The past couple of days on the Lady Luck had mostly been uneventful. Buffeted by phantom sails, the ship cut through the choppy sea smoothly and without incident. There was little strategy planning as Bracken wouldn't share his plans yet (when Vanessa heard this, she had to take three deep breaths) and so the voyage mostly consisted of waiting.

But the waiting ended quite soon. Tomorrow, the demon prison would open.

That last night before the battle, after everyone went to bed, Vanessa stayed up, staring at the wooden boards of her small quarters' ceiling. Thoughts of the ancient evil awaiting her on Shoreless Isle, her short life, and all her regrets prevented any sleep from arriving. She didn't have incredibly high hopes for tomorrow. But she knew she had to try, at least to atone for helping the Society get so far.

Of course, she wished to fight at her best, but considering how awake her mind remained despite the lateness of the night, she had little hope that she would be well-rested tomorrow morning. Oh well.

Lost in thought, she almost didn't notice a shadow pass over the light emanating from the gap at the bottom of her door, but once she did, she sat up straight. A light knock came from the door, and she could see someone's shoes through the gap underneath the door.

"Vanessa?"

The voice belonged to Warren. Excitement pushed aside all her terrible thoughts of the oncoming fight, and her mind instead ran wild with speculations of his arrival.

She slid off her cot and to the door (which was barely a foot from the end of her bed—sailing ships had to conserve space) and opened it.

Outside, his shoulders hunched with sheepishness. "Can I come in?"

She nodded and he maneuvered his way into the tight space. He wore a cotton tank top and his boxers as pajamas, and the scant clothing did little to cover his muscled form—something that was usually hidden under tactical clothing, but not tonight.

She hopped up onto her bed, sitting on the edge, still only inches from him as he stood in the only standing room. In the silence, their breaths mingled in her shoebox quarters. The heat of the night seemed to seep in despite the cold chill of the sea and she found herself delightfully distracted from the devilish horror of the next day.

"What," the word stuck to her dry throat and she swallowed, "are you doing?"

"If this is the last night of my life," Warren said, his calm voice absent the bravado she had come to expect. "I'd prefer not to spend it alone."

Vanessa's heart constricted. Just alone? Was he looking for some bodily comfort just like in their missions or did he want more? He must've seen something in her expression because he spoke once again.

"I'd prefer to spend it with you, I mean. If that's alright."

It had been years since she had last touched him, and she missed his hands so much. Achingly. The comfort of his embrace was too powerful to pass up.

Vanessa nodded, her voice still and calm like they were discussing a mission report. "I'm okay with that."

He nodded back, his voice breathless. "Good."

Before he could change his mind, she rocked onto her knees and wrapped her hands around his neck. With her on the high bed and him standing, their heights equalized.

Vanessa leaned in but hovered inches from his face. This was new, in a way. Uncertainty entered her in a way she had never before experienced during intimacy. She looked up at his hazel eyes and saw the answer to her question in the crinkle of his eye. His special smile, just for her.

Vanessa tilted her lips forward to meet his and he kissed back, running his hands through her hair. God, it was intoxicating. Memories flew in her mind, sweet trysts, but the present was too magnetic. The past and future faded to nothing, and all that mattered was the here, the now, his lips, her hands.

She pulled back for breath and they smiled at each other. It was sweet, it was theirs. Tomorrow didn't matter, for just a moment.

"You know, I'm glad I never had a biting kink," Warren started. "That would've been—"

Vanessa shut him up with a kiss as she rolled his eyes, unwilling to dignify his comment with a response. He chuckled and pulled back, lowering his mouth to her neck and kissing down to her collarbones. She groaned and tugged at his hair. He laughed, the air tickling her neck.

He returned to her face and they kissed again, softer and slower this time. It wasn't eagerness anymore, but deliberate enjoyment. Controlled. It gave her time to think.

In the aftermath of everything that had happened since Warren had disappeared for his solo mission, she had scarcely allowed herself to imagine that she would have him again. All she thought she would ever have was her memory.

Thankfully, her memory hadn't failed her. His lips were just as soft, his skin just as supple as they had been in her mind. He even smelled the same, the hint of a cologne that had long since been taken off the shelves. She recognized it all. Like a sea captain adrift for years finally seeing a familiar shore, she bathed in the sand.

But, even in the overwhelming bubbling joy and warmth in the cabin, her trip down memory lane forced her to confront her future worries, this time with the conviction that she had even more to lose now.

She worried this would be the last time she had him in her arms. She worried she would die in this limbo state of acceptance and desire. She worried she would die before she ever knew if their love had been real or just a fling or just nothing or—

The anxiety overcame her and she pulled back away from the kiss. "If we never see the day after tomorrow—"

"Nessa," Warren began but she put her finger over his lips, forcing herself not to be distracted by the sobriquet. When was the last time he had called her Nessa?

She shook her head. "I have to say this. I love you. And I've loved you for years. I'm sorry—" she swallowed the dryness in her throat. The ship rocked with the sea, and she rode out the waves of emotion within her, wetting her tongue once again. "I'm sorry it wasn't enough to fix me, but the love was there. It was there," she finished, voice low and soft.

Warren deserved so much better than her. He deserved someone who had never been rough and deformed and wrong. He shone like a million suns, and he deserved a star. But this was his last night. And she could fulfill his wish to not be alone. She could at least give him that.

But, she needed to say that first.

Warren trailed his fingertips over her face. He blinked, breaking the dam of the tears in his eyes. She was sure she had some too. He cradled her face gently. "I'm sorry, too. But I'm happy now. I love you. This is enough. It's enough."

Vanessa wiped his tears away. She felt so much lighter, freer. She wouldn't die tomorrow with regrets. That was something she couldn't have said before most missions. It was something terribly important.

"Thank you," she whispered, before kissing him again.