2. Tranquil
He had never been a deep sleeper. In boyhood he'd learned always to keep one eye open, and as he'd grown that habit had served him well. Ships at sea never sleep, and so neither do their crews, watches dividing the night amongst the men into handfuls of hours at different ends of the long dark.
Of course, no watches existed on Nassau's beach, but no man survived life among the tents for as long as Charles had if he slept soundly through the night.
Charles is certain he has never looked so peaceful in sleep as she does now, blonde hair turned to silver in the moonlight. Moonlight which spilled in not through a window, but a slit cut in the canvas of his tent by some unknown fool while he had been off hunting these last few weeks.
He'd never imagined, when this thing between them began, that Eleanor Guthrie would appear from time to time in his tent, and then linger beside him for long enough that she would drift off to sleep. Aside from any of the logical reasons for her not to do that - which neither of them gave much of a shit about either way- he'd never expected she'd want to.
Despite it all, she slept as soundly as she must have in the great house he imagined she was raised in. He can't help but watch her, when he wakes at what would be third dog watch, were he at sea. Her brow, so often furrowed in frustration- which he is not infrequently the source of- is smooth as the sea on a windless night. He smirks in the darkness; even a calm sea can and will grow rough again, and she was no different.
He enjoyed these quiet moments, not least for their rarity - far more often she'd banish him from her bed at the inn with little warning and less warmth.
Eleanor stirs in her sleep but doesn't wake, creeping a little closer to the pirate beside her in an unconscious search for his warmth. Charles lies carefully back down beside her, content to enjoy this moment of peace, even if it was merely a moment of calm before the next squall.