THAT crazed girl improvising her music.

Her poetry, dancing upon the shore,

Her soul in division from itself

Climbing, falling She knew not where,

Hiding amid the cargo of a steamship,

Her knee-cap broken, that girl I declare

A beautiful lofty thing, or a thing

Heroically lost, heroically found.

William Butler Yeats

(Norrington's POV)

I shut the door behind me, Fiona sitting in the chair across from my desk. Setting my hat on the desk and pulling my chair around to face her, I sat and took her hands in mine. Her face remained facing down, staring.

"What is it?" I asked her.

"I'm afraid, Lawrence, I…." Her voice trailed off.

"Afraid of what?"

A shaky sigh escaped her lips. "You know I have to go home, but I'm afraid of going back even though I know I have to face my father. If I go home, I may not come back. My father, he…he could kill me, Lawrence."

My heart was wrenching with anger against a man I hadn't met. "You do not need to put yourself in such a dangerous position! I will not allow you to. Fiona, you have to let your past go."

"The only way I can let it go is to confront it." Fiona lifted her face, eyes clear. She was silently pleading with me. Could I let her do this? Could she understand how much pain it would cause me if she were to die? "Lawrence, you are my friend, and I respect your opinion, but I have to do this for my own good. If I don't, I will never be free of them, of the memories, of anything aligned with them." I sighed, shoulders slumping forward slightly. We sat in silence, not an awkward one, but one that revealed an understanding.

Straightening, I rose, and began pacing around the room, then around my desk. What could I do to make Fiona stay?

"Would you come back to Port Royal after straightening things out with your parents?"

"I don't know. I haven't thought about it." Fiona looked up. "Do you want me to come back?"

"Yes," I admitted. "You are welcome in Port Royal at any time." Could I let her go, willingly? Could I live with myself if I let her leave and never come back?

"Lawrence." Fiona gripped my shoulders, her sweet face half-smiling up at me. "Stop pacing. I'm going, whether you want me to or not. And I will come back to see you if you want me to." I half-smiled, dropping my head.

"There's no stopping you, is there?"

"No, not this time."

"Will you at least stay for the change of command?"

"I'd be happy to." There was a knock at the door.

"What?" I snapped, glaring. A young boy entered.

"Sir, Governor Swann sent me to give this to you," he stuttered, holding out a note. I flicked my chin as I took it, and he fled.

"I'll go," Fiona said. She made for the door, then stopped, hand resting on the door handle. "I may need your help, ok, Lawrence? I may need you to be there for me." With that, she left, quietly closing the door behind her.

Poem by William Butler Yeats