( DISCLAIMER: I do not own the characters or anything related to the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise featured in this story. They are the property of Walt Disney Pictures and the Walt Disney Corporation. )

A gloved hand forced itself tightly against the mouth of young Elizabeth Swann, muffling her screams and whimpers as another hand held her squirming body captive. She struggled violently to get free, but her tiny figure - as fierce as she may be in personality - was no match for the tall, muscular man carrying her away. Even if she had managed to break free from his grasp, she wouldn't have gotten very far, for there were two other men surrounding her. Although they were not as physically impressive as the one holding her hostage, there was no telling what they would or could have done to stop her. Their faces were concealed by black ski masks, their bodies in black attire, and they were hurriedly communicating to each other to move along.

Elizabeth caught sight of a dark van in which the two other men swung open the rear doors of and then hopped into quickly. In a flash, she was forcibly tossed into the back of the vehicle with them, and then the man of impressive stature followed in after her. It was then that her mouth was finally set free from the stranger's hand and she was able to scream at the top of her lungs, just as she lunged toward the door in an ambitious, desperate attempt to escape. The doors were closed and locked faster than she was able to reach them, though, and in what seemed like only a split second, the vehicle was on the move.

The large man grabbed her wrists and pushed her back down, while the shortest of the three did a rather surprising thing. He laughed. Evilly, sinisterly, he laughed. She could not see his face, but she could hear his cackle and see his shoulders and portly belly bounce. A tall, skinny man sitting beside him took his lead, now beginning to laugh as well. In a tone of sheer amusement, the stout kidnapper wickedly informed her, "You're not going anywhere, Poppet."

ONE DAY EARLIER

A polite knock upon the door awoke a sleeping Elizabeth Swann, who was soundly curled up in her canopy bed and surrounded by warm, white linens. She groaned at the sudden disruption, twisting her body and covering her face with her blankets, all in the hope that if she ignored the sound, it would go away.

But alas, her efforts were to no avail, for shortly after the disruptive knocks broke the peaceful silence of the girl's bedroom, the voice of the woman behind the door pleasantly reminded the young sleeper of why the ungodly time of day required her alertness and presence. "Good morning, Miss Swann," she spoke through the door, in a kind, though crisp and assertive tone. "Your father awaits you for breakfast in the dining room."

The sleepy, reluctant girl hiding beneath the covers moaned like a child as she peaked out from her hiding place and glanced over at the clock beside her bed. 6:00 AM, it read. Or as she saw it, "too fucking early". She made a disgusted noise at the time of day in which she was expected to rise and rushed to crawl back underneath the warmth and solitude of her covers, this time sliding herself almost to the center of her bed, as though getting as far away from the edge of her blankets would make it harder for the day to find her.

As she was soon reminded, though, there was no escaping Estrella, her devoted housekeeper and responsibility reminder extraordinaire. "Miss Swann," she repeated, though this time with a certain firmness that warned the sleeping beauty of her last chance to make a peaceful rise before a second, much less pleasant phase of action would be taken.

From beneath the covers came a quick, though thoroughly displeased, "Alright then!"

Elizabeth arrived promptly in the dining room at 6:30 AM, appearing far more alert and refreshed than she had half an hour prior. She had traded her bed head in for a simple, though elegant updo, which she had become a master at over the years of being a political figure's daughter; one was always expected to look presentable and refined. Her pajamas were replaced by a white pencil skirt, light pink top, and modest white sandals. As soon as she set foot into the brightly sunlit room, something caught her off guard and she stood frozen in the doorway.

Her father, Weatherby Swann, looked up at her and instantly sent her a cheerful smile as he greeted her, standing up. "Oh, there you are. Good morning, Elizabeth!" He proved to be completely oblivious to his daughter's rigidity, for he continued on with his joyous attitude. "I'm glad you could join us."

By 'us,' he meant himself and a certain well-dressed James Norrington, who had also risen to his feet and was gazing at the lovely young woman standing before them.

His admiring stare was making her more uncomfortable by the second and it took every bit of her willpower to be courteous and relax herself. "Good morning, Father," she replied politely, before looking to his guest. She took a pause before finally saying with a smile, "Good morning, Mr. Norrington."

His eyes were sparkling as they looked at her and he easily returned the smile. "Good morning, Elizabeth. It's a pleasure to see you, as always," he told her smoothly, with genuine warmth and kindness. While he spoke in a friendly manner, his eyes expressed a desire for something far more profound than the restricted association they were obligated to respect. Although he was not outwardly open about his feelings for her, his eyes gave it all away as soon as they landed upon her.

She nodded softly with a gracious smile. Her eyes did not express the same. "What brings you here so early?"

"A business matter, nothing too serious."

"Ah, of course."

"Yes," Weatherby intersected, "it's a pity that we don't come together for much else lately. Not much time for it, with our schedules as they are." There was a hint of regret in his voice, but he was quick to cover it. "But, that's the price of being the Prime Minister and Home Secretary. Someone has to do it and I'm proud to say we are the men with the honor." He looked to James with a satisfied smile, suddenly standing a little taller with his shoulders pushed back. He was quite the politician. He'd even fooled himself.

"Indeed," James agreed, though it was to be wondered if the sentiment was also whole-hearted or not. Elizabeth had simply lowered her eyes to the floor, not to shed a word.

There was an awkward silence that filled the room, with all parties distracting their eyes from one another. Weatherby finally broke the silence, spiritedly proposing, "Well, James, why don't you join us for breakfast?"

Both Elizabeth and James first looked to the man at the head of the table, but then her eyes quickly crossed to the recipient of the proposal, tense with anticipation of his answer. "I wish I could, but I'm afraid I have some business to tend to."

Weatherby was visibly disappointed as he replied, "Well, perhaps sometimes soon, then. I'll make certain to have my secretary schedule something."

Elizabeth was visibly relieved, but thankfully she was able to regain her composure quickly enough so to not rudely give away her true feelings over the matter.

"Thank you for the invitation. I must be going now, though." He turned to Weatherby, who extended his hand to the young man. They cordially engaged in a handshake, but before they could part, the older gentleman affectionately placed his other hand on the forearm of his guest. They exchanged warm-hearted smiles that displayed a relationship that went deeper than the typical one of colleagueship they had maintained on the surface.

"Good day, James."

He nodded, squeezing his father-figure's hand before finally breaking the connection. He walked around the table and approached Elizabeth, stopping at her side. "Have a nice day, Elizabeth," he told her as he gazed down at her, his words expressing some regret to be wishing her goodbye so soon.

"You too," she said simply. She glanced up at him, but connecting to the intensity in his eyes made her too uncomfortable, so she promptly tore them away. Instead, she covered her uneasiness with a smile and looked to her father.

As soon as James left the room, Elizabeth released a small sigh of relief and leaned the side of her body against the doorframe.

"Such a shame," Weatherby noted. "I hardly ever get to see that boy anymore. Or man, I should say. He's grown into quite the honorable young man." He looked to Elizabeth, before motioning for her to take a seat. "Please, join me."

She took a seat at the table as he notified a female staff member to serve them breakfast. "You know, Elizabeth, I've always believed that you and James would make a fitting couple."

The relief she had found vanished in a quick second, along with her appetite. "Father," she pleaded softly.

"He is everything a father could hope for his daughter to find in a suitor. He is a gentleman, respected, intelligent, stable. He's a good man. I've known him since he was an infant, and the type of household he was raised in."

"He's nearly ten years older than me!"

"Right, so he is mature. He can take care of you."

"I don't need to be taken care of," she insisted firmly.

He ignored her, continuing, "I saw the connection between you two just now. You would work splendidly together."

Her eyes widened at his unbelievably clueless comment, actually leaving her speechless as she wondered what alternate world her father was living in. Luckily, their food arrived and her father was distracted, so the subject was effortlessly dropped.

They discussed general topics as they dined and towards the end of their meal, Weatherby's assistant stepped in to alert him of some business that needed his attention. He excused himself from breakfast with Elizabeth, apologizing to her with a kiss on her forehead before moving on. She was left thinking that he was not only too busy to spend time with the man he thought of like a son; he was too busy to finish breakfast with his actual daughter.

Elizabeth was making her way through her home at 10 Downing Street after breakfast. Her eyes fell to the floor as she thought of what the morning had dealt her so far and she couldn't help the frown that assumed her lips. Suddenly, her thoughts were abruptly halted as she collided with an unknown force as she rounded a corner.

Someone's hand slid around her waist, steadying her so that she was not to fall. As soon as she looked up, her face softened, and balance – as well everything else, for that matter – became unimportant to her.

"Are you alright, Ms. Swann?" the residence's young handyman, William Turner, questioned her with genuine concern. His deep brown eyes reflected the same sentiment, looking at her with intense worry and guilt.

"Please, as I've told you before… call me Elizabeth. I'm fine," she said quietly, her eyes fixated on his. "Are you?"

"Not a scratch," he said easily, the hint of a smile tickling the corner of his mouth. "I'm so sorry, I should've been more careful of where I was going."

"It appears that neither of us knows how to walk properly." Her jovial attitude lightened the mood immediately and they exchanged nothing but smiles in the following moments of silence. The scent of his aftershave brought her an odd sense of comfort, as did the feeling of his arm still wrapped around her waist, holding her close. Her eyes ventured away from his face toward his body, where she took notice of his tanned skin along his sternum exposed by the white wifebeater he was wearing. She averted her eyes before it became awkward, and he unfortunately did the same with his arm, straightening up.

"Well, I should get back to work…" he told her, though with much reluctance. He didn't make a move to leave.

She nodded solemnly, an uncontrollable look of disappointment filling her large, hazel eyes. "I suppose you should."

The same feeling showed in his, but he went to move past her. She, however, stopped him before he could finish making a complete step. "Will," she said, and he looked at her. "Are you coming to my party? For my birthday, tomorrow."

He shook his head, "I didn't know I was invited."

"You're always welcome where I am." Her words were candid, yet so truthful, and her gaze supported their claim. Their moment was unfortunately disrupted by another staff member, who walked in and began conducting some business nearby.

Will instinctively took a long step back, furthering the distance between he and Elizabeth so not to imply something indecent between the two of them. Although their relationship had not reached that stage yet, it was clear that it was dancing on the edge. He cleared his throat before politely sending her his parting words, "Good day, Ms. Swann."

She watched him as he walked away, and a look of determination pierced her expression. With that, she left the room on a mission.

Later in the day, a tired Will finished his duties at the Prime Minister's residence and traveled toward the front door to leave. Just as he was reaching it, a familiar voice called out from behind, causing him to turn around.

"Will!" exclaimed Elizabeth, running in his direction so as to catch up with him. As she approached him, she handed him an elegant white envelope, just as her father was entering the room. "I hope you'll be there tomorrow," she spoke earnestly, her eyes full of hope.

He had to control the smile that crept along his features, which wished to be a large grin. As he gently took the envelope, he simply told her, "It would be an honor," as they were in mixed company.

Her eyes lingered on him as he walked away from her once again, though this time she wore a hopeful smile. Her father interrupted her thoughts of the handsome young handyman, and she turned around to face him.

"Elizabeth, what was that you just gave Mr. Turner?" he questioned curiously.

"I invited him to my party tomorrow."

"You did what? Why would you invite our handyman to your birthday party?"

"He's worked for our family since I was nine," she argued defensively. "He's a good man. Why shouldn't he be invited?"

"It isn't necessary for you to pity the employed help. They are here to do their job, not to socialize."

Elizabeth became incensed by this remark, looking at him in utter disbelief. "I invited him there because I want him there," she stated firmly. "It's my party; I should be allowed to invite whom I please."

Weatherby was caught completely off guard by her reaction and was unsure of how to respond. Before he could sort this out, she left the room, leaving him to soak in his confusion.