Taking off on her own had been a risk. Setting up camp on the beach with no equipment save for the knife she'd nicked from Norrington was just downright stupid. It had just seemed…the logical thing to do. She had no idea how society worked at this time, she had no idea how to answer the questions she would no doubt be asked. Interrogation training was never something her father had felt the need to really instil in her. There never seemed to be much of a need for it. She was a civilian. However, she did know how to survive when it came to herself and the wilderness. So she trudged down the beach, and then ventured into the lush rainforest that lined it.

She didn't go particularly far in, just twenty feet or so. Enough to not be out in the open, but not enough to lose her bearings and end up in a whole new kind of danger. It was a move that seemed mad on the surface, she knew it, but it made sense. All she had to do was bide her time until Captain Jack sailed - or sank - into Port Royal, and then she could catch a ride with him. This whole universe revolved around his adventures, after all. Surely they would stumble across something along the way that could send her home.

It was pointless denying what reality she'd found herself in now. She had to keep her head, and think about the why rather than the how - and what the why meant. It would probably cheer dear ol' Captain Jack to know that this universe revolved around him. He was the star of it. It stood to reason that the reason for her being here was to do with the events soon to take place here, which meant if she wanted to be involved with them, she would have to worm her way into the presence of the man himself. It was a long shot. A hope, more than a real plan. But it was all she had, and she already knew that it would get her more than simply remaining in Port Royal for the rest of her days would. The series was called "Pirates of the Caribbean", not "Residents of Port Royal".

Unfortunately, it looked like she had a bit of time to kill before Jack would turn up and the story would start to unfold. Captain Norrington was not yet Commodore Norrington - but when would he be promoted? He looked around the age he had in the series. It couldn't be far off. For all she knew it could be tomorrow, he didn't really seem like the type to brag about his improving career prospects to random castaways. The first few days would be the real test, but she had a good head on her shoulders. This was the sort of thing she'd been training for all her life, inadvertently or not. She would avoid people, she would survive, and she would wait for chaos to break out in the settlement. After that, she would find a way home. Even if it meant begging Calypso herself for it.

The first few days were littered with trials and rewards. Her nerves were constantly on edge, for one. She was always waiting to hear the shouts of military men from the beach, ordering her to come out and explain herself - or to look down and find a snake, or a tarantula, or…or a tiger trying to devour her. She had no idea if any of those were native to Jamaica, but it was still an unsettling thought. Most of her thoughts were unsettling these days.

The rewards felt all the sweeter for the hardships, though. In hindsight, she should have stolen a pair of breeches from Norrington's quarters while she was at it, but she hadn't wanted to push her luck too much - nor piss him off too badly. She was dripping with sweat in her big ridiculous dress by the time she'd cleared her new home of branches and debris as best she could. Before long, she was constantly either sweaty, itchy, sticky, or a horrific combination of all at once. At night she would sneak out to the shoreline and douse herself in handfuls of seawater cupped in her hands, rinsing off her neck, face, arms, and chest, but it didn't do a whole lot of help beyond cooling her down a bit.

Still, it felt like too much of a risk to just take off the dress entirely and stick to her shorts and tank top, just in case somebody did stumble across her. At best, she'd be arrested for whatever indecent exposure laws existed in this time, and at worst…well, whoever found her would be all too willing to take advantage of a lone woman who was (by their standards) naked. No, the dress felt like a shield. The most she could bring herself to do was put a knot in the skirts so it tripped her up less frequently.

Getting a fire going, and keeping it going, had been her first port of call - and one she managed without a hitch. It was her most practised skill, and that alone was relief. Hopefully it would drive off any predators when the nights closed in. There was no mistaking that the forest was very much alive around her. She was aware of it constantly - the noise. The chirps and scuttles of bugs, the slithering of snakes, the hooting of birds, and, far more worryingly, the occasional snap of a branch that could have only been done by something far bigger than the aforementioned creatures. But whatever those bigger beasts were, the firelight kept them at bay. Thank god.

Water and food were her next priority. Her constant priority, really. She was intent on keeping the hard tack she'd taken from the ship until she was a stone's throw away from dropping dead of malnourishment. As the only safety net she possessed. In terms of bare bones survival, the rumbling of her stomach could wait. Water, now that was the real worry. With the amount she'd managed to sweat just from daily activities like scavenging the odd coconut, collecting wood dry enough to burn, and just existing in this humid tropical hell, she knew she had to get her hands onto some sort of drink.

The only real amount of water (that wasn't laden with salt or within the few unrotten coconuts she'd found, anyway) that she could find was in the form of stagnant pools here and there, in crevices of rocks and such. She didn't want to resort to that unless she was truly desperate, and so the only thing she could really rely on was the rainwater that had pooled in the great wide, waxy leaves of banana leaf plants here and there. It wasn't much, but it was just enough. For now the time being. That's what survival tended to be. For the time being. Managing until the next disaster hit, then dealing with that disaster…and creating ten new problems to solve in doing so.

The other thing that plenty of people didn't really know about survival was that a lot of it was boring. Oh, it had its infinite challenges to be sure, and those challenges often meant life and death, but those challenges didn't even come close to filling up the hours she had to hand, in solitude and with little in the way of entertainment. Between scavenging and tending the fire, she was left to sit, and to think. So it was rather a good thing that she had so much to think about. In fact, the solitude was pleasant in a way - for it allowed her to clear her mind and adjust without constantly worrying about cracks in her facade, or when the next question might come under the guise of a friendly face.

Besides the obvious dilemma of trying to avoid a witch trial, dehydration, and starvation, her newest plan presented its own set of problems. Jack would not help her if she had nothing to offer him in return. But what could she offer him? There was an obvious answer but, well, it definitely wasn't the right one. She had to admit, she wouldn't exactly kick him out of bed, but he slept with many women, and it didn't encourage him to take them off sailing. In fact, it was probably rather the opposite. And anyway, from what the movie showed there wouldn't be much time for any such shenanigans before he would be in a prison cell, and then sailing away again anyway. His visit to Port Royal was more of a whistle-stop tour more than anything else.

Besides her body, though, there was one thing that she damn well knew might interest him. Her knowledge. But how might she put it to use? How might she reveal it to him? He had no qualm with witches, she knew that from his dalliance with Tia Dalma, but announcing herself as such as a cover for her knowledge could open her up to some sticky situations later down the line. She'd need to think on the matter more - let it stew in the back of her mind, and hope that it would be finished cooking by the time he showed up. There were other problems that couldn't wait, anyway.

With every mouthful of water she managed to scavenge from rain-laden leaves, she knew her time was running out. She did know how to make seawater drinkable but - and was becoming a strong theme for this impromptu little camping expedition - she didn't have the equipment she needed to evaporate the water to separate it from the salt, before condensing it back into clean water. One of the great waxy banana leaves could work to catch the steam as it rose and condense it back into water, but she had nothing to boil the original saltwater in, nor to collect it from the leaf again afterwards. For that, she would need some sort of metal cup - two of them, ideally. And for that, she would have to trade in town.

Luckily, she had somebody in mind that she hoped she might be able to press upon the good heart of.

She'd been living in the forest for three days when she could no longer take the thirst - when scrounging for sips of water that gathered on plants was quite literally more trouble than it was worth and the coconut water was nowhere near enough to sustain her in this unending heat. Her throat was pure sandpaper, she was beginning to feel groggy, and she knew she could no longer put off the matter. So she straightened her filthy dress, wrapped her equally filthy shawl around herself (it had served as a pretty decent blanket at night so far), and began to trudge towards town - although her walk was more of a stagger than anything else.

Either she hadn't seen the movies enough to discern her way to the blacksmith's shop by sight alone, or she was too delirious to remember properly. Thankfully, most people in town - the ones not dressed in uniform, nor in fine silk dresses at least - were just as filthy as she was, and although they regarded her with distrust, they were happy enough to gesture in general directions when she asked them where she could find the blacksmith.

After a little bit of wandering, she just had to follow her ears until she saw the shop with the anvil sign above it. She didn't knock when she found her way to the workshop, not wishing to wake up William Turner's employer. She knew she would have a harder time playing upon the sympathies of his boss, but she just hoped he (was it Mr Brown? Something like that, at least) was good and drunk enough to be clueless as to her presence. If Mr Turner practised his swordplay as much as he boasted of in the movies, he would be here.

Slipping through the rickety wooden door, she bundled her hands in her shawl as she spotted the man she'd come to see, hammering away at some white-hot metal. It didn't take him long to notice her, and when he did he frowned.

"I'm sorry, Miss, the entrance for customers is-"

"Oh, I know," her voice was scratchy from disuse and dehydration both and she had to stop and wet her lips before she could continue "I mean, er, forgive me. I have a bit of a strange request that I'd prefer to discuss with you in person."

"Then you shall have to speak with my employer," he gave a sympathetic smile, already prepared to turn back to his hammering.

"I did," she said quickly before he could "He was…indisposed. I thought you might be able to help me instead, it's a bit of a time-sensitive matter."

And he was the only person of any sort of trade around here that she knew wouldn't try to rip her off, or chase her from the shop entirely. Hesitating, he took in the state of her appearance, before finally his face softened and he sighed, dusting himself off as he approached.

"I need two metal bowls, preferably with flat bottoms - ones that won't rust, and can stand the heat of a fire without warping."

"You could find that sort of thing in town without commissioning it," he frowned.

"They won't deal with me, they think I'm either a beggar, or that I'm mad," she gave a bashful smile, gesturing to her get-up "Or that I'm a mad beggar, I suppose."

It wasn't a complete lie. She'd tried to trade some of the fishermen for some line and a hook on her first morning here, and they wouldn't even speak with her. Will grimaced and then sighed, scratching the back of his neck.

"…And I've only Irish currency," she added with the utmost reluctance.

Unfurling her fingers, she produced the coins she'd had clenched in her fist all the way here. She hadn't wanted to produce her wallet - not in case the photos fell out. That would've been quite something to explain.

"I'm not sure I can help you," he said - but with sympathy, getting that damn puppy dog look on his face that she was sure bowled Elizabeth over all the time "I'm not even supposed to accept commissions, just fulfil them."

Inhaling deeply, she looked away until she was sure she could look at him again without emotion showing. If she didn't figure out a way to get a decent, consistent supply of water soon, she'd be fucked. Utterly fucked.

"Please," she said finally "You can have all of the coins - every single one. It's just for drinking water, nothing…nothing nefarious."

He frowned, his face going from confused to concerned very quickly. Keeping her eyes on him, she did what she could to replicate his own puppy dog look.

"You're the woman the crew of the Interceptor found, aren't you?" He asked.

"Yes, that would be me," she said after a moment's hesitation.

At her response, Will looked at her for a long moment. She hoped that he was thinking of their common roots - from one foundling to another and all that.

"…All right," he sighed eventually, smoothing a hand over his hair.

Theo held out the coins to him, but he raised his hands in response and stepped back.

"There's no need, I could hardly spend them anyway."

Bowing her head, she nodded and then palmed all but the smallest - a one cent euro coin.

"And…do you think you could melt this down and fashion it into a fish hook?" She knew she was pushing her luck, but she didn't want to return.

The fishermen discarded the nets that were beyond mending on the beach all the time, she was certain that she could sneak out in the dead of night and salvage enough of one to make her own fishing line. She couldn't live on coconuts forever, and she didn't want to resort to stealing. Not when she didn't know what the punishment for it was, at least. A bit of bread wasn't worth a noose.

If she could fish and have a source of water, she could even find herself thriving by the time she could salvage a way out of here. Will sighed, and then he accepted the coin.

"As a one-off. As a favour. I can have them done by this evening."

"Shall I come back and pick them up then, then?" Her eyes lit up.

"No - no, I'll bring them to you. It keeps it out of the attention of my employer. Where might I find you?"

Theo grimaced.

"I'm not sure that's the best idea," she murmured.

"It's no trouble, Miss. You can be fishing come morning," he said earnestly.

Well, when he put it like that…she wavered, shifting from one foot to the other. But after days with nothing but coconuts and the smallest bites possible of her hard tack, which was threatening to go mouldy in the humidity, the painful clenching of her stomach was in concurrence with the good Mr Turner. Fine. Damn him. With a sigh, she began the task of explaining to him how he might find her - how far he should walk along the beach, when he should turn into the forest, and how far into said forest she had set up camp. The more she explained, the more the widening of his eyes told her that he was clearly thinking twice of his conclusion that she was quite sane. In fact, she half expected him to change his mind about helping her out at all.

But then he nodded, shook the hand she offered (with undisguised surprise that she offered it in the first place) and Theo took her leave, resisting the urge to sing and dance all the way home. If he didn't help her in the end - which seemed unlikely, he was the honest sort - she was no worse off than she'd started, and it had only cost her one useless penny. If he did? Well, if he did she'd be eating fish for dinner tomorrow night. Not half bad for a day's work. Things were looking up.

The rest of the day crawled by especially slowly after that. Oh, she primped up her living space as best she could - folded her spare clothes and laid them over the hunk of dead wood she'd been sleeping on, built up a fresh fire, arranged her handful of coconuts in a nice little row, and such. And then she waited, enveloped in thoughts of roasted fish while she waited for the sun to set.

It had barely begun its descent in the sky when she heard footsteps disturbing the brush in the small second of forest between the beach and her camp. Standing up quickly, she straightened her skirts and carefully slipped her knife up her sleeve, just to be on the safe side. But when Will came into sight from behind a great tree, she smiled.

That smile left her face almost immediately, though, when a thoroughly unamused Norrington followed suit - dressed in his full military uniform, wig and all, sporting a very unamused frown. The blood drained from her face so quickly her nose threatened to go numb, and she levelled Will with a look that could only say 'how could you?'.

"You ratted me out," she breathed, shaking her head.

Her arms immediately came to wrap around herself in some sort of attempt at self-comfort, with fear rising up sharp and cold within her. Beforehand, back on the ship, Norrington had always been stern, yes, and maybe even a bit intimidating. A pillar of strength and order - like any good leader should be. Now? Now everything about his face and body both gave off the aura of a man absolutely not to be fucked with as he stared her down.

"The jungle is no place for a woman, alone and defenseless," Will had the grace to look guilty.

"The jungle? I'm practically on the beach," she snapped.

"Thank you for your help, Mr Turner," Norrington's voice was strong and sharp, cutting through any budding argument "Your aid has been greatly appreciated. You may leave us now."

She kept her eyes on him, even as Will stepped forward and held out his palm to her. The quick glance she allowed towards it saw it was a fish hook, the colour muddled even in the firelight from the mix of the copper and steel of the coin. When she made no move to take it, he sighed and set it down atop her folded clothing, and then he took his leave. The entire time, Norrington's stern gaze remained on him, his eyes giving away absolutely nothing.

The most she could do was take a slight, wavering step back. She could run. But where? Into the rainforest proper? In her state? Even if that was a feasible idea, he'd catch her in no time. He wasn't hindered by skirts. And she'd have to leave the little she did possess behind. She'd be dead within three days.

"When you disappeared, I assumed you'd gone to the church for sanctuary," he waited until the sound of Will's retreating footsteps faded into nothing before he addressed her "Imagine my surprise when, two days ago, I made the time to go there and they'd never heard of you at all."

His green eyes methodically scanned her campsite, and that was when an emotion finally broke the mask - surprise, in just the slightest twitch of his eyebrows and a brief, marginal widening of his eyes before he regarded her once again, curiosity shining there.

"I didn't mean to worry you - nor be a burden, nor be…ungrateful," she said quietly.

Norrington didn't justify that with a response.

"Who in your family was in the military?" He asked.

Now that question surprised her. She blinked, shook her head, and then sighed. If there were questions that she could answer, then she damn well would. Hopefully it would build some kind of trust.

"My father."

Norrington's eyes widened in either disbelief or sheer exasperation, she couldn't quite tell.

"Then what is his rank? His name? Had you told me this sooner, we could already be on the path to finding him," exasperation laced every ounce of his tone, but it had an edge of steel.

"He's…he's the sort of soldier that doesn't officially exist," she said meaningfully, praying he would understand "If you asked around, you wouldn't get very far."

The SAS had not yet been created. They wouldn't for another two hundred and fifty years, for that matter. But their sort - the sort of work that they did - hopefully that had always existed. Hopefully he would understand her meaning. Lord, she was already sick of relying on hope.

His frown deepened, but he regarded her with a new sort of interest - and one that didn't contain so much anger. The right path, then, she hoped. Before she could help it, she was offering more information still, her heart drumming out a haywire beat in her chest as she prayed that offering information of her own volition would show him that she might've been confusing, but she wasn't malevolent.

"He taught me how to do all of this," she gestured around the camp "He, er, he always said he wasn't raising me, but training me for life. I suppose he was right."

"A strange attitude to have towards daughters."

"He had no sons, he had to make do," she sighed "Although to tell you the truth, he'd have probably still done so even if I'd had ten brothers."

Norrington considered her response for but a moment, and must've been happy with how truthful he judged it to be for another question followed. None of the hesitancy he'd shown to be too impatient with her back on the ship was present now.

"Why not go to the church? They would've housed you for the time being. Fed you. Given you a degree of comfort…"

"I'm comfortable here," she argued "I see no reason to live on charity that could easily go to others who need it, when I'm absolutely fine living here on my own."

"Oh yes, you seem very comfortable," he said drily.

The fact that she was practically swaying on her feet probably had something to do with that. Theo offered no response.

He squinted at her "Are you a papist?"

"Being Irish doesn't automatically make me Catholic," she grumbled.

Especially not if the English were still in the habit of burning Catholics these days.

"Well you cannot stay here, Miss Byrne," he sighed, shaking his head as though disbelieving that he even had to explain it.

"What laws am I breaking?" She argued immediately.

"None that I can think of at this precise moment," he admitted, pinching the bridge of his nose "But it's not safe. Anybody could sail into the docks and stumble upon you. How far do you expect my knife to get you in a real fight? Theft perhaps, then, if you're demanding to be charged with a crime."

Grimacing, she slipped the knife from her sleeve and held it by the blade, offering it out to him "Here. I just sharpened it. I'm not a criminal."

"And what would you use to keep yourself safe without it?" He raised his eyebrows.

The question wasn't a genuine one - no, it was asked with the utmost condescension, like an adult asking a toddler to explain whatever make believe game they were playing.

"I'll find a tree branch and sharpen it into a spear," she held her arms out in a wide shrug.

He rolled his eyes, and then paused when she did not falter.

"Heavens, you're…you're serious, aren't you?"

"Why not?"

"You cannot stay here," he finally took the knife from her.

"I won't go to the church," she said immediately "If you take me there, I'll just find a way to come right back here again."

"In which case you'll be delightfully easy to find," he drawled.

"Captain Norrington, please," she said "I don't want to beg, but I will. I don't mean any harm. I'm not doing any harm. I'm just here, trying to live, until I can work out what comes next."

"You have to come with me," he shook his head.

His tone offered little room for argument, but she didn't care a bit.

"Why?" She demanded.

"Because, Miss Byrne, to the great sorrow of the both of us, my saving you means that you are my responsibility until another steps forward to take over that role. Should you get yourself killed out here through sheer force of foolishness, it is a stain upon my character as well as your own. Now, will you come with me, or will you force me to drag you?"

Now that was a question that Theo well and truly deliberated over. He waited patiently for an answer, strong features set into a perfect picture of sternness. Oh, he definitely wasn't making an empty threat here. With a shaky sigh, and feet so heavy they felt like lead, she bowed her head in defeat.

Norrington kicked dirt and sand over her fire as she gathered up her clothing, along with her fish hook, into her arms. When he led the way from the forest, he did so with an iron grip around her upper arm. There would be no running away this time.

A/N: I do hope this bit didn't seem rushed - but honestly, most of us have seen Castaway, and I didn't want this bit to be any longer than it genuinely had to be. I felt like dragging it out into several chapters wouldn't have any real purpose beyond boring us all. 'Woman thinks in forest' doesn't have a lot of long-term potential, oddly enough.