The bed was so small that she could smell him. That was the only thing she could think of, in the dark - that she was so close to him, probably closer than she had ever been, except for when they had been kissing. She didn't resist as he grabbed her hand, and suddenly that was all she could think of - his rough callouses on her skin. How hadn't she noticed the callouses when they were kissing, really kissing, and he cupped her face? They seemed so obvious now, the hands of a sailor, and gentle anyways.

She didn't understand the feeling of the grooves until he explained it. Zelda pressed her fingertip down, feeling the carved J. She grinned back at him - his smile was contagious, and he was so enthusiastic about this, and this bed had traveled to the Far East and so had Mr. Darrow.

"So it's like coming home," Zelda whispered to him, her fingers still frozen to his initials. Her eyes had lit up with that contagious excitement. This was like a form of magic - like time travel, in this bunk, just because they were here whispering to each other. "The Voyager. Isn't it?"

---

  

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AMAZING set by MJ

Coming home. Alfred turned the phrase over in his head. It didn't have the immediate positive association that she'd probably intended it to, but of course she couldn't know that. He'd spent so many years in the wilderness thinking about coming home, and he'd idealized it to a point where even a perfect reunion might not have lived up to what he'd imagined. In reality, he'd come back to a world that had largely forgotten him. His mother and sister had died while he'd been away, his brother didn't seem particularly enthused to have him back, and the career that he'd built his life around had fallen by the wayside.

Getting this ship back had been a small victory, but it wasn't as though he was really returning to the life he remembered living here — none of the men who'd shared this room with him, for instance, were anywhere to be found. The structure was intact, and the memories lingered, but it was just a shell of what it had once been. Perhaps in a way she was right — boarding the Voyager had more in common with coming home than he'd thought.

All of this was far too heavy for him to feel inclined to vocalize, even with his lips loosened by the alcohol he'd had tonight, so instead he simply shrugged. "I suppose it is."

A strand of her hair had come loose, he noticed. That wasn't surprising, given that he'd just lead her on a confusing trip through the bowels of a ship and then made her crawl into a bed only designed for one. He found himself reaching out to correct it without really thinking about it, brushing it back and tucking it behind her ear. Alfred had largely lost touch with what was socially appropriate when he'd been in the wilderness, and though while sober that translated mostly to a paralyzing social awkwardness, below all of that he had startlingly few inhibitions for someone who was supposed to be a gentleman.

  

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

She drew her hand back from his initials. Propped up on her other elbow, Zelda angled herself so that she could look at him, the shadow of the grin still on her face. She was about to ask him something - probably something about the Far East, oceans away where a Fisk had never been, at least not to her knowledge - when Mr. Darrow reached out to her face to fix her hair. Her skin burned where he touched he. The grin fell.

There was some sort of disconnect between her mind and her actions. Zelda reached out her hand to rest her fingers against the cloth of Mr. Darrow's shirt. This was probably her last chance to say anything to him - for a while, at least. Who knew what he would be like when he came back from the sea? (If?) His fingers would be just as rough, no doubt, but would he be inclined to reach for her hand with them, or take her on adventures through the bowels of his ship? She doubted it. It was her last chance to say all the things she wanted to, to apologize for last time, to tell him that he had hurt her feelings.

She did none of these things. She leaned forward, caught in the bubble of their isolation and her mental dissonance, and pressed her lips to his.

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AMAZING set by MJ

He really ought to have seen this coming from a mile away, but since he hadn't been putting any amount of deep thought into their interaction since they'd started talking about dancing, this development caught him entirely by surprise. He didn't realize what was happening until they were already kissing. He had a physical reaction to her kiss that was independent of any conscious thought, so that by the time his brain had caught up he was already kissing her back. He'd moved one hand up to her cheek and brushed his thumb against her warm, soft skin.

How had he gotten here? He certainly hadn't planned this. At no point in their whole lengthy conversation had he pictured the two of them ending up kissing (though he'd certainly pictured it plenty of times in the immediate aftermath of the last time they'd been alone together).

Eventually he stopped kissing her — not because he'd made any decision or conscious effort to stop, but rather because their lengthy and tender entanglement seemed to have drawn to its natural conclusion. He pulled back a bit and blinked at her, not sure what to say. His hand was still on her cheek. He thought vaguely that he ought to move it, but couldn't decide where to put it, and so left it lingering in place for a moment longer.

"That — uhm —" he started, awkwardly.

The following 1 user Likes J. Alfred Darrow's post:1 user Likes J. Alfred Darrow's post
   Bella Scrimgeour

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

She didn't start thinking this all until after Mr. Darrow was kissing her back, and by that point it no longer seemed to matter. She had not, actually, intended on doing this before she came here - she just wanted to talk to him. Or so she told herself.

Her mouth felt wet when they stopped. She became aware, without much fanfare, that she was breathing faster than she ought to be. Her fingers were still resting against the cloth of his shirt, and she made no efforts to remove them.

"I'm sorry?" Zelda said, the first words she was able to come up with. Merlin, what if he hadn't wanted to? She doubted that he would have kissed her that much out of politeness, but if anyone was that awkward it was without a doubt Mr. Darrow. "I mean, I didn't ask if you wanted to and I just - I -"

Yeah, she had nothing.

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The following 1 user Likes Zelda Darrow's post:1 user Likes Zelda Darrow's post
   Bella Scrimgeour

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AMAZING set by MJ

Alfred's eyes slid down to her lips as she spoke. There was something fascinating and suddenly mesmerizing about them, though he couldn't say what. Without really thinking about it, he moved the hand he'd had against her cheek and reached out to touch them, gently and slowly tracing out the outline of her bottom lip. Maybe it was just a way to stop her from talking for a moment; maybe he was just drunk.

"I should've seen that coming," he said in response. He really should have. They'd ended up kissing because of course they had; he'd led her through a large and impressive ship, bragged about his experiences traveling the world, and then gotten her into an isolated room and wedged the two of them into a dimly lit corner, on a bed — not a particularly comfortable one, but a bed none the less. It wasn't as though there was anything else that could have logically followed that particular sequence of events, even if they hadn't already had the conversation in his cabin from the last time she'd been here. Even though the idea hadn't managed to occur to him yet, he'd essentially dragged it out and held it in front of her face as temptation. He did not seriously expect that Miss Zelda was the kind of girl who might see something she badly wanted within her grasp and not reach out to take it.

His eyes drifted down to her exposed neck, and he turned his hand over so that he could run the backs of his curled fingers along the exposed curve of it beneath her ear. "I wanted to kiss you, too," he admitted. "The first time you asked me to. I just knew I shouldn't."

  

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

His touch brought that fire tingling back into her skin - more mild now - and Zelda's shoulders relaxed. He wasn't mad at her. Or, if he was mad at her, he was doing a very poor job of it.

"And maybe I shouldn't have asked you to," Zelda admitted. By that same argument, she certainly should not have kissed him just now - all of the problems that had existed a few weeks ago still existed. He was still leaving. She was still too well-bred to kiss him so fervently, and she absolutely had just been kissing him. "But I did. And then I thought you - didn't want to."

Really, she had thought that he was an asshole, and then she had felt too bad about and too fascinated with everything to let him go without another word.

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AMAZING set by MJ

"Definitely shouldn't've," he agreed, his eyes (and hand) still on her neck. He didn't mean anything by the remark; it was a simple fact, in the world of proper British gentlemen and ladies. An English girl was supposed to be scandalized by the very idea of kissing someone she didn't intend to marry, which put asking for a kiss from a man who had already declared there was no future for the relationship well outside the boundaries of the behavior one should do.

"You could get yourself into trouble," he stated, scooting a bit closer to her on the bed so that he could comfortably trail his fingertips over the curve of her shoulder and down towards her back. The statement was a simple observation, and the continuing trail of touch was little more than what seemed like the logical progression from her neckline. Alfred had had too much to drink to be capable of subtext or subtlety.

The fact that she might very easily get herself into trouble bothered him a bit. He hadn't thought of her as the type, prior to the interlude in his cabin, and even then he thought she was bluffing and wouldn't actually go through with anything. Now that they were here, though, it seemed all too reasonable that she would end up in such a situation — and worse, rather plausible that it could happen again, in short order.

The idea chafed, but he didn't know exactly why. Was he unsettled by the idea of such a bright and spirited young woman making herself vulnerable and opening herself up to ruin with someone who would take advantage of her naivety? Or was it more of a struggle to imagine that she might find herself in a similar entanglement with somebody else? Alfred bit his lower lip and frowned at her, considering.

  

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

Zelda shuddered as his fingers trailed towards her spine, a motion that did not feel at all unpleasant. She twisted her fingers into the cloth of his shirt. Although he would have to clamber over her to get out of the very small bed if he wanted to leave, she wanted to hold onto him, anyways - just in case.

"You say that like I do this often," Zelda said. Probably, she thought, she ought to be offended - but she was the one who had kissed him, which gave a reasonable buffer zone to be considered trouble. The frown caught her attention and Zelda frowned back up at him. She ran her thumb back and forth over his shirt - very aware of the skin under it - and said, "What are you thinking?"

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AMAZING set by MJ

What was he thinking? Not much of anything, for very long. His mind seemed to be operating on a series of short scenes rather than thoughts. He imagined her getting caught up with some other bloke while he was out to sea, but pushed the image away with distaste. He pictured the two of them getting into trouble together (more trouble than kissing in an abandoned stateroom) but buried that thought before it could bloom into the sort of thing he had trouble diverting his thoughts from. He created at least ten different versions of how he might find her upon his eventual return to England, even if it did occur only three months from now. Everything might have changed, or nothing might have changed, and he wasn't sure which to hope for.

"I wish I knew a better way to do this," he said, honestly. He wished that she'd asked to kiss him after he'd returned to England instead of before he'd left. He wished he knew what the future held. He wished there was a way of protecting her — from what, he wasn't sure. From everything, he supposed; from life and the world and disappointment and herself.

There were really only two options, though, and neither of them were ideal. He couldn't tell her to wait for him, and risk leaving her heartbroken and hopeful and hurting the way he'd done to Lily the last time he'd left. He'd already tried telling her to move on, though, and somehow here they were.

"I shouldn't have brought you down here," he mumbled, eyes sinking down to her waist. "This was stupid."

  

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

Now they were getting close to the sort of conversation that had, last time, sent her apparating away from him an embarrassed mess. No, Zelda thought. She didnt want to be hurt in that same concerned way, even if he was still leaving and soon, too.

”It wasn’t stupid,” Zelda said insistently. She scooted herself closer to him in the little bed, as if proximity would ensure his continued presence. If he left - when he left - this was over. He was not, she thought, going to want anything to do with her when he came back having found Avalon. So she only had tonight, and she only had right now.

”It wasn’t. And I know what you said last time, I remember - but it wasn’t stupid to bring me down here.”

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AMAZING set by MJ

She was moving closer to him, and he mirrored the tiny shift without conscious thought, which brought them into contact in a variety of places instead of just his hand and hers. Although he may not have put any forethought into the movement, he couldn't help but take note of the results. He needed to get her out of here. Nothing good was going to come of this. There was only one logical follow-on step if they continued on this way, getting steadily closer and more intertwined on a bed in an empty room. Drunk or not, Alfred wasn't going to let things play out that way. He could picture entirely too clearly the inevitable conclusion. She'd end up in tears — maybe tonight, or maybe two days from now, after taking what had occurred between them as a promise (the promise such a thing was supposed to be, the promise that even kissing was supposed to be) and showing up to see him off and expecting some sort of grand romantic gesture before he sailed away into the sunset, which he would be unable to deliver. Maybe she'd make it through the next week unscathed but then be left alone and lonesome and heartbroken for months while he was out to sea; or maybe he'd never come back.

Alfred looked back up at her eyes, so clear and bright. He was terrified by how easy it would be to hurt her. It was as though she were some very valuable but very fragile thing he had just been unexpectedly handed, and he was acutely aware that he was drunk and clumsy.

"You're giving me too much credit," he said softly, eyes moving down to her lips again. "Everything I've done tonight is stupid." He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to pull her close and hug her against his chest and wrap his arms around her as though he could shelter her from the rest of the world — but he couldn't. The rest of the world was out there, and ultimately, nothing that he did down here in the bowels of the Voyager was going to keep her from being hurt. He was almost certainly only making things worse with every passing moment, but he didn't know what to say to bring this interlude to an end. He didn't really want it to end, either.

Once upon a time, life had been simpler. Before he'd been rescued and returned to England, when he'd been living with the tribe, there had hardly been any rules — at least not of the sort imposed upon British society. Everything seemed to have its place and to fit into it, and he hadn't gotten himself into any uncomfortable moments where every path laid out before him seemed to be the wrong one. He'd always just sort of known what to do; there was only one path. Even when he'd been in England before, when he'd been little more than a young and daring sailor, things had been simpler. He'd been playing by the rules back then, and he had no cause to question them. An question such as is it wrong to kiss a girl when you can't go on to court her wouldn't have even occurred to him in 1882, much less become a divisive moral issue to be wrestled over at a time like this.

Foregoing the British societal norms wouldn't fix the problem, though, because even if he said something absolutely ridiculous, like asking her to elope with him, there was still the issue of how they'd gotten to this point in the first place. If he'd instinctively wanted to keep Lily at arm's distance until they became reacquainted after so long apart, shouldn't the same rules have applied here? What did Miss Zelda Fisk really know about him, or he about her? She was probably quite caught up in the idea of being in love with a sea captain who went off on grand adventures; she could not possibly be in love with him. With his past and his career he supposed he cut something of a Romantic figure, but it was just a shadowbox. In reality he was awkward and uncertain and almost sure to make a mess of most things. Did she know that? Was she really trying to sign up to deal with all of that, or did she just like the idea of pining for someone who was out to sea?

If this was just a passing phase, there were at least a dozen more suitable objects for her affections floating around British society. It probably wouldn't take her long after he left for her to find one. Hopefully one that wouldn't take advantage of her; the idea of her walking in to trouble and being hurt still bothered him, even if he ended up never seeing her again after tonight.

"What do you want?" he asked her suddenly, eyes meeting hers again. "Like — in the long term," he elaborated; he realized belatedly that the question alone might have sounded like an accusation regarding her motivations for tonight, which wasn't his intention. He didn't blame her for what had happened tonight, only himself for creating the opportunity for it to happen. "Two or three years from now, what do you want your life to be like?"

The following 1 user Likes J. Alfred Darrow's post:1 user Likes J. Alfred Darrow's post
   Cassius Lestrange

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

Maybe he really didn't like her. Maybe he wasn't in love with one of her sisters - definitely he wasn't in love with one of her sisters - but that didn't mean that he couldn't be in love with someone else. Maybe he said this was stupid because, even as countless small parts of their body touched on this little bed, he was thinking of someone else. Looking at her, and seeing a different person's face - just like Mr. Williams had.

She was picturing this girl, now. Pretty - classically pretty - and shorter, the petite sort of girl that men were into. She would be good at all of the debutante things, like Xena. She had no interest in swords. She would not kiss men on boats. Their only similarity, Zelda thought, would be that they both thought adventures deeply romantic.

With this track of thought, his question startled her into immediate truth. "I don't know," she said, "I still want my job. Maybe I'll be an animagus by then. I don't know about anything else." The thought of herself married made her feel like she was pressing her brain up against a wall. The thought of children - too many children - also hurt. She could not be tired all the time like Katia. She really wanted her life to be the same, or similar enough that it would be familiar to her.

She didn't know how he, or anyone else, factored into that.

But there was still that suspicion. Zelda couldn't help but ask, softly, "Is there - is there another girl?" she asked, "The only time... I liked someone once, but he was in love with someone else, and he never told me."

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AMAZING set by MJ

"An animagus?" he repeated, eyebrows raising of their own accord. He was incredulous, but smiling — at least until the tables turned and she started unexpectedly asking him about other girls. "What? Er — no," he blurted. He took his hand off of her back and increased the space between them as much as he could (which wasn't much; his back was literally up against the wall). A variety of facial expressions flashed across his face in short succession; he frowned, looked briefly guilty, looked surprised, and frowned again. Did Lily count as another girl? She was probably the definition of the phrase, come to think of it. They'd been engaged at one point, after all. Had he done her a disservice by having his first instinctive answer to that question be no?

"I mean —" he continued, stumbling. It wasn't as though Lily counted in the way that Miss Zelda was asking about. It wasn't as though he was in love with her, nor did she expect him to be, after so long apart (right? that was the conclusion they had mutually reached, wasn't it? and it had been mutual?) but it still felt a little crass to have been so quick to deny it, given their history. "Er — there was but — it's not — that sort of thing." What sort of thing? He couldn't have said. He hoped she knew what he meant, because he had no way to articulate it if she asked without going into far more details than he really wanted to. The amount of detail he wanted to give Zelda Fisk on his history with Lily, in case any third parties were wondering, was exactly zero.

"That's not what this is about," he insisted, feeling suddenly as though he were defending himself from an accusation he hadn't been expecting. He was having trouble getting his bearings in this new conversation they were apparently having, much less reaching any sort of coherent point. He was having trouble enough with full sentences. "It's not some — competition thing. I'm leaving," he reminded her, stressing the verb. "It's not — I can't — do anything for you. Or anyone."

  

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

So there wasn't someone. Or there was, but she wasn't like Xena - and Zelda found herself believing Mr. Darrow, if only because she didn't think that he could pull off lying. He was like her; he was too awkward to have a poker face. She unpropped herself from her elbow and instead pressed the side of her face against the mattress, looking up at him. There wasn't someone else. Her heart hurt anyways.

"I know you're leaving," she said, "And I know you might not come back."

She was, in fact, somewhat convinced that he was going to die. She didn't want to think about that, because it made her feel worse, but she knew it. He was further away, now. She missed his hand on her back. If he died, she wanted to remember him like this - not like this but like he had been a few minutes ago - even if she didn't have a right to. (Maybe, perhaps, the other girl had more of a right.)

"And maybe it's a little stupid," Zelda said, "But can't I like you right now, anyways?"

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AMAZING set by MJ

She didn't seem angry with him, and she hadn't burst into tears yet. Alfred was rather relieved; he'd been bracing himself for one of those two possibilities when she'd asked about other girls, especially since he'd made such a mess of the answer. Her response made it clear that she'd dropped the subject, for which he was grateful — but it also sent a little pang through him. She just seemed so sad. He knew that the best thing he could do for her ultimately was to let her be heartbroken tonight in the hopes of healing tomorrow, but despite his better judgement, he found himself reaching back out for her all the same.

"Sure you can," he agreed softly. He put his hands on her waist and drew her closer until he could wrap his arms around her middle. "So long as you can promise me something first. After I leave, you have to promise not to wander off at parties and end up alone with strange men," he teased; his tone was light enough but he was hoping perhaps she'd take the advice to heart. "Even if you like them."

  

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER