought so too," She managed, in a hoarse whisper. Then, "You almost died trying to save me."

She felt him smile. "You almost died while I was trying to save you."

She pulled away so she could look at his face. The honesty there, as well as the pain he imagined at the thought of losing her, at long last made her let go.

"I'm sorry," She whispered, the months' work of building a hard shell around herself crumbling so quickly it left her head spinning. She babbled. "I'm so sorry. You never tried to do anything but help me. If it weren't for you I would be dead, twice over. I truly owe my life to you and all I've done is be cruel… childish and cruel!" Her tears fell off her cheeks and dripped down his chest.

"Not cruel," he whispered, pulling her close again and rocking her gently. "Never cruel. Just in pain."

She loved him then, as she would have before if she had let herself. She loved him as fully and honestly as he had loved her, as he had always loved her since the first day when he saw her through the spyglass. Yet some of the old fear still lingered and kept her from saying it. So she whispered instead:

"Thank you for staying with me."

And he meant it when he said, "I will never leave you."

He sensed the change in her. It was easier now. He no longer took such care with her whereabouts, trusting her that she wouldn't try to die. He treated her with respect but returned to the confident, almost overpowering way that he lived – at least on the surface. Coming into accepting her emotions for him, Maraea found an odd type of shyness developing when she was with him. His brash manner and kind, though mocking ways made her draw back, trying to understand him. He was so forward, acting as if he had already won her over, although she herself was not wholly convinced that she should love him after all. And yet at night he only lay beside her, sometimes but not always touching her, and then only with a lightly placed hand or arm. He was telling her she should have given in long ago, while at the same time giving her more time.

One night, she had fallen asleep before Garren came down to the cabin late. He woke her gently, with light fingers on her shoulder and breath in her ear. The only light was from the full moon coming in through the one small window, and it cast striking shadows across his features.

"What is it?" She whispered, drawing the sheets up around her. She was wearing a nightgown but was still shy of his seeing her. He smiled.

"Nothing's wrong, if that is what you are worrying." He brushed a lock of her dark hair off of her face. "Come on."

She slipped her bare feet out of bed and dragged the blanket off the top, wrapping it around her as she followed him out the door. As their feet whispered along the hallway, the wood beneath them got colder and colder until they reached the door. They slipped through the doorframe, out from the protected burrow and into the breathtakingly cold and clear night.

The sky was the deepest velvet black studded with the purest white stars. The moon was full and perfectly round, glowing so brightly the entire ship was bathed in a blue and black sort of daylight. She let out a long breath at the beauty, and the mists from her exhale lingered on the cold night air. Never had she seen so many stars…!

"It's so beautiful…"

Intensely she felt the cold breeze cutting through the blanket, slicing across her bare shins. The frigid wood under her toes. The sharp contrast of the brightest stars on all-engulfing arc of black sky. The stripe of warmth where Garren's arm was around her blanket-wrapped shoulder. The smell of his skin…

Unbidden, a shiver coursed through her body. In response, Garren suddenly pulled her in close to him, turning her to face him and encircling an arm around her waist. His body heated hers. His free hand snaked up to her face and tilted her chin up.

"Do you love me?"

Unexpected, unplanned and unavoidable, the words slipped from his lips. Unintended, her answer.

"Yes."

Then the surprise overtook her and she hid her face in the only place she could, in the crook of his shoulder and neck. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back in victory.

"When I saw you, that first time? I knew had to have you with me. But I was so afraid you would hate me." She felt the vibrations of his voice all through her body, pressed close to him as she was. She smiled. "I tried to," She answered. "I couldn't."

And then he was tilting her head upwards again, fingers on her chin, eyes searching hers, drawing ever closer, and bending down down down to press his gentle lips to hers; and she was reaching up up to wrap her arms around his neck, the blanket fell to the floor, forgotten, along with the rest of the world for a few blissful moments.

When he released her, he stared into her face for a moment. Then he bent to retrieve the blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders again before sweeping her off her feet. With surprise she grabbed hold of him, eyes wide, watching his secure and confident face as he carried her back below deck, into their room, and dropped her on the bed. He turned away to close the door behind them and then stripped off his shirt. Sitting up, hardly daring to breathe, she let the blanket fall off her shoulders. Fluidly he went to her, pressing his hands into the mattress on either side of her hips and kissing her so fervently she was pushed backwards. He was leaning over her now, one hand scooped under her lower back, his muscular chest pressed against her soft one, their skin separated only by a thin bit of fabric. His knowing fingers slid under her upper back and found the buttons. Before she could think the cloth was loose around her and he was tugging it, up and off, so at last they could touch. His lips on her neck gave her chills. His hands stroked her stomach and sides and she spread her fingers across his shoulder blades, stroked down until the tips reached the waistband of his trousers –

They both froze. He looked down into her face, a question in his eyes. She looked up into his with trust.

He shrugged out of the pants, slowly, coming to rest beside her and pulling the blankets back over them. He kissed her again, slowly and deeply. Then, with gentle strength and the utmost care, he moved over her and at last possessed her.