A/N: My WiFi peaced out last week for a few days, which meant chapter previews to reviewers went out later than I'd like - I'm sorry! Completely beyond my control, I'd have replied using my data on my phone, but the site only lets me send messages on my laptop these days, which put me shit out of luck.

Tortuga, Theo soon discovered, was more of an experience than a place. If she was to take the most boisterous town known for its nightlife back home - on a Saturday night, after a particularly important football match - it would still only be a mere shadow of what Tortuga was. What surprised her more was the fact that she quite liked it…the smell aside. It was about as far removed from Port Royal's idea of revelry as one could get, and while such events had certainly had their moments (she thought back to her dance with James far more than she ever should, and ever would, admit) they demanded a higher sort of awareness than a place such as this did. It helped very much, too, that it seemed everybody on this island was much too involved in their own indulgence to pay them any mind. The only looks she drew weren't even because of her face, which had begun to itch something rotten as it healed, but because of who she walked beside. Even here, Jack Sparrow was the sort of man who demanded to be noticed. Judging by the smirk that had been permanently plastered across his face since they'd docked, he knew it.

Theo's mind, however, was on matters that didn't quite include Jack's famed reputation. She'd scoured the below decks of The Interceptor over and over, and she'd failed to find a single weapon that might serve her well during what was to come. It was no surprise, really. James ran a tight ship (a turn of phrase she never thought she'd be able to use quite so aptly), and none of his men would be quite so careless enough to simply leave their swords behind on the ship without good reason - and even then, she struggled to think of a reason that James would deem good enough. Still, she'd held out hope for maybe a dagger or something, even resorting to rifling through the galley, but with no luck. The most she did find were simple knives suited for utility rather than fighting, which just wouldn't do. She was capable of handling herself in a fight, but not that capable. Well, unless a door frame was involved - in which case she was apparently useless.

So being here afforded her an opportunity to amend her unarmed state. It was just a happy coincidence that her absence was best for all involved with what was to come. It was important that Jack and Gibbs' conversation remained unchanged, and that Will overheard all of it. Even if she simply stood aside with Will, it still risked his being too preoccupied by her presence to bother eavesdropping, so it was best that she made herself scarce.

When they entered the tavern, Theo immediately began to turn away from the group.

"Oi - where do you think you're going?" Jack frowned.

"I'm not needed, so I thought I'd get a drink and have some fun," she shrugged.

He blinked for a moment as though surprised, and then the frown smoothed out of his features before he nodded in approval. Rather than aim it at her, however, he turned to Will and gestured towards her.

"Just so you know, between the two of you she's becoming my favourite."

Somehow, Will did an admirable job at hiding his heartbreak over that particular revelation.

Suppressing a smile, Theo nodded as though in thanks "I'll meet you back on the ship later tonight."

She half expected Jack to protest at that - to insist that they stick together or that she stay within sight. But she'd been with James too long, for the good Captain just waved a hand, already turning away from her. It made sense, she supposed, for she was no good to him if she couldn't even hold her own in a tavern without his watching over her. Shit, she had to face it, Jack's watchful gaze was more likely to bring trouble than it was to stop it.

Her search of The Interceptor hadn't proven entirely fruitless - she approached the bar with a handful of coins, and managed to buy herself a bottle of rum and still have change left over. Then, she merged into the side-lines of the room and waited for people to forget that she was there altogether. It didn't take too long. While she wasn't the first woman to ever be seen in the company of Jack Sparrow, and nor was she the last, she was probably one of the few who'd had a busted face. But the curious looks faded to nothing, what with the constant revelry. There seemed to be a never-ending torrent of bottles smashing, people stumbling and going arse over elbow, brawls breaking out, and so much more constantly vying for the attention of the tavern's patrons - so much so, that most seemed to have given up and limited their attention to the bottles in their hands, or the women in their laps.

Theo stayed back, and she observed. People that she'd known growing up tended to have a very misguided view of what her upbringing would be like, what with her father being in the military. They pictured inspections of her bedroom at six in the morning to make sure it was insanely clean, a demand that she get nothing but As in classes, any detentions resulting in a month-long grounding — the works. The reality was quite different. Her dad had seen enough, had lived through enough, to recognise that there were times when getting by required a…bending off the law. To put it lightly. Considering she had no money to pay a blacksmith, and her searching and snooping had left her no more armed than when she'd first boarded, she had come to the conclusion that this was one of those times.

Places like this would be riddled with thieves and pickpockets. She'd clocked the sign nailed to the door on the way in, warning 'beware of pickpockets' - the one that had no doubt been put up by those very same pickpockets, so unwitting patrons would see it, and then check their purses, exposing exactly where they were on their persons. It was funny that a trick still being used in her own time seemed to work so well - usually stuff like that only worked for a little while before people caught on, and new tricks were found. She supposed it only worked on those unaccustomed to being here. Jack certainly hadn't paused to check, nor had Will despite his supposed naivety. She'd have to watch that one - he wasn't quite so clueless as his doe eyes led people to believe.

It didn't take her long to see how things were done. Plenty of times, men would leave their table to go to the upstairs rooms in the tavern with their chosen lady of the night, and no sooner had they turned their back on the table when it was being swept by somebody looking for belongings that might've been left by mistake. It didn't prove as lucky a strategy as she'd hoped, though, for it seemed none of them were quite so drunk or distracted that they'd somehow let their weapons slip from their belts before they left the table. Which meant she needed a new plan.

A sword would be no good, she knew that already. At least, none that she'd find here. Not only would it be too heavy and cumbersome for her to wield without training, but there was no chance she could relieve one from its rightful owner without it being too obvious. That being said, balls made a hell of a lot of difference when it came to succeeding in a gambit such as this. Slash from Guns n' Roses had stolen his first ever top hat, she remembered reading in some magazine. He'd simply put it on his head and strode out of the door of the shop he'd found it in. Nikki Sixx of Motley Crue had stolen his first guitar (why were all of her favourite musicians practically modern day pirates?) — he'd slipped it into the guitar case he was buying and carried it out right under the cashier's nose. So, she had to ask herself, what would be the ballsy move here?

Her eyes roamed over the room countless times, waiting for inspiration to strike, and just when she was giving up hope sometime around her twentieth scan, she met the eye of a man across the room. He was somewhere around her own age with blond hair that brushed his collar - but more importantly, he was already utterly pissed, if the impressive shade of crimson that his cheeks glowed was anything to go by. When their eyes met, his lips stretched into a smile as he regarded her with a nod. Now, there was some potential. Feigning shyness, she returned the smile with a close-lipped one of her own before lifting her bottle to her lips and making a point to then look anywhere but at him. What next?

The next thing that caught her attention turned her plan from a fragmented jigsaw into something actually somewhat coherent. A grizzled old sailor sitting at a table by himself, a scowl on his face. The sort that was only here for the drink, and merely tolerated the company that went with it in a place such as this. Perfect. When she spotted the short sword at his hip, she suppressed a smile. But then nerves bubbled up and the smile vanished of its own accord, anyway. There was a lot that could go wrong here - everything had to be just so for her to pull this off. The sailor had to be as grumpy as he looked, and not just suffering from a severe case of resting bitch face, and the one across the room had to be as interested in her as he appeared. Hopefully he liked his women resembling pandas. A glance towards him again showed he still watched her.

Theo hesitated, but took another swig of her rum so she could pretend her hesitation wasn't cowardice. It was a hell of a gamble. It left a lot to chance. It…it was precisely the sort of mad plan Jack would throw himself into without hesitation. Maybe she had a thing or two to learn from her new captain — well, perhaps she'd leave that judgement for after this plan of hers worked. If it did.

Doing what she could to emanate 'drunk aunt at a wedding', she staggered over to the miserable looking sailor, some of her rum sloshing out of the neck of the bottle as she practically slammed it down onto his table, leaning forward so that she was at eye level.

"Alright, handsome? How are you doing?"

Jesus, she felt like every man she'd ever told to fuck off at a bar.

"Piss off," he grunted, barely sparing her a glance.

"Aw, don't be like that - you lock-hic-look lonely. I thought I could help with that."

Having to furiously fight off whatever cringe-worthy embarrassment she felt, she made a show of swaying on her feet before sprawling herself into his lap as though she was doing her best to be seductive. In doing so, she managed to knock over his drink - which was a genuine accident - and that was more than enough to set him off.

"You stupid bitch!" he exclaimed, reeling back and shoving her away from him.

It went largely unnoticed amidst the sheer chaos of the tavern, and Theo managed to catch herself by the edge of the table before she went tumbling to the ground. Before she could right herself, though, the sailor was yanking her up by her shirt.

"I said piss off," he sneered "Are you deaf?"

Her heart dropped - she'd been too busy worrying that she'd overestimated his foul mood, and not quite considered that maybe she'd underestimated it. But before she could even ready herself for her second fight in twenty-four hours, the man was shoved forward. His grip on her loosened, and Theo managed to side-step him before he went stumbling into her.

"Is that-" her saviour - the blond man who had smiled at her - paused to hiccup before he continued "Is that any way to speak to the lady?"

"By Christ," the sailor sneered, turning around "And who are you? Her pimp?"

Before the blond could even respond, though, he was taking a swift punch to the face. Apparently the sailor had known where this was headed, and wasn't content to wait for the other to draw first blood. Taking an instinctive step back, Theo then moved forward again and forced herself to stay in place, waiting for an opening - praying that this wouldn't be a one hit wonder of a fight. Her prayers were answered, too, for the blond had amazing fortitude for somebody whose eyes were already hazy from the drink. He faltered for but a moment, and then he lurched forward, grappling with the sailor.

They grappled briefly, throwing in body shots at one another, each trying to get the other to loosen his hold, and it was then that she saw her opportunity - the blond had the sailor in a headlock, both turned away from her as they struggled to keep their footing. Darting forward, she slipped the shortsword from the sailor's belt under the guise of trying to break the fight up. The moment it was free of its scabbard, though, she fell back - just in time to see the two men fall to the floor and resume their fight there. It wouldn't be long now, and she didn't want to chance ruining it all by hanging around too long and getting herself caught after already succeeding. Taking a few quick steps back, she looked around to make sure none were looking at her. Upon finding that none were, she paused and - on a whim - lifted the sailor's coat from the back of the chair he'd been sitting on.

And then she was gone, striding for the door with her head down.

"Oi!"

Freezing, she almost didn't stop at all once she'd left the tavern - but the voice calling after her was female. Finally stuttering to a stop, she threw a look over her shoulder and spotted a woman standing in the doorway; a beautiful brunette with eyes that were so dark they appeared black in the light of the night, smirking at her.

"I saw that."

Theo wavered. Did she run? Deny everything while utterly red-handed?

"Give me the coin purse from the coat and I'll cover for you," the woman added, quirking an eyebrow "Tell 'em you ran the opposite way."

It was a deal she didn't even have to think about - she had no use for money. Digging a hand into the coat pocket, she produced the purse and hurtled it at the woman who nodded in thanks, catching it with one hand before turning swiftly back into the tavern.

And then Theo took off at a sprint for the ship, only stumbling when her boots skidded in the mud.

Theodora, James told everybody, was an unwitting stowaway on Jack Sparrow and William Turner's dim-witted adventure. Given that he was the only one who had seen her note, nobody had any real reason to doubt his word - or, at least if they did, they had the wisdom not to do so to his face. The decision to lie was one he'd made with relative ease, which was not particularly common for him, but the reason why he'd done so remained a mystery to him. Or so he told himself. But she hadn't been in her right mind. Along with a serious knock to the head, she'd been through enough horrors the night that Port Royal was sacked to turn anybody's hair as white as his wig with fear. He wouldn't allow people to get carried away with gossip when they hadn't all the facts, throwing around words like piracy and accomplice, before he'd even had a chance to speak with her and hear her side of things. For he wouldn't believe that she'd had a purposeful hand in this. He could not.

It didn't help that the facts he did have aided him not when it came to making sense of things. Oh, he could easily piece together her movements over the course of that day, but he couldn't find any reason or logic in them. She'd gone from home - the house - to the cells, to The Interceptor. In that order. He could only thank God that what evidence that did leave contradicted any theory that she'd opted to become a pirate and aid Sparrow in his escape, for she couldn't have had any notion of what he and Turner were planning when she'd left the note. But why did she then seek his forgiveness? What had her plan been upon sneaking away from Groves that fateful morning? James very much intended to ask her directly as soon as possible. Of course, that intention fully depended on Sparrow keeping her alive - a thought that had his heart sinking whenever it wormed its way into his mind.

While there was little doubt that Theodora could keep herself alive, the sacking of Port Royal had more than shown that, he didn't dare take for granted that she would do so when in the clutches of such a notorious brigand. Christ, she was almost as much of a hostage as Elizabeth. But hostages were only valuable whilst alive. And that offered him hope - on both fronts.

Once they'd gotten The Dauntless back into shape suitable for sailing (and for fighting) and had begun to make sail, he felt marginally better. At least now he was truly doing something, rather than simply planning what he might do. It was also good to get out of the house, for Hattie had barely stopped crying ever since Theodora's disappearance, no matter how many times he tried to uncomfortably explain to her that if she'd slipped out from under Groves' nose, Theodora would have done the same with the maid, too. It seemed the young woman had taken it too personally to be consoled - which, even if he did not admit it aloud, he could commiserate with - insisting that she should have stayed to aid the Irishwoman through the aftermath that had come with saving her life.

Groves, it had to be noted, was hardly in the best of moods, either. But he was a man - a military man - who recognised that excessively bemoaning shortcomings, personal or otherwise, would only have the effect of hindering one from rectifying them. Admittedly, James found it a bit more difficult to forgive his Lieutenant's oversight than he did Hattie's, but forgive it he did. Not just because he had little choice in the matter, nor even because it was required of him if he wanted to get anything done about the mess in which they now found themselves, but because he knew Theodora and how resourceful she could be. It would take a stubborn man indeed to stand between her and her goals, and Groves? Well…James suspected that when it came to the woman in question, he hadn't the heart to do so. Although that didn't brighten his mood much. He refused to analyse the reasoning behind that, either.

What he had the least patience for, overall, were the people who insisted on asking if he was well. Few had been foolish enough to ask after word had spread of the look he'd levelled those who did ask with, but some still did. They meant well, of course, but the question was an idiotic one - one that had him wanting to seize them by the shoulders and demand to know how they would feel if two women that they-…that they were responsible for had been kidnapped in less than twenty-four hours.

But he would get them back. Both of them. God willing, they would be safe and unharmed, and then…then James would have answers to the questions that plagued him as he scrutinised the horizon from the deck of The Dauntless. No matter how much he treated that hope as fact, though, as though he could will it into fruition by willpower alone, he couldn't help but send a prayer up to the heavens over and over, all the same.

Please, God, let them be safe.

He would do everything in his power to make it so, but he also was not above asking the powers above for whatever help he could get. A sinking feeling in his chest told him he might very well need it.