It was a handful of days before Theo began to really feel like herself again. A weaker, more tired version of herself, but herself nonetheless. The progress was gradual, but it was still plain to see each day. She went from being delirious and unable to focus on anything but her own discomfort, to simply tired and bored in her bed, until she reached a point of being entirely certain that if she didn't get out of that room soon, she was going to lose her mind. And so, with the greatest reluctance, she turned to the dress that had been provided.

It was fairly simple, thankfully, but also a shade of yellow that would've been obnoxious several rounds of dye ago, and she had no idea where to even begin with it as she picked it up and inspected it, wincing at the heaviness. Loosening the laces at the back, she didn't fully undo them out of fear that she'd never get them done up again, and then chose to attack it from beneath. Slipping off the shirt, she bunched the skirts up before slipping the garment over her head the same way she would with a dress back home. After that, she used all of her contortionist powers to tighten and tie the laces behind her back as best she could.

Once she was finally in the thing, it felt…wrong. There was so much stuff missing that was supposed to go beneath it, she knew that much from the historical movies she'd seen, however inaccurate they might've been. But she didn't have any of that, so she was left looking like a deflated balloon. At least her scandalous knees were hidden, though. By the time she'd laced up her boots, wrestled her hair into a plait down her back, and pulled the pastel green bolt of fabric around her shoulders, she was a hot and flustered mess. But the fresh air outside beckoned, and she knew it would be worth it.

The guard at the door jumped as she opened the door, eyeing her with undisguised surprise as she stepped out. Despite Norrington's instructions, she hadn't made any requests of the men stationed at the door. She didn't want to be more of a nuisance. They'd kept her alive, and they'd kept her fed. What else could she really ask for? Some bubble bath and a stiff drink? The latter was tempting, but she didn't want to trust herself to keep her wits about her even if she was the slightest bit tipsy. Worst case scenario and she'd be one drink in and lamenting to Norrington how it was a shame Elizabeth would choose Will over him.

Offering the soldier a nod, she side-stepped him and walked out onto the deck. The fresh air was heavenly. Anything beyond that damned room was heavenly, but this would've been pleasant even under the best of circumstances. With nothing but smooth, calm ocean as far as the eye could see, and a sky barely dotted with clouds, it would be a miracle if they could get her back inside without physically dragging her there. It also gave her a chance to take measure of the men.

Slowly skirting around the lower level of the deck over and over, she spent her time pretending to study the ship, the sea, the sky, all while furtively glancing around her to learn what she could about the sailors. They were doing something similar - but not half as subtly as she hoped she was. They couldn't be blamed. If what she was hearing was true, she was a strangely dressed raving madwoman who they'd dragged out of the ocean, gibbering on about things they'd never heard of. If they were lying, or just deluded, well…she was still a strangely dressed raving madwoman, who they'd dragged out of the ocean.

And at least the ones who did meet her gaze gave awkward smiles, followed up by a friendly nod. Other than that, and despite how they were dressed, they just seemed…normal. Regular men going about their jobs with a sort of dutiful dedication to whatever routine they'd long grown used to. Surely if this was all some strange re-enactment, it would look different? In what way, she wasn't sure. Maybe they'd look more pleased about their task. Maybe there'd be a great deal of nudging and winking. Something. But it all seemed genuine.

After her fourth or fifth rotation around the lower section of the deck, she made her way towards the staircase that led up to the quarterdeck. It was fairly small, but there were only a couple of people up there and she had a mind to explore. But the stairs were narrow, and her poor condition combined with the clunky boots, and cumbersome skirts meant it was only a matter of time before she was sent stumbling.

Her heart fell out of her backside, and the split seconds of scrambling she had were all wasted as any attempts to regain her footing were hindered by the stupid amounts of fabric between her and the stairs, but just before her nose was about to impact the very top step, a hand seized her arm in an iron grip and steadied her. In a move that brought her straight back to being dragged from the water and into the rowboat, she was then being pulled upwards until her feet were safely beneath her. By that time, her cheeks were already on fire - she'd never felt so damned incapable in her entire life. She was like a goddamn baby. Norrington would be assigning men to make sure she didn't stumble overboard next and fitting child safety locks onto the windows of the quarters that she occupied.

Looking up, she entirely expected to see the face of the man himself, but instead she was met with another…and this one wasn't entirely unfamiliar, either. Groves - with a sympathetic smile on his face, and an offered hand to help her up the next few steps.

"Are you well, Miss Byrne?"

"Yes - thank you. I'm sorry," she was mortified as she reached the top of the stairs with his help.

"Not to worry, you're still recovering, Miss," he bowed his head "I'm sure you're still somewhat out of sorts."

"Well, while we're on the topic," she grimaced "I gather that you were on the receiving end of some of my more…belligerent ramblings that day. I must apologise, I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable."

He blinked, clearly taken aback by her words, before offering another sympathetic smile "Not to worry, I quite understand. I'm glad to see you're much improved."

"Nothing some food and rest couldn't fix," she replied.

"Well then it shall cheer you to know that the food will resemble, well, genuine food this evening. The order has been given for the goats to be butchered."

"I doubt that will cheer the goats," she joked tiredly, smiling as he laughed quietly, and then paused "But I thought the goats provided the milk?"

"Oh, they do - but seeing as we will reach Port Royal tomorrow afternoon, there's no longer much need."

"Ah."

The news that should have filled her with relief in some form only perturbed her instead, instilling a deep, resigned sort of heaviness within her chest. For better or for worse, tomorrow she would be able to gauge her situation properly. Gauge exactly how entirely fucked she was. She wasn't scared of knowing. Not really. Anxious, perhaps, but not scared. The information would come, and she would act accordingly…however strange that information may end up being.

But it couldn't be denied that she had some measure of security here. It had been difficult to see at first, hidden behind Norrington's surly demeanour, but she hadn't been harmed. On the contrary, she'd been cared for. Safe. Groves' amiability only compounded that fact in her mind. Depending on what she found upon reaching shore, she knew that she'd be lucky to be able to be just as safe forty-eight hours from now.

"If you'll excuse me, Miss, I have other matters to attend," Groves gave her another bow of his head, and he was gone.

As he no longer blocked her view of the rest of the quarterdeck, she noticed Norrington across the way, fixing her with yet another of his unreadable looks. But he returned the wave she offered with a nod of his own, and she took that as a good sign.

If this was all somehow a ruse or a delusion, she would have to find somebody on land - some sort of official, with all of their marbles intact - and try to explain herself to them. Try to find a way home. Or at least to a phone, so she could phone her father and then he could pull whatever strings he had to see it done. Gods, how he would be worried. She snuffed that thought out as soon as it rose. She couldn't afford to get emotional.

Then there was the alternative…the alternative which she was failing more and more each day to pretend wasn't looking like the most distinct of the possibilities before her. She didn't know enough about history to know what would happen to her in that case. What she did know was gleaned from historical fiction, the odd documentary or two when there was nothing else on, and what few history classes she could remember back in school (which put her shit out of luck, because they'd mostly focused on the Troubles, and the World Wars).

Had the Salem Witch Trials happened yet? If so, were people in this corner of the world still predisposed to burning women who couldn't recite the Lord's Prayer in their sleep? Was the Lord's Prayer even a staple here? Would it be a workhouse, or were they from an entirely different century, too? Those were Victorian, she knew that - thanks to the Oliver musical - but had they predated that era? She simply did not know. Never, in any of her survival lessons, had she been encouraged to brush up on her history just in case she found herself in the middle of it. Pursuing her own academic interests hadn't been encouraged, but those interests hadn't lain deeply rooted enough in history for her to know her way around it. Jesus, even the most fervent historian would find themselves overwhelmed in this case.

It was that lack of knowledge that spelled disaster. Norrington would only be patient with her evasion of his questioning for so long. He was barely patient as it was, and the more time that was put between her ordeal and the present, the more that patience would wane. The moment whatever lies she conjured began to unravel before those questions would be the moment that tolerance disappeared entirely. The trouble she had found herself in wouldn't even be worth the possibility of staring into the oh so hypnotising kohl lined eyes of Captain Jack Sparrow himself. Although she wouldn't say no to such an opportunity, should it arise.

And it was that barely serious thought that gave her the first, slightest spark of a real idea she'd had since arriving here.

Groves had been right - the goat stew that they ate for dinner that night, and then for lunch again the next day, had been especially good. Theo relished every bite, knowing it could be the last decent meal she would see in a long while…which was precisely why she stowed away her final ration of hard tack, bundling it up into the shirt she'd been sleeping in and then tying that to her person beneath her new dress, but over her modern day clothes, just in case.

When the midday, near-intolerable heat gave way to a balmy and pleasant afternoon on their final day at sea, she returned outside once again, and stared at the horizon with a gaze so steely anybody might've thought that it had insulted her. The men seemed just as excited to reach land as she was, their demeanours brightening, with a few even offering her passing greetings and cheerful nods. Or maybe they were just content that she wasn't going to snap and murder them all in their sleep.

But it was Norrington who approached her properly first.

"We'll reach the docks within the next couple of hours, Miss Byrne," he offered in the way of greeting "I must ask that you stay inside once we dock - we have several pirates locked in the brig, none of whom are the sort you'd wish to cross paths with."

"I had no idea they were even aboard the ship," she blinked.

"Yes, well, that wasn't entirely unintentional. I doubt it would aid your recovery much to know that we have the very dregs of humanity locked up down below."

Theo had to fight a laugh at that. What would he say if he knew she'd probably have an easier time talking to pirates than to what Norrington would consider good, upstanding members of society? Christ, her own dad had done time. She'd been too young at the time to remember it, it had been almost immediately following his time spent in the military. Still, it was enough to have her shying away from turning her nose up at anybody with a record or a past. Maybe that in itself would serve her, if she did succeed in weaving together the loose threads of a plan - the hope of a plan really - that she had in the words.

But Norrington was watching her carefully, clearly waiting for some sort of reaction to the great and terrible news that he'd just given her.

"Oh, right, yeah, that would've been…uncomfortable to deal with," she nodded slowly.

Okay, maybe she could've done better, but he was a shrewd man. If she'd feigned hysteria at the prospect, he would've easily seen through it and she would've looked a complete idiot in the process. And anyway, his favourite woman in the world was Elizabeth, and she didn't swoon at the thought of pirates. Not in a bad way, at least. It wasn't too much of a risk for Theo not to lose her mind with terror at the mere thought of them.

"You've a stout heart," he commented, a slight amount of bemusement on his face as he regarded her.

It was clear what he was wondering. Where did you come from?

"Yes, er, well…great…thank you," she blinked in surprise, because that sounded an awful lot like praise "So do you."

The laugh he gave was short - more of an unintentional huff of laughter than anything else, born of surprise. She couldn't help but smile at it. It was always rewarding - making somebody whose smiles alone were hard-won laugh, even if it was just because she'd said something unexpected. Although she couldn't help but wonder what it would really take to make Norrington laugh properly - an all out, doubled over, absolutely wheezing kind of laugh. Maybe that could be her secondary goal. Along with, y'know, staying alive.

"You may remain here until we dock - it's always a great excitement when we come into view of home again after so long at sea. But once we dock, you really must return indoors for the time being. I'll come to fetch you once the criminals have been dealt with."

Another exchange of nods (which she was quickly learning seemed to be the traditional greeting and farewell both around here), and he was gone, back to whichever duty called on him now.

Theo turned her attention back to the horizon, and she waited. Did the presence of these pirates weigh for or against the likelihood of this all being real? For, she supposed, on the surface. But logic cloaked in denial (or was it denial cloaked in logic?) argued the contrary. Maybe they had men for that, too - whose sole job was to play the role of pirate in this little game of theirs. Like cops and robbers, just more…well, ridiculous. Or maybe they kidnapped people they found at sea and truly believed to be pirates. Maybe she'd venture below deck and find a group of modernly dressed people, begging her to set them free from these very passionate LARPers. And maybe a pig would fly overhead as she did so, up into a cloud of candy floss. Maybe.

Okay, admittedly, the idea of finding a gaggle of modern hostages down below was now a comforting thought. Plus, staying above deck and out of the way of the pirates was the only thing near to an order that Norrington had given her. Defying it, especially out of such a vain hope that this one was, didn't seem like the wise thing to do. So she remained glued to where she was, and she continued to wait.

The gangplank was lowered to the dock to allow for disembarking, but Theo paid no attention to the men doing it. All she could do was stare at the docks - at the passing men and women, all in elaborate historical dress. Not a car, phone, nor anything even slightly modern in sight. She couldn't even be pleased that, true to her earlier assessment, she now knew exactly how fucked she was - because that amount was astronomical. Not only uncountable to humans and mortals alike, but inconceivable, like trying to wrap one's mind around the size of the universe itself. Fuck. Fuuuuuuck.

"Are you well, Miss? You've gone white as a sheet," one of the men fixed her with a concerned frown.

"I…" her voice came out high and reedy "I - I'm just nervous. About crossing paths with the pirates. Captain Norrington told me they would be the first order of business."

"We keep a stern eye on them, don't you worry about that, but it would still be best if you heeded the captain and kept well away," the man nodded solemnly.

Any feeling in her extremities was long gone - even the infuriating burning itch that had set in about the sun burn. Squeezing her hand into a fist until her knuckles must have started to turn white, she couldn't feel a damn thing, there was no pain to drown out the static slowly filling her head, just the slightest sensation of pressure where her nails dug into her palm.

"Right," she said numbly "I'll do that."

Until the one pirate who might just be mad enough to believe her story, and might actually be able to help her, came to Port Royal. Part of her feared the man would insist on escorting her back to the captain's quarters, but thankfully he seemed too frazzled with the amount to be done and departed almost immediately after. She had to act now, before she was sent indoors - before anybody paid any real attention to what she was doing.

After one more glance around to make sure everybody was well and truly too busy to pay her any mind at all, she strode towards the gangplank. It felt impossible at first - she could barely feel her damn legs beneath her, but she forced herself to keep moving, and swiftly disembarked the Interceptor. All the while, with every step she took through the docks, she was certain she would hear a voice call after her - a stern shout ordering her to stop, and demanding that she return and explain herself. None ever came.