This time, there was no delay in word reaching James' ears - he was barely one sip into his second drink when he heard the men at the table behind him gossiping like washerwomen. Jack Sparrow's witch was attacked last night. Set upon in the street. At first, the sheer dread that rained down on him was enough to knock the air from his lungs. Everything else in his life that had once mattered to him was gone, why would he ever be sure that whatever curse now following him around would spare people, too? And Theodora would be chief among them to be harmed were his fears set to come true.

But then the men continued. Have to say, she held her own. Looked a right state after it, he won't be harming her any further. Not unless he comes back as a ghost. Several things struck him all at once then. Relief - relief as sweet as cold water after a day of gruelling work in the sun - washed over him, quickly chased by just how close a call this had been. Too close. And there were no promises that it was an isolated event. Finally, a memory swam to the forefront of his mind. An image of Theodora, battered and bloody, sitting on the floor of his sitting room looking scared, tired, and painfully young.

He'd faltered before, foolishly assuming there was time to allow such things. His days following his discovery of her presence had fallen into a pattern - having one drink, insisting it would lend him the courage needed to be reunited with her. Followed by a second, to ease the sting of the cowardice of needing something like alcohol for bravery in the first place. A third would follow, and by the end of that he would decide that he was much too drunk to go to her at all, and that tomorrow would be the day for it instead. Rinse, repeat. He believed it every time, but now, head cleared (although not entirely sobered) by this new turn of events, he knew it for what it was. Folly and excuse-making. No, he would go to her. He would.

Rising quickly to his feet, he drained the last of his cup, and earned a few grunts of surprise (for once he settled into a tavern for the night he seldom moved unless it was to fight somebody who took issue with the presence of a commodore, former or otherwise, in Tortuga) for his trouble, he straightened his filthy coat, patted the dishevelled wig atop his head, and made for the door.

Theo took the next night off. She couldn't tell fortunes, fake or no, after what had happened the previous night. It had been difficult enough to sleep last night, and she'd mostly ended up dozing with a knife in her hands. She was two drinks in when Ada sat down beside her with a sigh, her lips downturned sympathetically.

"Never killed no one before?"

"He was my third," Theo replied.

Ada blinked "Oh. Well. That puts a different colour on it."

It did. But Theo wasn't quite sure she liked it, anyway. It was starting to bother her less. The first had her shaken, there was no doubt about that, and the second had been aboard The Dauntless and that had…well, that had not. Not really. Oh, the sight of the head and the blood trail it left in its wake had turned her stomach, but the adrenaline of battle was still firmly rooted in her, and then she'd been rather distracted by James' kissing her. It wasn't something she even really judged herself for. She wasn't going to sit and wax poetic about her right to take a life (or lack thereof). It wasn't like she was out prowling the streets as some kind of homage to Jack the Ripper, searching for unsuspecting randoms to murder. She only killed those who tried to kill or, uh, interfere with her first. It wasn't difficult to not lose sleep over arseholes like that. It was rather more difficult to sit soundly on the fact that she wasn't losing any sleep.

But at least she was being uneasy while also being well-rested. It was something her dad had spoken of - rarely, but still. How people expected him to come back haunted and self-hating about the things he'd done, but how he hadn't. He'd done what needed doing, as he'd put it. Now Theo was doing the same. Maybe that was where she got it from - via nature or nurture she couldn't tell, but it had come to her all the same. She'd never viewed her dad as a shitty person for taking that viewpoint, so why view herself as one? It would just waste time and energy.

Turning her mind from that moral dilemma, however, left her with rather a more mortal and tangible problem - not the fact that she'd killed a man, but just who that man was. By the time she'd even thought to search the body for any clues, like she was fucking Columbo, she'd had to return to it and found that it had been picked clean of anything vaguely valuable - including its boots. But nobody here had any use for anything that gave away his identity, so Theo was left to suspect he had nothing on him that did. Life wasn't like a video game - an assassin wouldn't come after her leaving her to search his inventory to find a letter clearly detailing instructions and the name, address, and star sign of their employer.

She did have an inkling, but it wasn't one that warmed her. Although, admittedly, it was difficult to think one one that would warm her in this situation, other than maybe that he was kidnapping her to take her to a Guns n' Roses concert. That would be an impressive feat indeed, considering it would be a good century or two before any of the band would be born, but she could hope. There was always hope. Or, as it was in this case, delusion.

No, she would have to sit and have a good think about it. Christ, she was sick of thinking. It was endless, it was nauseating, and it only created situations that brought about a need for more of it. Oh, to be stupid and blissful. That would be the dream. So she was giving herself twenty-four hours, and twenty-four hours only, to do just that. To sit in her quiet corner, to brush off would-be customers, to drink, and to ban all traces of thought from her mind. She would tackle this newest problem, if only because the alternative was to cover her ears, close her eyes, sing 'la-la-la-la' at the top of her lungs and hope that nobody saw fit to harm her in the meantime, and the idea of being so wilfully blind was even worse than the prospect of more thinking. For now, though, for the span of a day, she was on holiday from her thoughts. A wellness break. For the sake of her sanity.

Every time she caught herself thinking, she took another swig of her drink and shook her head like she could shake herself free. She liked to think of it as meditative, but that was probably the rum talking. It seemed, though, by the speculative and almost worried looks she was earning from Ada (and Ada was not the type to worry, having deemed it beneath her) that her friend-and-business-partner thought her behaviour was to do with self-hatred rather than, well, world-hatred.

Tilting her head back against the wall behind her, for her newfound paranoia had her keeping the door in sight at all times for reasons that were no longer exactly longing and romantic, Theo took in the room. Evening was swiftly turning into night, and there were no qualms when it came to day-drinking in Tortuga. The mood in this particular tavern had gone from convivial, to jovial, and it wouldn't be long before that turned into rowdiness. Laughter and chatter already threatened to drown out the bard in the opposite corner, and a few "friendly" discussions were becoming more and more punctuated by fingers jabbed in chests and bottles being smashed to the floor to drive points home. The air was humid and reeked of alcohol, and those who she refused to do readings for were becoming less and less gracious about it. No, her room was calling her name.

Maybe she'd even go nuts and buy herself a bath. It had the makings of a fine night if she smuggled a few bottles upstairs with her, all that was missing was music. Although it might be a bit awkward if she invited the bard up - seemed like the sort of thing that would give the wrong impression. Eyes flickering towards Ada, she waited for the woman to excuse herself, but she blinked when she noticed that her attention was now on the door, dark eyes widening slightly.

"Well, I'll be fucked," she murmured, and then snickered, nodding in the direction of what had caught her eye "Or you will be, I s'pose."

There was no moment of confusion, no bafflement, for there was only one thing tht could mean - especially after Ada's endless jokes. Theo hoped…and then she didn't dare hope…before nerves finally seized at her chest, taking hold of her lungs and her chest, her breath catching in her throat as her eyes roved over the crowd, picking through those gathered until they landed finally on one who had just walking in through the door and come to a slow stop after taking a few steps into the tavern. The fact that it took her a moment spoke more of the chaos of the tavern, given the fact that he was pretty tall…and that he still had that bloody wig atop his head.

He stood, not budging despite how many people kept bumping into him, with a furrowed brow and an air of authority that wouldn't allow anybody to suspect that his station had changed at all in recent months as his eyes combed through the crowd…and finally landed on her. It didn't take long, probably thanks to her hair. Theo had barely noticed that she'd risen to her feet until she was taking a slow and faltering step forward, part of her wanting to wait and see how he reacted to the sight of her before she approached.

When their eyes met, something passed through his eyes too quickly for her to name, and then the furrow in his brow smoothed away. Well, he wasn't angry. She'd seen him angry, this wasn't it - not yet. He wasn't the type to disguise his fury or his disdain unless the need to do so was dire, and even then she could always spot it in his face. There were no traces of it now. It was difficult to stay aware of the rest of the room as she watched him take his own tentative step forward, and then - only once the both of them were quite sure that the other meant to approach - they snapped out of whatever shock they'd been in and began the arduous task of crossing the room.

It was decidedly less arduous for Theo, for even despite the drunken stupor that most were in, there were plenty among those gathered who were scared that she might put some deadly curse on them if they were foolish enough to accidentally jostle her. James was shown none of the same fear, but he had no reservations about bodily shoving people out of his way. What did it say about her that she found that in itself oddly attractive? But shit, everything he did was oddly attractive to her. God, she was in trouble, so much so that she might've laughed at herself were she not otherwise occupied.

They met almost in the middle of the room, stopping short within arm's reach of one another. A commodore and a witch walk into a bar. It sounded like a bad joke. Maybe it was. The eyes of plenty gathered weighed heavily upon Theo, thanks more to James' shoving through the crowd than her own weaving and side-stepping, but she couldn't bring herself to care much about any save one. James' green eyes bore heavily into her, weighty in more ways than one. He stared at her wide-eyed and almost disbelieving, like he didn't dare believe that she was real. He stared at her like nobody else ever had. It terrified her. She couldn't look away. Did her own eyes look the same?

His frown was back, maybe that answered her question, but it was softer - sadder? By the time the thought of speaking even occurred to her she found herself unable to manage it, the words getting stuck in her throat. It must've been the thought that counted, though, or maybe it was just a sentiment that he understood - that he shared, even - because he lifted a hand about halfway up, before he hesitated and kept it there, his eyes finally leaving her own to flicker downwards to his hand. His frown gained an edge to it then, taking in his mucky hand and the ragged shirt cuffs that peeked out from under his worn coat. It wasn't a train of thought that Theo wanted to chase, and so she finally acted, breaking free of the stupor she'd been caught in.

The first step felt like the breaking of some sort of spell, and then the second sent her into his arms. While she was vaguely aware of the smell of alcohol layered upon that of stale sweat, she didn't give even a shred of a damn, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her face into his shoulder as her hands came up to grip tightly at the back of his coat. What she did care about, however, was how fiercely he hugged her back, his arms enveloping her and practically swallowing her whole, forcing her to rise to the balls of her feet so that she'd keep her balance. Goosebumps sprang up down her back and across her arms as he buried his face into her hair which hung loose about her, his nose brushing her neck as he did so, but she only sniffed and held tighter. They'd kissed before - a few times, in fact - so how was it that this felt more intimate?

There were whistles and hollers from about the room, and murmurs too. She was probably the last person on this island they'd have thought to see in an embrace with James Norrington, right behind Jack Sparrow, but they could go fuck themselves as far as she was concerned - and when her grip on him threatened to loosen he only held tighter, one hand snaking up to idly toy with the wavy ends of her hair as though that small detail was proving to him that she was real. She had no idea how long had passed, nor did she care to know for it didn't matter, and they probably would've ended up staying there forever if not for the sole fact that something went zipping over their heads, and then glass and wine was raining down upon them.

Whether it was instinct or plain and simple quick thinking that urged him into action, James acted before Theo had even registered that somebody had thrown a bottle at them, pulling her bodily out of the line of fire and shielding her so that his back took the brunt of the shrapnel. When a moment passed and no more came, he straightened and shot a heart-stopping glare about the room, green eyes glinting while his hand went to the hilt of his blade. But Theo wrapped her fingers around his wrist, staying his hand.

"Looks like they like me less than I thought," she said, trying to force some levity to her voice despite the daze in which she still found herself.

"It's not your presence they object to," James replied drily "Although that will change now that you've been seen in my company."

They paused then, almost immediately after he'd finished speaking, realising these were the first words they'd said to each other in a long time. Strange, then, how natural it felt from the get-go. Turning her head to look at him again, Theo offered a soft smile.

"Hello."

The one he gave in return was half-hearted and nothing short of exhausted, the haggard nature of his appearance emphasised by his weariness "Hello, Theodora."

He never shortened her name. There were no Theos, no Doras, from him. From anybody else it might've annoyed her, but from him she found it charming. He had a way of making it sound like a compliment - well, when he wasn't furious with her. But the eyes were still on them, and she was painstakingly conscious of it now.

"Come on, we should talk. Away from here."

Her hand slid from his wrist, and he let go of his blade.

"We should," he agreed solemnly, shooting one last rueful look to those watching "There's much to talk about. Many questions that are in sore need of answers."

"And I have those answers. But I'm not sure you'll like them."

He didn't respond to that - not to joke, nor to ask for a clarification - he barely even reacted. Not outwardly, anyway. Tortuga hadn't robbed him of his patience just yet, then. They made for the door of the tavern, her hand in the crook of James' arm as though they were strolling through the docks of Port Royal, and on the way out she grabbed two bottles of rum, praying that they might help.

A/N: Full disclosure, I was going to do a full multiple chapter pine-y type thing, but honestly I go where the story takes me and it did not take me there. I figure we've already had a lot of that in the last movie anyway, so…here we are. I hope you enjoyed!