One could not reasonably call Nassau cold, even in the dregs of January, yet a chill swept through Miranda down to the bone. Sitting by the fire, she drew no warmth from its flames; it was not due to the temperature that she shivered. The heat of bodies - one far away, the other yet further - was what she lacked, and in its absence she could do little else but pull her shawl tighter, pretending it was their arms, knowing it never would be again.
Black Sails, Miranda/Flint/Thomas, down in the trenches remembering with me
ao3