Port Royal was abuzz with the news the moment that the official order came through - Captain James Norrington would become Commodore Norrington before the following month was out. It would have been sooner, were it not for the preparation that had to go into it. The English loved their pomp and ceremony, and no doubt Will would be working night and day to get the new sword commissioned for the new Commodore in time, even with a little over six weeks' notice.

But despite all of the minutiae that had to be seen to beforehand, the effect on James was clear in the run-up to the official notice coming through. The man was practically walking on air. While he could never be described as the boisterous type - there was certainly no booming laughter or shouts of glee - anybody could see that he was much quicker to smile, and much slower to frown. He was downright gleeful, really, to the point of it being infectious. It was almost enough to drag Theo from the depths of the constant worry that now burrowed its way into her gut. The waiting had seemed unbearable before she'd had a timeframe, but now that she knew when everything would go to shit, she couldn't help but be jealous of her former, more oblivious self.

On the bright side, knowing that she only had six weeks not just to prepare, but also to make the most of the calm before the big and terrible storm, encouraged her greatly to do just that. She promised herself that she would swim whenever she could, which had the added bonus of keeping her fit for the adventure ahead, she would took frequent walks around the island like she was on patrol, and she would as much of Elizabeth as she could and actually made a point of enjoying the social engagements (along with the good food and drink they boasted), and do what she could to ignore the voice in the back of her mind telling her how much she would miss all of this when it was out of reach. Dwelling would only ruin the peace while it lasted.

Word always spread quickly here - there was no Netflix to replace gossip as the firm favourite when it came to entertainment - the official announcement reached the house before lunchtime, which at least gave her a couple of hours to internally panic and set up a timeline of her own in her mind before James returned. And when he did, she rushed to the door the moment she heard it start to open.

"There he is! The hero of the town," she greeted with a cheer that was difficult to genuinely feel as he walked through the door.

Oh, she was happy for him - happy that he was happy, in the here and now. A promotion was a joy to anybody, but for somebody who lived and breathed their work? It was probably in the top three best things that could happen to him, in James' own mind. But how long before he was stripped of his title? It felt cruel to celebrate it now, knowing what was to come. He'd get it all back, sure, but that only led to something she loathed to think about all the more - because how long between that and his death?

What else could she do, though? Greet what he viewed as his own good news with a dour face and no celebration? Especially after all he'd done for her? No - no, she refused to be so weak as to be ruled by her emotions in such a way. He'd done so much for her, and god knew that she'd grown fond of him despite her best efforts. If nothing else, Theo could be happy for his happiness.

Blinking in surprise at her sudden appearance, he registered her words and then gave a laugh that was more modest than anything else.

"You've heard, then?"

"Within an hour of you finding out, I'd wager," she admitted with a smile.

"That's soldiers for you - they gossip more than old wives," he sighed, but he could not hide his mirth, the corners of his lips stubbornly twitching upwards even as he feigned being unbothered.

Once she was close enough, Theo almost hugged him, but then she stopped short. Would such a thing be proper? It was what she would have done back home - she'd have squeezed the life out of any friend who got news as good as this. Here, though, everything was so damn coded. The way a fan was waved, the type of flowers that sat in the vase in the hall, whether the left or the right cheek was kissed in greeting. Technically speaking she may have spoken the same language as James, but when it concerned actually communicating? That was a bit trickier.

Hattie, and even Elizabeth, might've found it charming, but it was different with men - and even more different still with James. Not knowing the proper customs, or even just having different ones in this time, could be amusing and eccentric - charming, if she was lucky - when around women. Around men it was improper. A touch more sinister. An insinuation of dubious morals, or just an outright lack thereof entirely. With strangers it would be damning enough, but with James she found herself vehemently not wanting him to think that of her.

It was because of how much he'd done for her. It had to be. Whatever problems she had (and she had many) with the morals and the laws of the time, the way that one slight misstep could spur thousands of rumours of her being a loose woman - and the way that women could be viewed as loose or fallen at all, for that matter - she could not change them. Not by simply refusing to abide by them as best she could, anyway. There was little to be gained from doing so, and everything to be lost. If following a set of rules she did not yet fully know, and likely never would understand, could show her respect and gratitude to James, she would do her best to do so. It was the least she could do, considering that if all went to plan in the coming months she would be gallivanting with pirates. Maybe when they next crossed paths she could point out "but hey, remember how well I followed etiquette rules when I lived with you?". Yeah, that would really help.

Jesus, he was going to hate her. But for now he did not, and that would have to be enough. Once she was within reach of him, she reached out and squeezed his arms while holding him at arm's length in a sort of bizarre long-armed hug.

"Congratulations, James - truly. I've not been here long, but I can see how much this means to you all the same."

"A promotion is a joyous occasion in any soldier's life."

He was trying to be modest - and doing a good job of it, too - but the pride was gleaming in his eyes, like sunlight reflected by the waves on the water outside.

"Of course," she agreed "But it's not just a promotion, not for you, because it's not just a job for you. It's one thing to succeed in a job, but another to succeed with your wider life goals - and when the two align, I imagine there's no better feeling. Especially being a fellow military brat, y'know? You're fulfilling your own hopes for yourself as well as that of your family's. It's a big thing - huge. Monumental."

Squeezing his arms, she let go and took a step back as he regarded her strangely.

"And you deduced all of that just from living here?" He asked doubtfully.

"I made a few educated guesses," she winced "I'm sorry if I went too far, I'm just trying to say you deserve to be exactly as excited as you are about it - it's not something to be downplayed."

"No, not at all - I was just…taken aback by the accuracy of your deductions."

"Before long I'll have taken to solving mysteries about town to keep myself occupied," she said drily.

"If there are any missing parasols or stolen bracelets, I'll make sure to pass the news onto you," he said with mocking seriousness.

"Oh, haven't you heard the word around town? I'd be the main suspect."

"In that case I would start by searching your room before recruiting you," he replied drily.

"At least I'm not being locked in at night any more," she gave an airy shrug.

Stopping short, James eyed her for a moment. Had he really thought she hadn't noticed? When it had stopped, it had been a great joy - a mark of trust, even if he thought she was unaware of it being bestowed upon her.

"Can I trust you'll still be here come morning now that you're not?" He asked once he got over his bashfulness.

"That entirely depends upon whether I like what's being served for breakfast come morning. I have so far, though, so the likelihood is looking pretty decent."

"I shall have to give the cook a pay rise," he deadpanned before sighing, shedding the mask that his dry humour often afforded him "Come, have a drink with me - please. To celebrate."

Theo led the way into the sitting room at his gesture, taking a seat on the couch as he approached the drinks cart in the corner.

"I get the feeling you're not averse to whiskey," he commented "And this is a special occasion."

"Are you saying that because I'm Irish, or because I seem like a raging alcoholic?"

"I'm mainly trying to showcase my own powers of deduction," he snorted, pouring two glasses of whiskey "My apologies - I meant nothing by it."

"And I took no offence - mainly because you're absolutely correct."

"Crisis averted, then," he handed one of the glasses to her and rounded the couch before sitting down with his own.

"To Commodore Norrington," she said, raising her glass in a toast and ignoring how much dread the title brought with it.

There was no effort made to suppress his smile this time as he raised his glass just slightly in acknowledgement. The smile vanished just long enough for him to take a sip from his glass, and then it was back the moment the glass touched his knee again.

"It sounds strange, doesn't it?"

"Not at all," it was the truth - it was what she was used to hearing, after all "And before long, it will be Admiral."

He chuckled, shaking his head, unaware that she was stating a fact rather than complimenting him.

"Now that celebration is rather premature," he pointed out.

"I was just looking for an excuse for another glass," she took a sip of her drink and relished the burn on the way down "This is good stuff. But don't even try to tell me you haven't already got your eyes set on the horizon."

"I have a few goals to meet before then," he gave the slightest shrug, reaching up with his free hand to slowly drag the wig from atop his head.

He looked much younger without it — the difference always struck her. If she was being totally honest (and maybe it was just the alcohol hitting her already, for she hadn't eaten much that day after hearing the news) the lack of the wig had been the main culprit for her initial realisation of just how painfully handsome he was. Nowadays she had trouble un-realising it, even when the wig was firmly in place atop his head.

For all that Will Turner and Captain Jack were lauded as the heartthrobs of the movies, James was sorely overlooked. Classically handsome with strong features and a good heart, as well as a wicked sense of dry humour that was sorely overlooked (save for perhaps in Dead Man's Chest), she was certain that if she ever got home she would need to start a James Norrington fan club.

"Such as what? Conquering the world?" She teased.

But rather than respond, he flushed and turned his gaze to his glass. That was when the memory hit her - ah. What was it that he would soon say to Elizabeth? That his proposal had turned his focus onto the other things he had not yet achieved. A marriage to a fine woman. It had to be what he was referring to. Once again, her face lost much of its mirth, but this time she wasn't entirely sure why. Of course, she could pinpoint it on the one thing that constantly weighed on her here - the knowledge she had of the future.

Back home, had she known that a good friend was about to propose to somebody whose eyes were set on another, she'd warn them in time and convince them not to. even if they refused to listen, she could at least comfort herself in the knowledge that she had provided them with all of the facts. Here? Here her hands were tied. All she could do was wish him well and watch him run off to get his heart broken. It felt like a mighty big betrayal.

"You said - correctly, I might add - that in receiving this promotion, I'm fulfilling the goals often set out before sons that hail from military families."

Theo hummed and nodded, readily accepting his shifting the conversation.

"…Forgive me if I'm speaking out of turn," he said slowly, and then lost his hesitance at the amused look she gave him - because he ought to have known her well enough by now to know there was little he could bring up that would have her taking offence "…What expectations did your father lay out for you? You've already spoken of his unconventional approach given your being a woman, so I cannot imagine that the usual expectations would apply."

The usual expectations probably being that she'd find somebody within the military community and pop out a whole new army of sons.

"No, he'd have been happy to see me die a spinster if it would have been my desire," she admitted with a shrug "I was very lucky with his expectations, really. He wanted me to do whatever I wanted to do - with the caveat that I did it well. Incredibly well. Really gave it my all, nothing in half-measures. Most would kill to have such expectations set upon them, and the freedom that they offered. More freedom than most expectations, anyway. Still, I think I still managed to arse them up anyway."

"A colourful turn of phrase," he muttered.

"Sorry," she made a face "I've told you, I'm not suited to decent company. A regular diamond in the rough…maybe without the diamond part."

"I wouldn't say that," he chuckled, shaking his head.

"Well, you'd be one of the few around here."

Insecurity wasn't something she ever really tended much towards - not back home. She knew her strengths, she liked to think that she knew her weaknesses, and she hoped that she knew how to work with both. Her father had always said that going through life being insecure, or riddled with self-doubt, was the equivalent of driving around with the handbrake on. It was an exercise in masochism and an utter waste of energy. Still, there was something about being here that made her feel uncertain, if not unconfident. Self-deprecating humour was the only way she could deal with it without a whole lot of screaming and breaking things…and that wasn't much of a possibility right now, permanently within earshot of somebody and surrounded only by things that were very much not hers to break.

"Not at all," he disagreed, something dangerously close to fondness showing on his face as he regarded her.

"Well, at least I can say I won the approval of the fearsome Captain Norrington while here," she snorted.

"Fearsome?" He echoed doubtfully "I seem to recall you stealing my knife within twenty-four hours of knowing me."

"If you can't beat fear, do it scared," she said wryly.

"A worthy motto, although not one I would suggest you apply to crime and sin."

"I'll take that suggestion on board," she said "But you did cut an intimidating figure. Still do, really."

It didn't help that upon their first meeting she'd been more than half convinced that he was an absolute madman. His brow furrowed as he eyed her with pure scepticism.

"You do!" She insisted "It was a good thing you weren't Commodore Norrington then - I would've fainted with terro- oh, wait. I already did that. Maybe things wouldn't have been so different after all."

He laughed then - a real, warm laugh and shook his head ruefully "Well, I do hope that my mere presence alone no longer strikes fear into your heart."

"That depends on your mood," she teased "But no - it doesn't."

"Good," he nodded "You've no reason to fear me, Theodora. I…I hope you know that."

The sincerity, awkward and unsure as it was, was such a sharp u-turn from the jovial teasing that they'd fallen into that she almost had to stop and wonder if she'd missed the joke in his words. But when none registered, she had to blink away her surprise, before she nodded slowly, smiling softly.

"I know - and I don't, not anymore," she replied sincerely.

"So what are these great and outlandish things you wish to do?" He forced the topic back to her own ambitions before the moment of sincerity could become awkward.

"Well that's just it - I don't know," she admitted with a sigh "I see so many people who find what they're interested in, a calling, and they just chase after it relentlessly, and it fills me with joy to see. It must be such a thrill. I have a friend back home who's a marvellous painter, and she once told me that painting is the only thing that, when she's doing it, she doesn't feel like she should be doing something else."

Said friend was actually a tattoo artist, but the mention of such a profession would be a bit more difficult to explain.

"I have yet to find that," she continued, glancing briefly towards him to make sure he was still listening and then flushing when she found him doing so intently "I've dabbled in everything I can think of, I've even been pretty good at some of it, but nothing clicked like it seems to for others. I'm a wee bit adrift - if you'll forgive just how suitable the metaphor is."

The thing she enjoyed most out of all of it was anything that held a physical challenge - hiking, running, swimming, even sparring. But while she loved all of that, the one aspect that stood a chance of her getting anything from it in life was the one that didn't interest her at all. Competing. There was no desire in her to have the fastest mile, or the strongest punches. She did it because she loved it, and that was it. Even the military was a no-go, for while the discipline, the challenge, and the fortitude that it would take all interested her greatly, the warfare did not - and that happened to be a pretty bloody big part of joining.

It had come as a great relief to her when her father had been the one to say that she wouldn't be suited to it, without her even having to broach the topic herself, no less. Before he had done, the worry that she would disappoint him for saying so had threatened to make her teenage self sick.

Theo had to admit, in her more fanciful moments she'd wondered if she'd been born in the wrong time. If she wouldn't be more suited to a time in history when people were more focused on hunting down their food, building their homes, and simply surviving. When all of that kept them much too busy for them to get all existential and wonder about the bigger picture. Then again, she enjoyed having things like showers, birth control, basic rights, and the option of not dying from cholera before she hit thirty, all at her disposal, so she didn't often get too romantic about the whole thing.

"And how do you know that the option you don't seem to heed at all isn't the one that would give you all that you wish for?" He asked.

"What option's that, then?"

"Marriage. Children."

Huffing a tired laugh, she shook her head. Every time she forgot about the chasm that lay between them, the one that three hundred years of history and development in areas like feminism and social mobility put there, she only wound up falling into it. She had no qualms with women who lived for such things, in this day and age or the one she hailed from, but the assumption that it was a fix-all for any and all women was...unpleasant. It wasn't meant that way, but it was just how it hit. Nobody back home would say "hey, find yourself a husband and get knocked up" if she expressed such sentiments. Not anybody she'd listen to, anyway. But James wasn't deserving of being lumped in with them. It wasn't his fault. It was just...a reminder of where she was. When she was. An unwelcome reminder, at that, but probably one she would regularly need if she wasn't to get too comfortable. Generally speaking, yes, but also around James specifically.

His green eyes were scrutinising every twitch of her face, and she had no idea what he was searching for in her expression - nor what he would be expecting to find, if she was who she was pretending to be - but she forced down her annoyance and her disappointment. James was a product of his time, just as she was of her own. Somehow, mercifully, he managed to resist the urge to get pissed off at her when she showed it, so she would afford him the same benefit of the doubt. But she still couldn't read his expression, nor escape the feeling that she was missing something here. That something lay beneath the question and the searching look that accompanied them both, something more than curiosity or a truly innocent suggestion.

"I just know," she sighed, draining the remnants of her glass before dropping her gaze to her lap.

Whatever moment there was had gone, and she could feel her walls coming back up of their own accord, brick by brick.

A/N: In which Norrington's conspiracy theories ruin a good moment. We'll be reaching the events of the movies pretty soon! But first, I think that Governor Swann would have a soiree to celebrate the run-up to his good friend's promotion, don't you? Poor Theo, being thrown into the lion's den once again.