A/N: A slower, more introspective one just for now. I've got a few things up my sleeve between now and the "hanging", though.

Hattie was so pleased to see her that Theo felt guilty for not even considering the prospect of their reunion until the girl was barrelling down the front path towards her in a manner absolutely not befitting a good and proper maid. That was why Theo liked it so much. All but falling out of the carriage, she all but barrelled into the girl in return, half-laughing half-crying as she hugged her fiercely.

"I feared you dead," the girl sniffed into her hair as Theo gained the presence of mind to rub her back.

"I had the same fear once or twice," she confessed tiredly.

"What were you thinking?!" Hattie exclaimed, pulling back to hold her at arm's length "Running off with that…with that pirate? Did he do this?"

As she spoke, she gestured to her newest collection of minor injuries.

"Not the one you're thinking of," Theo replied drily - and instantly knew it was the wrong response by how her eyes widened in dismay "Looks like I have a lot to catch you up on."

"Miss Byrne is in sore need of a bath and a decent meal," James interjected somewhere behind her.

Ordinarily she would've drawled out a teasing 'are you saying I smell?', but she was in no mood for it - partially because he wasn't exactly wrong, but also because she was very hungry. Her liquid diet aboard The Dauntless hadn't served her particularly well.

"I can take care of the first while the cook takes care of the other," Hattie said "You should eat too, sir, or rest. You look like you haven't seen an hour's sleep in days."

They both knew him well enough to know how likely that was, too.

"Thank you, but I cannot. I must go to the governor and then attend to business. There is still much to be done."

Theo looked more to the ground in front of his boots than she did to him as he spoke. There was a pause, one where she knew he was looking to her for some sort of farewell - or any kind of acknowledgement at all - and then he sighed softly, turned, and began to walk away.

"This way, Miss Theo," Hattie said slowly, beginning to lead her towards the house as though she might have forgotten the way.

"Did you two have a disagreement? Was he terribly hard on you?" The blonde asked quietly once the front door was shut behind them.

"No, he has a wedding to plan," Theo replied in a tone that she hoped was indifferent.

"What? Oh, congratulations! I knew that-" Hattie stopped the moment Theo winced in response to her misunderstanding "…Oh."

"Oh," she offered a strained smile.

Did every sodding person on this island know? It was growing unbearable.

"Begging your pardon, miss, I…Well. Let's get you cleaned up, and you can explain just what you were thinking gallivanting across the seven seas with Jack Sparrow of all people."

"Jealous?" Theo teased, mainly because she couldn't take any more damn pity.

Hattie's lips thinned, and then they split into a smile "Just slightly. But I must hide it before the Commodore returns, or it'll be my job on the line."

"He'll never know - I promise," Theo vowed solemnly.

Once the bath was ready, Hattie went off to harangue the cook into preparing a week's worth of food for the sake of one meal, and Theo set about divesting herself of an entire adventure's worth of grime and filth. The maid grumbled about her weird preciousness when it came to bathing alone, and while there certainly had been times since arriving here that Theo had cursed herself for ever getting that stupid tattoo, today was not one of them. This was the most alone she'd been in some time, and it was sorely needed.

She washed, and she took stock of her bruises, some of them still sore and most of them coming with little to no memory of how she actually obtained them. The water was the colour of mud once she was finally done, her hair hanging in heavy coppery sheets around her face, but she was reluctant to move. Already her mind was trying to jump ahead - to what should happen, what might happen, and what would happen. There'd barely been any time to breathe, and already her brain did its best to scramble ahead and plan what was next. But there would be plenty of time to torture herself with that.

How was it that watching the movie for a mere two or three hours somehow felt longer than actually living it? It filled her with a sense of foreboding. Before she knew it, At World's End would be upon her, and James' demise with it. When those days came, she'd probably look back on this moment and view it as a simpler time - maybe even longing for it. Now wasn't that a cheery prospect? There was a year between the present moment and Dead Man's Chest, give or take a few months. Of that she was fairly sure. Although "fairly" sure wasn't good enough here. An optimist might view it as a year of rest, but she knew it would be anything but that.

So what was best to do? Take the moment's respite where she was able, or get a headstart on planning? The last few days had acted as evidence enough that her plans meant little to how things would go ahead. But still, her mind brought the problems forth - and there was no shortage of them.

Sighing heavily, she stood, wrung out her hair, and clambered out of the tub as though she might leave her worries in the filthy water behind her. From there she dressed, opting for a nightdress and a dressing gown rather than anything with boning and laces. For how happy she'd been to be able to spend a few days in trousers, it was nice once again being in clothing that actually fit her, and had not been made scratchy by sea water, sweat, and blood. Plus, the breeches had squeezed her backside something awful.

Once she was properly covered, she allowed Hattie in, who fussed over her hair with a soft towel and plied her with seemingly endless cups of sugary tea.

"So then," she sighed what felt like several hours later "I kept Jack distracted by drinking with him all night so he'd be quite unconscious by morning, giving Elizabeth a chance to set the fire…"

Well, it sounded better than 'I drowned my sorrows and that plan just so happened to align with the greater good in the moment'.

"…And I was woken up by the Commodore and his men the next morning."

"And there was another battle that night?" Hattie asked in disbelief.

"The mother of all battles," she sighed affirmatively - her arms were still sore from cleaving that sword about.

James made it look easy, belying a strength one might not immediately expect from the prim and proper Commodore Norrington. The thought might have thrilled her once - more than she'd ever admit - had the situation between them not become as tangled and impossible as it had. For she hadn't expected such a kiss from him, either, and as far as hints that there was more to James than met the eye went, the kiss was a slightly more memorable one. God help the poor idiots back home who thought him the boring option. Even the memory of it had a blush rising to her cheeks every time, no matter how infuriating she found that small fact alone.

"No doubt you'll hear all about it before the day is out, given how word travels around here," she finished.

She had no desire to get into the topic of that night - not even with Hattie. Shit, her dad could show up on their doorstep within the next hour (and she wouldn't put it past him, considering he was to blame for her own stubbornness) and she wouldn't even want to brush the topic with him. The thought sent yet another pang of homelessness through her chest. It was something that had dulled after a few weeks here, but when times grew rough it regained its edge as though it had sharpened her sense of loss with a whetstone. Maybe it was just the nature of shitty times. They had the distinct quality of making one want to rush home and hide under the covers. There was no doing that here. Not for her.

Even in the bedroom she had here, in the house she'd almost come to think of as a second home, there were reminders everywhere. Not only of James, but of everything that plagued her. The door had been replaced, but with such haste that the wood didn't quite match the doorframe. There was a similar problem, too, with the floor - they'd resorted to sanding it down, so stubborn was the blood that had stained it, and so now the patch where the man she'd killed had lain was a starker, lighter shade than the rest while they waited to have it stained and varnished.

It wasn't a problem, per se. Not in the way that it might be to some here - those who would deem it an eyesore and claim it ruined their whole mood to see it. It wasn't a problem. A door was a door, floorboards were floorboards, so long as they did what they were supposed to, she didn't really give much of a shit as far as trivialities went about aesthetics. It was the reminders that she could do without. But she'd just have to get over it. And anyway…it wouldn't be for long.

She had to go - and not only because her old instinct to bolt from uncomfortable situations was kicking in. Logic was demanding that she run at first chance, too. Lord Cutler Beckett would soon be knocking and brandishing warrants. For Elizabeth, and Will…and for James. Perhaps even for herself, for there was no arguing that she wasn't involved in some way or another. It was highly doubtful that Beckett's probing into the circumstances surrounding her arrival here would be as gentle, nor as riddled with the benefit of the doubt, as James' had been. No, she couldn't be here for that. And nor could James. Things had to go on as fated. At least for the immediate future.

Beyond that? Well, that was the question, wasn't it? Oh, how she wanted to be angry - and she was, to be fair, pretty pissed off. She wanted to grip him by his impeccably tailored uniform and scream bloody murder at him for the state of his priorities. To announce that if he claimed to care about her, but still allowed his concern for propriety and for Elizabeth fucking Swann's social standing came first, he mustn't have loved her half as much as he'd so heart-stoppingly claimed back in the carriage. But she wouldn't. Not least because it would do no damn good, but also because there was a part of her that wondered if she even had any right to do so.

She'd known exactly who he was when she met him - and then she'd known it better still when she'd fallen for him, despite her best, disgustingly futile efforts not to. So what right did she now have to be upset with him for being precisely who she knew him to be? Hadn't she known what she was getting into? What, had she hoped that whatever desire he had for her would be enough to overpower his already firmly upheld values? That was naive at best, and pathetic at worst. The anger was still there, she just felt like she didn't have much bloody right to do anything about it. And she dreaded the day that it wore away to reveal the hurt lurking beneath, because that was going to hurt like a bitch when it finally started to spill out. It would be prudent, she knew, to have her mind made up about what she would do going forward before that happened, while she could still think somewhat clearly.

That was the one good thing the house provided for her that evening was quiet in which she could think, while she could think. The stillness was jarring after the few days she'd had, but she put it out of her mind as best she could. She still had to save him. It was a fact, plain and simple. She'd planned on doing it before she knew what lay between them, and she would still do it now that she knew that nothing could ever come of it. Because even though the marriage wouldn't happen, the fact that it wouldn't happen was not down to him. And how could she ever forget that? But no. She would stay alive until the moment came, and then she would save him. Because she loved him. And then she would go home. Where she belonged. Despite the fact that she'd never particularly felt that way when she was actually there.

It had long grown dark when James stepped through the front door of his house, and to say that he was bone-weary would have been a drastic understatement. During simpler times, this was the part of the day he'd most looked forward to in trying times. The moment where he stepped through the front door and was met with a smile or a comment - often funny, usually absurd, or perhaps even uplifting if his weariness really showed on his face - before they sat down either to eat, or for a drink if his work had kept him late, and his worries would soon melt away. For the life of him he could not pinpoint when exactly Theodora's mere presence alone had transformed his house into something strictly practical - a place to eat, sleep, and wash before he left again - and into a source of comfort, but she'd done so swiftly, and it even appeared effortlessly.

He felt the absence of it sorely.

Closing the front door softly behind him, a glance into the dining room showed him little other than a meal that had scarcely been touched. Sighing, he turned on his heel and walked towards the sitting room instead, his mind on a stiff drink and a seat by the fire until he dragged himself off to bed. No doubt Theodora would already be in bed, eager to avoid him. For that…he could not blame her. Despite how it stung.

He was already halfway through the doorway and had long divested himself of his wig before he spotted her. Curled up on the chaise lounge like a cat, her knees were tucked up to her chest, one hand resting on the armrest with her chin perched atop it, face basking in the warm glow of the fire. James froze, and then he realised her eyes were shut, and she offered no reaction to his appearance. Fast asleep.

It was a wonder she was able to sleep much more given that it was all she did on the journey back…although he did have to wonder whether she'd actually been sleeping, or simply avoiding every living soul with which she shared the ship. Had the voyage been much longer, he'd have been forced to move the bar from the quarters for fear over her health. He would have already done it, if not for the fact that it wouldn't have gone unnoticed by his men, and that would've reflected poorly on her. Soldiers often gossiped worse than women over luncheon, and the last thing she needed now was word spreading that Sparrow had corrupted her with his ways. Especially when James knew that if anybody was to be blamed, it was himself.

Even if Hattie hadn't managed to get her to eat much, it seemed Theodora had taken the time he was gone to bathe. She looked so young when she slept - she was already a good five or six years his junior, but when she slept she looked younger still - especially now, free of the blood and the grime. There always seemed to be something weighing on her when she was awake. He didn't pretend to know exactly what it was, only that it existed. When she thought she was free of observers, her eyes would drift to places she'd likely claim did not exist at all, her brow furrowing while she bit down on the inside of her cheek.

It was masterfully disguised only when she was aware of her observers, during which times she'd grin and rattle off jokes and quips at an alarming speed, a small half-smile always on her lips as though she knew a joke that she refused to share. It only served to make him feel like he'd truly accomplished something when she did see fit to let him in on it. It was with a distinct feeling of heaviness that he realised he'd likely never experience that again. This was probably the closest he'd get to seeing her with her guard down ever again. The realisation made him want to sit and make a study of it - to commit the sight to memory as best he could, for he'd never been much good at sketching, so he had little else.

But then, as though sensing an intruder, she stirred - exhaling sharply through her nose, she gave a quiet murmur, one slender leg stretching out from beneath the confines of her nightdress. James forced his eyes away from the expanse of smooth, pale skin, knowing full well he had no right to the sight.

"Theodora," he said softly, knowing if he did not and she opened her eyes of her own accord she would not welcome what she found "Theodora."

Eyes snapping open, she braced arms swiftly on the chaise lounge around her, ready to push herself up and snap into action. James frowned. He couldn't help it - it was an instinct he often saw in men who were new to the military life after their first taste of real peril, usually mere lads who had not yet adjusted to the dangers at sea and scrambled to acclimatise to being thrown in at belief-defying depths by being poised for danger at all times.

Her eyes landed on him and she relaxed - but only for less than one full second, and then she forcibly hardened her face, the result being that she looked as tired as he felt as she regarded him with piercing blue eyes that were downright glacial for how she managed to drive all emotion out of them.

"You should retire," he said quietly "Your rest will be of a higher quality should you find it in a bed."

"Is everythin' sorted?" She murmured, voice rough from sleep.

"Regarding Sparrow, yes - and Turner, along with…yourself. Clemency, for the both of you. If anything, your bravery is to be commended."

"I'm honoured," she said flatly.

Given that a solid case could be made for her partaking in piracy, he wanted to tell her that she bloody well should be. How could she not see how close she'd come to having her life on the line? It was something he couldn't bear thinking about. But that was a conversation for another day - for the time being, he was too focused on the fact that he had not yet told her the worst.

"And…" he faltered.

But if he didn't say it now, he would only spend the next twenty-four hours dreading finding the next moment where he might. She watched him expectantly, but coolly.

"Governor Swann is to throw a ball - to celebrate Elizabeth's safe return, our victory over the pirates, along with…" he trailed off again, clearing his throat.

Judging by the vulnerability he saw flash through her eyes so quickly that he might have imagined it, she knew what he was going to say next. But she still waited patiently, eyes never leaving him, making him say it all the same. He supposed he deserved that. It drove him to at least do so with a shred of courage rather than shying away from it like a coward.

"To celebrate the announcement of the engagement. It's to happen on Friday."

Despite his best efforts, he couldn't quite bring himself to word it as "my engagement" to her face. God in heaven, how could something he once thought would bring him the most happiness he could have ever hoped for not be the source of such heartache?

"What day is it today?"

"Tuesday."

"All right," she said, finally looking away "How long will you be gone? Should I have Hattie lock up before you get back, or…?"

Ah. So that was why she'd taken the news so surprisingly well.

"Theodora…" he said quietly "Your attendance will be expected. Required, even."

Her eyes flew back to him, and then he got his reaction - the one he'd very much dreaded. The shock, the disbelief, followed by the dread, and finally the scorn.

"After the last week…the look of things…it cannot be avoided."

She scoffed in response to that, shaking her head, her copper tresses flowing about her face as she did "Just once - just once, James, I'd love for you not to give a single damn about the look of things."

His mouth snapped shut and he said nothing. Not only because there wasn't a great deal he could say, but because his own temper was flaring and it would do little good. Didn't she think he wished the same thing? Didn't she think he dearly wished such a thing was possible?

Mercifully, she appeared to be just as keen to spare them an argument as he was.

"Fine," she sighed - and he was beginning to despise that word from her, because he knew it to mean very much the reverse when she said it "It's fine. Nothing to be done, right? Sound. No point whining about it, then. I'm off to bed."

There was no speaking to her when she began to converse with herself in such a manner - primarily due to the fact that he knew she did so in order to prevent him from interjecting. For that he was almost grateful, for his placations were beginning to sound empty even to his own ears. Still, it pained him to see how her shoulders shrank inwards and she would no longer look at him as she quickly rose to her feet.

No goodnights were exchanged as she padded from the room, and only once he heard her bedroom door thud shut upstairs did he allow his own shoulders to slump as he dragged a hand over his face. Less than twelve full hours ago she'd assured him that they might get through this. It was already becoming exceedingly difficult to believe her.

A/N: Ko-fi, commissions, and tumblr account chat, placed at the end so you can skip if you're not interested!

Thank you so much to the people who have bought me a coffee over on ko-fi, and were just generally supportive of the whole thing - it wound up providing me with the first money I've ever received for writing-oriented things, which was a big emotional bonus considering that is The Dream. I'm working on opening up commissions for one-shots and smaller scale stories on there, but I'd need to work out the logistics of that first and whether it's something people would actually want. I'm also thinking about offering tarot readings as commissions in addition to stories, as I've already had success with offering those over the internet via Instagram.

I'm also going to use it, along with my shiny new Tumblr account, for writerly updates etc. because the site is being temperamental about emailing people about new chapters, and while I do have a writer's Instagram page, I keep that solely for promoting original stuff so that my family doesn't end up finding these fics. That could make Christmas dinner a bit awkward…if only because my sibling would probably start reading them aloud over dessert. So I'm eriathiel on ko-fi, and on tumblr I'm esta-elavaris. Okay, gargantuan note over! Til next time.