A/N: So I have had some people express an interest in some method of 'tipping' me, especially after my recent personal issues — and I will preface this by saying it's absolutely not expected or demanded in any way, I mostly do fanfic for fun as a break from novel work — but I did set up a ko-fi account under the username eriathiel (which is my AO3 username) in case anybody is interested in that. If you search the ko-fi site for eriathiel, I should be the only option that pops up, same profile pic as on here with the black lipstick and everything. It also works if you just type the username after a forward slash on the ko-fi site URL.

Like I said, I'm grateful just for reviews, favourites, follows, reads, all of it, but for those who really wish to and are in a position to "buy me a coffee", as the site puts it, it is now an option and one that I'm grateful beyond words for if anybody chooses to do so. If not and you want to go on reading as usual, that's absolutely understandable, no problem at all, and I'm more than grateful for that, too! The stories will continue on as usual either way. Just seemed like a nice option to have in the meantime while I work tirelessly at future publishing mega-success (let me dream). Okay, on with the show!

The voyage back to Port Royal was only a handful of days at most, and Theo had every intention of avoiding everybody for all of it. Especially James. Oh, he hadn't liked that at all. He'd made that much clear from the very moment he made it clear that he still intended to marry Elizabeth. It was something she replayed over and over in her mind, only stoking her ire every time she involuntarily remembered it.

Turning on her heel, she made for the captain's quarters. She knew she'd have at least a bit of time alone there, what with Elizabeth being ranted at by her father for running off to the Black Pearl, and Will hovering awkwardly on deck like he wanted to be anywhere but there. She understood the sentiment. Just like last time, though, James followed her.

"Theodora," he'd called after her, voice more Commodore Norrington than James "Theodora!"

To any outside listener, they might've thought she was in for her own scolding. Considering the last few days - the last few hours - it certainly wouldn't have been unexpected. Nor uncalled for, in their eyes. But she ignored him, ducking through the doors and entering the quarters where she made straight for the small wooden bar tucked behind the desk.

Not bothering to crouch down and read the bottles, she wasn't even sure her brain would be able to make sense of the letters in that moment, she simply grabbed one and uncorked it, taking a hearty swig. Brandy. Not her usual drink of choice, but after the lukewarm rum back on that deserted island, it was practically liquid gold. The door clicked open and then shut quickly, and she took another few gulps.

"That is far too strong for you to drink like that - it's meant to be consumed a thimble at a time," James said quietly.

Turning slightly so she could look him in the eye, she held his gaze and took another three or four gulps out of spite before lowering the bottle. He sighed, but abandoned that line of scolding.

"May we speak?" He asked, voice soft.

"Nope," she shrugged, popping the 'p' as she said it "Don't think we can."

He looked incredibly sad, eyes downright mournful as he beheld her. Theo wanted to look away, for it did nothing to help her own sorrow, but she had to make a point, so she didn't. Rather than argue, though, he just stood there. It angered her more than the arguing might have.

"Go and speak to your fiance," she shrugged "It's become very apparent that you prefer her company over mine…mixed signals aside."

Grumbling the last part slowly - pointedly - she turned back to the bar in search of something that wouldn't give her alcohol poisoning if she drank the whole bottle. It would be a tough find, considering she'd not yet eaten that day, but it would give her something to occupy herself with.

"You must listen to me - you must allow me to explain."

"Must I?" She echoed mockingly "It's fine. Don't worry about it. I'm saving you the bother. Congratulations, Commodore Norrington, I'm so very, very happy for you. There. All good. See you later."

"Theodora."

She wanted him to stop saying her name - and to stop saying it like that.

"I'll find alternative lodgings when we return. Let you plan your wedding in peace - of course, it'll save any awkwardness as far as the wedding night goes. I suppose I could've always covered my ears and hummed a tune for a while, but it still would be a bit off-putting having me next door, y'know? I mean, what song would I even choose? ABBA have some great contenders but nothing quite fits the bill here, shockingly enough. Might be a mood killer for ye."

The alcohol, the exhaustion, and the upset were all working together in conjunction to make her accent come out in full force, despite how used she'd grown to toning it down so all of the Englishmen she was so constantly surrounded by could understand her more easily. No, now her 'r's were rolling harshly, and her vowels running amok in comparison to what 'proper' English might dictate.

In that moment, it didn't matter that the wedding night she was alluding to, that she was provoking him with, would never happen. If he had his way, it would happen. That was the important thing. Plus, she just wanted to shock him. To have him feeling as mortified and uncomfortable as she did in that moment. It worked, too, judging by the crimson flush that was quickly and steadily making its way up his neck.

"Stop this," he snapped.

"Unless," she gave a borderline belligerent laugh, entirely without humour "That doesn't fit whatever vision it is you have for the future. What, am I to be - what is it you call it around here…a mistress? What, you'll give it your best effort to further the Norrington line next door with your very beautiful, very proper, very perfect wife and then…what? Come to my room for round two? An ambitious plan - impressive, really, if not a bit unhygienic. Can't say I like the sound of it, though."

She was beginning to sound like Jack with his ramblings, but maybe that was how she'd finally succeeded in having him look appalled.

"Do you really think I would ever entertain such a notion? You truly think that of me?"

"I didn't, no. Not until you kissed me like…like that, and then went straight to discussing wedding plans barely one full minute later," she scoffed.

That was the thing, wasn't it? 'Til now, she could place the blame for her upset solely on herself. Insist that any feelings she had were ill-advised and entirely unreciprocated. That the onus was on her to get the fuck over it, and accept the fact that he didn't return her feelings. Sure, they'd kissed once before, but that wasn't like this one, and she hardly went around thinking every lad she snogged on a night out saw a future with her. In the span of less than an hour, though, she felt like her feelings had gone from being unreturned, to being toyed with. The first former was nobody's fault. The latter was a little harder to forgive.

But her anger would've felt a lot more satisfying to unleash if not for the tears beginning to drop down her face. Rifling through the bottles with such ferocity that it was a wonder none of them smashed, she finally found something that looked to be red wine and settled for that. But her battle to steel herself against her own tears was a losing one, her muscles too tired to tense against the sobs that fought and fought to break through. Pausing until she was sure she had a handle on herself, she slid the bottle from the bar, but it seemed the sneaky sobs were just waiting for her to let her guard down, for then the first one slipped out. Then a second, then a third, until she gave up and fell from her crouching position backwards onto her backside and simply gave in, sobs rocking her whole body.

When his hand fell heavily to her shoulder, it only made matters worse.

"I have no choice in this Theodora - not anymore. Not now. My hands are tied. Had I known, had I realised, before I proposed, or, or before she accepted things may have been different, I…we…"

She didn't want to hear his excuses - nor his reasons, nor his sadness. Maybe they were valid, maybe they weren't, but they were only making her feel sick. Or perhaps that was the twenty-something servings of brandy she'd just had in the span of sixty seconds. The end result was the same — she simply didn't have it in her to make him feel better at that particular moment. It took her a few false starts and several deep breaths before she could form another sentence.

"For-…Forget about it," she shook her head, forcing herself to her feet and leaving the bottle of wine untouched on the floor.

His hand slid from her shoulder as she rose, continuing "It doesn't matter. It's fine. Everything's fine. I'm fine. Always am."

Having others see her cry was something she found borderline intolerable in general, perhaps a byproduct of being an only child, an only daughter, raised by a single dad around men - brothers in arms if not in blood - of the typical macho sort. It wasn't like she hadn't been allowed to cry, but she did rather learn by example. It was because of that, that when she was upset she preferred to drink, make a joke out of it, do a workout, or simply go on a walk so long that her legs would soon trouble her more than her mind. If none of that work, she shut herself away until she felt better. Sometimes, if it was serious, she might talk to her dad - and usually he could find a solution within five minutes and just as many sentences.

Here, her options were limited. The drinking, she could do. The joking she'd tried and failed at. She could hardly go on a hike, and all of the people at the root of her woes were currently aboard the ship, so shutting herself away would take the real sort of reclusive skills she did not yet possess. And her dad? Well, his absence made her feel all the more utterly shite. It shouldn't. It was childish. She knew just what he'd say - "Fuck 'im, Theodora. The man's an arsehole. Put him out of your mind.". But there was something about hearing him say it that made it more helpful than imagining it. The way he said such things as though they were fact.

"You are not fine."

Her shoulder still shook with sobs as though to illustrate his point, but at least she was managing to keep them mostly silent.

"Yeah, well I'm trying to be, and your presence isn't helping."

She wished she could hate him - but even now, with the wound fresh and still steadily bleeding, she could not. It was difficult to say who she resented more for that fact, James or herself. Christ, all of this had seemed so much easier when it was all just in theory. Or perhaps it was just because back then, she hadn't known that even a shred of him might return her feelings.

"Nor will more alcohol."

Taking a deep, shuddering breath in just so she could cling to what remained of her temper - for losing it and beginning to shriek was the only thing that could possibly be more mortifying than getting drunk and belligerent, along with discussing his hypothetical double-dipping.

"Leave me alone, James. Please. Just leave me alone. I can't do this. Not tonight, not after today. Leave me alone, and I'll put on a brave face come Port Royal."

Now she could no longer look at him. Not while she was crying. She watched from the corner of her eye as he shifted for a moment, perhaps tempted to argue, before he finally sighed heavily. Taking one step back, he then did pause - turning back to her.

"I'm sorry."

She said nothing.

Her recollections of that night grew foggy from there. Likely because once the door shut in James' wake, she did pick up the bottle of wine. She remembered crying, and then drinking some more, then leaning out of the windows to vomit…again. At some point Elizabeth was there, hugging Theo to her while she cried like she was an upset child. She might've even rocked her slightly too, but that could've simply been the movement of the ship. Or the alcohol. Then everything grew hazy, until she woke up the next morning with the worst hangover of her entire life. Two solid nights of drinking on top of a whole lot of fighting hadn't served her well in that department. Shit, Jack deserved a medal for handling it all as well as he did.

The things she could recollect clearly from the night before, though, all had one thing in common. They gave her even less than absolutely no desire to leave the captain's quarters and face anybody. So, upon waking, she rolled over and went back to sleep. When she could not sleep, she pretended to do so. When she could, she did for as long as humanly possible. Sometimes she awoke to darkness, and Elizabeth in the bed behind her. In those moments, Elizabeth occasionally murmured her name into the darkness - checking to see if she was awake. Trying to speak. Other times, it was to broad daylight and somebody gently knocking at the door. She ignored that too - and usually she'd wake again a couple of hours later to see a tray of food left at her bedside. When that happened, she picked like a bird at the blandest of the lot, chugged down the milk to ease her throat, and left the rest.

It would've been different if she had something to do - something to occupy her. Something meaningful and worthwhile. But nothing awaited her out there other than pity and awkward silences. Perhaps judgement, too. She had no stomach for it. The fact that her body was in dire need of the rest, to recover and to heal, was just an added bonus.

Her limbs were stiff and sore by the time she finally climbed out of the bed and straightened out her clothing, the noise of the docks outside drifting over the ship. Elizabeth was nowhere to be found - likely the first to disembark for the crowds of people vying to see her alive and well. When James ducked into the room he seemed utterly shocked to find her awake (with no pretenses otherwise) and standing. Faltering for a moment, he cleared his throat.

"There is a carriage waiting to take us ho- that is, back to the house," he said carefully.

"I'll walk," she murmured, straightening the bed for lack of anything else to do.

"You will not walk," he disagreed sharply "The Governor will do everything in his power to grant you clemency for whatever part you might have played in this - not only because you were successful, but because your actions and your inarguable bravery in alerting my men to the presence of the pirates on-board that night likely saved a great many lives. But if all are to accept this decree, you must behave reasonably now."

Lips pursing, she sighed "All right. Fine."

It was better than being hanged alongside Jack. That would certainly put a wrench in her plans. They couldn't both balance on Will's sword once the gallows' lever was pulled. James remained in the doorway. At first she wondered idly if it was out of sheer surprise that she'd chosen not to argue, but then she realised he was waiting for her - to escort her to the aforementioned carriage. It made sense, she supposed. They had to put on a show of their own. If James, the most lawful man in the town, and the one responsible for her to boot, wasn't upset with her over her little adventure, hopefully others would think they had no reason to be, either. The gossip would rage regardless, but that was all it was. Gossip.

He seemed, thank the lord, to have the presence of mind to see that offering her his arm wouldn't be a good idea, and so once she was at his side he simply led the way out of the quarters. The daylight threatened to blind her and split her skull as they stepped into it, forcing her to narrow her eyes as she looked about the deck. Few paid them any mind, but James noticed her searching quickly.

"He's been taken to the fort - with the rest of his ilk."

Theo squinted at him.

"Sparrow," he clarified sourly.

"Oh."

"I've yet to see to the paperwork it will involve, but with the way these things usually go he'll likely be hanged within the month," he continued as they descended the gangplank.

The movie hadn't made it clear how long a timespan there was between Jack's capture and his would-be hanging, but she supposed that timeframe made sense. It gave Will time to accrue a collection of ridiculous feather hats with his reward for his part in saving Elizabeth's life.

"I see."

"I don't have much choice in the matter," he supplied slowly, only after she provided no argument.

"I know."

It was something he was insisting rather a lot at the moment, but she kept that comment to herself, knowing it to be less than helpful.

"I shan't pretend I have grown to like Sparrow," he admitted quietly as they walked through the docks towards the gravel road where their coach awaited "But I do not struggle to admit that if there is a…scale of immorality, he does not quite rest at the same point of the depraved spectrum as the others we captured these last few days."

"You're not wrong," she murmured, tone somewhat indifferent.

Every so often as they progressed through the docks, they were stopped in their tracks by some well wisher or another, congratulating him either on his triumph, or on his engagement. Word was spreading quickly. With each passing one, Theo felt her grip on her ability not to lose it and start shrieking profanity, just to finally get it all out, slipping further and further from her grasp. James handled every instance with a very professional smile and modest thanks, while Theo kept to the side, her eyes downcast and her hands folded before her in her first (and likely only) show of period-appropriate feminine demurity.

It - this whole conversation with James - had the feel of a test. Like he'd been expecting her to cry and scream and rage, to plead Jack's case and beg for him not to be hanged. And she might've, had she not known how the hanging would go.

"And yet, he is still a pirate," he said with an air of finality.

"He is."

At this point, she was only responding so he couldn't accuse her of giving him the silent treatment. He sighed heavily at her side. As they reached the coach, he paused, resting a hand on the handle of the door but not opening it.

"I only tell you this because I feel you should hear it from me - hear me explain it myself, rather than as it spreads throughout the town. Given the…rapport that seems to lie between the two of you."

Theo huffed a laugh, shaking her head. This again? It was like he was trying to piss her off.

"I do not judge," he hastened to add "I only wish to understand. The events of that day - the one in which you allied yourself with him - still make little sense to me. I have many questions."

"You n' me both," she sighed.

That earned her yet another sad look. She was beginning to think she preferred his wrath over his sorrow. At least that didn't leave heavy pangs of guilt lapping deep within her chest for reasons she couldn't even begin to make sense of. Finally, he opened the door and she climbed in, ducking her head so she wouldn't give herself a concussion as she did so. It was the only way this day could be made worse.

"Well then I will endeavour to answer them," he said only after he'd climbed in, sat opposite her, and shut the door behind them.

He slapped the roof of the coach and the driver began to slowly pull them onto the roads.

"Your hands are tied," she sighed, echoing the wording that had plagued her ever since she'd sobered up, even if she was unable to look at him as she did so "How?"

"Sparrow is a known pirate - an infamous one. I cannot simply let him walk free. Any crimes he's sure to commit thereafter would fall upon my shoulders and-"

"Not that. The other thing," she interrupted.

There was a beat of silence, during which she could feel his eyes burning into the side of her face as she pretended to be fascinated with the town outside the window. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter and with no remaining edge to it.

"Miss Swann has already accepted - before her father, and a ship full of British officers, no less. To break it off now could not be a private affair."

"People call off engagements every day," she pointed out.

"To their governor's daughters?"

"Governor Swann adores you," she scoffed "He wouldn't care."

"Perhaps not on a personal level he would be inclined to be understanding, but it would be an insult to his daughter, Theodora. His only daughter - his only child. If I retracted my proposal after it had been accepted, it would suggest that I had found Miss Swann wanting in some manner or another. An insult not only to him, but to her honour. It could not go unanswered."

"Fucking Béarla agus a n-onóir," she mumbled beneath her breath.

A thought occurred to her, but she had to find a careful way to word it. Timing here was everything, she already knew that, but the timing and circumstances surrounding Jack's hanging drove that matter home tenfold. Everything had to be just so for him to walk away sans a broken neck. It was part of why she had no intention of being there. It was the only good she could find in the engagement going ahead unimpeded, and even then it didn't bring a great deal of comfort.

"I have friends back home who broke off engagements. Nobody was insulted."

"Back in Ireland?" He gave a tired laugh as though she may as well have been referring to Mars.

"Yes, back in Ireland," she said sharply.

He sighed "Forgive me. I did not mean it as an insult. Only that things are undoubtedly different there - and I would wager that these friends of yours were women. It's another matter entirely if a woman is the one to break it off. Such decisions can be brushed off as flighty or impulsive - an occupational hazard of betrothal, if you will. In such cases, the man is not deemed insulted, but perhaps even lucky for having washed his hands of such an impulsive creature before it is too late."

His tone grew more and more dry as he finished his explanation. Theo rolled her eyes.

"I quite agree," he admitted quietly "But it is the way of things. There is nothing to be done."

Her lips thinned, and she offered no response.

"You don't believe me."

It did seem rather a gentlemanly way of letting her down easy, didn't it? And if that was what he wanted to do, he had every right to do so. But that was insecurity talking - paranoia, and insecurity, for she hadn't been able to get that kiss out of her mind, and a man did not kiss a woman like that if he did not want her.

"I don't know what to believe," she confessed, fatigue shining in her face and her voice both.

"Believe me," he said with such earnestness that she couldn't help but put her hackles down "Have you ever known me to be a liar? To be false? This…this whole matter is just as distressing for me as it is for you."

Theo said nothing, but he wasn't finished.

"You are free to doubt that I have handled this well, Theodora - to believe that I have been a fool so far as you are concerned, and that if I'd opened my eyes sooner, we all might be happier. Doubt that the ocean is vast, doubt that Sparrow is a brigand, but do not doubt the depth of my feelings for you. Never that - for my joy following Elizabeth's acceptance lasted not even an hour, before I realised how much more of a natural fit your company was, and it's all I've been able to think of since, along with how dense I was not to see it sooner, and that bloody kiss."

Deflating, she leaned back into her seat. Most girls would kill for a guy who sent a simple good morning text. She had one (or didn't, as the case may be) who had just paraphrased Shakespeare to emphasise the true depth of his feelings for her. What could she say to that? Her heart thundered in her chest as she finally looked at him, finding his face to be the picture of sincerity in response to her wide-eyed, surprised gaze. Like he was trying to convey the depth of his earnestness in a single look. He must've took her silence, or maybe her expression, for distaste though, as he regained his composure alarmingly quickly, straightening and letting his face fall blank.

"My apologies. That was undignified. I-"

"Stop, James," she sighed "Just stop. Relax. Don't go all formal on me."

He exhaled sharply through his nose, but it seemed a sign of relief more than anything else.

"Tell me how I might fix this," he said quietly.

It was a rare sight indeed. The ever-composed and capable Commodore Norrington requesting guidance - direction. Usually he needed outside direction about as much as a compass.

"It'll be fine," was all she could say "We'll get through it."

"Will we?" He challenged with a tired, bitter chuckle.

"I don't doubt it," she said softly.

And they both knew exactly what it was that she was referring to - what it was that she no longer doubted - and it wasn't their ability to get through the next few weeks. She was content (as content as she got nowadays, anyway) to sit in silence after that, but James broke it after a long stretch of silence that could only be described as heavy and meaningful, James broke it with an admirable dedication to lightening the mood...even if it wasn't entirely deliberate.

"What does unhygienic mean?" he asked.

A/N: Theo's colourful Gaelic language roughly translates to "fucking English and their honour" - but I can't promise that it's accurate. My sincere apologies to any actual speakers.