A/N: All of the angst in this chapter is brought to you by the fact that I was meant to see Guns n' Roses live tonight and the show got cancelled. It's fine, I'm channeling my sheer suffering into my art. Think I'm more upset by this than I was by the homelessness, which shows my priorities are absolutely in the correct place.

Theo sat silently in the carriage outside of the building which housed Beckett's offices as she waited for James. Beckett had kept him back at the end of their charming little meeting, citing a need to chat. Whatever it was about, it couldn't be good.

The town was more or less dead outside, few passing by other than those still working or patrolling soldiers. Groves stood outside the carriage but kept his back to the door and she didn't try to speak to him - both because she wasn't sure that she was capable of stringing together anything even vaguely resembling a coherent sentence, and because she didn't know if he wanted to speak to her at all just then. Every now and then his head would turn a little and his lips would move as though preparing to say something to her, but then he'd just exhale softly instead and turn his gaze back to the street immediately ahead of her. Was it that he wanted to ask questions, or that he wanted to give her a right telling off for what she'd done? Yeah, he was her friend, but he was also an English soldier. It was difficult to say how much he agreed with everything going on here. James knew what a shit Beckett was, but he still didn't like Jack all that much.

Whatever was on Groves' mind, it appeared he hadn't ruled out the possibility of more shenanigans (a smart bet when she was involved, even she had to recognise) because whenever she so much as rolled her shoulders or changed how she was sitting, he would turn his head to what her in his peripherals. He likely feared she was about to dart out of the other side of the carriage and sprint off into the wilderness. Then James really would be murderous - and Beckett would have the noose tied before she got more than a few feet away.

As if summoned by her thoughts, the door to the building that housed Beckett's office swung open and her husband strode out, his gait quick and purposeful as if he was about to stalk into battle. His jaw was clenched and his brow stern as he nodded in passing at Groves who stepped aside as he approached. James all but tore the door to the carriage from its hinges before he climbed inside, slammed it shut behind him, and slammed the side of his fist up into the roof to signal the driver to begin driving. Pressing her lips together, Theo watched him for a few moments before she opened her mouth to speak.

"Not here," he said sternly.

Theo complied, clasping her hands in her lap and bowing her head. She really couldn't begrudge him his anger. Were it not for his ironclad self control and near enough heartbreaking amounts of understanding, she'd have been on the receiving end of it - deservedly - a hundred times over by now. The ride went on in tense silence, James switching every now and then between looking utterly furious and devastatingly distraught, his eyes betraying his emotions when the rest of his face did not.

The carriage drew to a stop and her guilt was only compacted when he stepped out, stopped, and extended his hand to help her out next. Accepting the help, she squeezed his hand as she stepped out and felt just marginally better when he hesitated and squeezed it back before letting go and dropping his arm, leading the way up to their home in the darkness as the clopping of horseshoes signalled the driver's heading back to town. The house was just as dark as the street outside. Hattie was in bed.

Lowering herself to sit on the stairs so that she wouldn't tread sand and dirt and god only knew what else inside, she removed her boots while James continued on into the sitting room and began to light the tapers dotted about so that they wouldn't be arguing in the dark. Once she'd finally kicked the heavy boots aside and taken stock of her new blisters, she stood and began to stiffly approach the sitting room.

James had once again divested himself of his wig, discarding it with his coat on one of the couches.

"I can…I can almost fathom why it is you felt as though you had no other choice than to resort to saying that to Beckett," he said finally, lips pursed and nostrils flaring "But I still find myself wondering if you've completely lost your mind."

Yeah. That was fair.

"It wasn't an ideal outcome," she allowed "And I'm sorry."

"Not ideal? Not ideal?! You just handed the most opportunistic, self-interested, immoral man in this hemisphere a very good reason to take a great deal of interest in you. An interest, might I add, that must now bear fruit or else he will not hesitate to send you straight back to the gallows, Theodora, God help us!"

"I know - I know. I do. But it solved a problem."

"By creating an even bigger one!"

"Okay, it solved two problems. We needed a way to keep me with you once you're stationed and everything kicks off. We have that now. Thinking on it, this is probably the only way he'd have ever allowed it anyway - he has too much pride to let me walk away for the sake of avoiding a scandal, we were naive to think he might."

His anger lost its sharp edge at that, replaced by confusion as he frowned at her as if she'd started speaking to him in some alien language mid-sentence.

"Why in the world would we need to do that?" he frowned.

"What do you mean why would we need to do that? You know why. There are things I need to do. I can't get those things done by staying behind here, miles and miles away from the action."

"What? I don't understand. Sparrow is saved, Governor Swann is saved, your business is done," he said "We were a hair's breadth from the other side of this. All that was left to do was get through the final stretch. I would have seen to my duties, you would have stayed here - safe - and then it would be over. Then we might be free."

When he finished, he watched her intently as her eyebrows turned upwards and she regarded him sadly, realising how she now had to correct him.

"James…" she sighed quietly "Saving Jack wasn't what I have to change. Nor even the Governor, really. I…I knew I'd at least have to try when I befriended Elizabeth, I'd hope she'd do the same for my dad, but that wasn't it. And Jack? Jack was…that was an impulse. A last minute decision. That was never really a plan, never mind the plan. I still have things I need to do. My part in this isn't over yet. I was never going to be staying here when you set sail."

"Saving Sparrow was just a whim?" he echoed like he might've misheard her "While you were in the area? Like…like going to the baker when you're paying a visit to the butcher so you might as well?"

"I mean, that's framing it as a bit more impulsive than it was, but…I mean…I…I didn't know I was going to do that until my chat with Queen Achtland. My actual goal? I've…I've had that in mind for a long time. Almost as long as I've been here."

The more she looked back on it, the more it seemed an inevitability from the moment he dragged her out of the ocean and stared at her like she'd lost her mind. He was probably tired of being presented with very good reasons to give her that look by now.

"You nearly found yourself on the wrong end of an execution order for what you did tonight," he said slowly "And you mean to say that…that it was a matter of secondary importance?"

"Jack…Jack would've been brought back," she allowed "Maybe a bit more worse for wear than he would've been if he died, but it wouldn't have been the last we'd seen of him. I couldn't in good conscience let it happen after I swore to help him, though. That was…that was a matter of loyalty, I suppose. The Governor? He…he was at peace. In the end. There would've been no bringing him back. I couldn't just let it happen. I wouldn't say it wasn't important. We saved his life, Elizabeth won't have to go on without her father, but…"

How could she finish the explanation? But there are things that matter more to me? That would be a hell of a giveaway. If he had even the vaguest notion of how much she bloody well loved him, he'd know immediately.

"Theodora, if you were willing to risk so much for something that was not your main priority, exactly what is it you intend to risk for what you view to be the most important task that is apparently still at hand?" he pushed.

At first she didn't intend to answer at all. But his eyes hardened and she finally replied - quietly.

"Whatever I have to."

"What is your goal?" he asked bluntly.

Now she remained silent.

"What is it you intend to do?"

She pressed her lips together into a thin line until they were surely as white as the rest of her face had been when Beckett first brought up his sodding decree.

"Theodora," his tone was tinged with desperation as he stepped forward "What could possibly be so important? So pressing?"

He lifted his hand to cup the side of her jaw, not disturbing the tender skin where Jack had struck her, nor where he'd slapped her, voice lowering until it was practically a whisper while he pleaded with her to give him an answer.

"Tell me. Whatever it is cannot be worse than all that I find myself imagining now. Tell me and I can help you."

"No," she breathed - and never knew it could pain her to say such a short, simple word "I can't."

He dropped his hand and stepped back, tone becoming matter-of-fact and entirely Admiral Norrington when he spoke again.

"You do not trust me."

"I trust you more than anybody," she replied immediately "In this world and my old one."

"But you will not tell me."

"I can't."

He nodded as though it were some new piece of information - a clue that might help him puzzle out who committed a crime, like he was Sherlock Holmes over a century before Sherlock Holmes even existed.

"And so perhaps it is a task that works against me. Something you wish to stop me from doing - a goal of my own that you wish to foil," he said, and before she could even get offended by the notion he continued "But no. I trust you too much for that. And what might I possibly have in mind that you could wish to prevent? You were by my side when I was a drunkard and a pirate in Tortuga, whatever may come you would stay with me thus. Of that, I am fairly confident. No, I have been incredibly understanding. If this was something I was going to do, you would have come to me - you would have discussed it with me…yes?"

"Of course I would have," she said softly "I swear I would have, James. I'm not…I'm not conspiring against you."

For him? Perhaps. But not against. Never against.

"I believe you," he said frankly, although he didn't seem pleased "But still you will not tell me. And if you will not tell me, then the most logical conclusion is that you believe telling me might have some negative impact on your plan - that I might stop you. And I would only stop you if I believed that whatever it is you're involving yourself in might put you in very grave danger indeed. Horrifyingly grave danger, given what our standard has been set to as of late. Is it?"

"Is it what?"

"Is it dangerous, Theodora?"

"I don't know."

And she didn't. Not really. She'd certainly thrown herself into more dangerous situations so far - ones where the chances of survival were infinitely slimmer. Like he'd said, their baseline was questionable as it was, and even her quieter days now would've made her old self - Theo Byrne, not Theodora Norrington - balk. But that was the thing, wasn't it? Her dad had said as much back in the day, on one of the few occasions he talked about what being in the forces was like in the day to day. Men (idiots, he'd said) who got too used to high-stake situations could forget that the days that weren't quite "one wrong move and you die" could still be dangerous. "Three wrong moves and you die" was still dangerous compared to domestic life. When your basis for comparison would become skewed, so would your judgement. You'd get sloppy. You'd make those three wrong moves. You'd die.

It was dangerous. If it was a situation that could kill James, it had to be. She'd have to make sure she was there as he helped Elizabeth escape. That in itself was risky. She'd have to hope and pray that her presence would be enough to make him decide that escaping along with her - with them both - was worth it. That living as a fugitive again, as a pirate again, even if only temporarily might be better than staying put and facing the consequences of his actions. Maybe her giving the truth - a version of it, anyway - to Beckett would help in that regard. He'd know that Beckett would blame her for not preventing the escape, and take it out on her. Maybe that would be enough to have him seeing the benefits escaping. Maybe. Hopefully. It had to. He was already jaded against what was formerly his side.

Still, there was risk. Even if he saw that, even if they resolved to escape together quickly and easily, their work wasn't done then. What if Bootstrap's time outside of the brig did little to slow his decline? What if it did, but instead some bigger and nastier crew member took his place? Even if it was Bootstrap, they'd still have to cut the line connecting the ships together, disarm him, and get away all at once. Of course, she supposed the kiss would no longer happen, and Elizabeth would no longer have to wait around trying to convince him to go. The lack of any dramatic goodbye would afford them a bit of time. It should, at least. But when did things ever go according to plan for them? And if it came down to it…if it got to a point where she had to jump between James and Bootstrap's blade? Yeah. She'd do that. She'd do that in a heartbeat.

"You don't know?" he repeated "Which can only mean yes."

"It might be. I won't know until I'm there."

"Can you guarantee to me - beyond any shred of doubt - that you will be well throughout the entirety of this plan? That you will come out of the other end of it?"

She couldn't lie to him. Not so boldly and blatantly. Even if she could, she had a feeling that he'd know and then that would only make matters worse. She also had a feeling - a deep, instinctive gut feeling that this would be dangerous. That it would go horribly wrong in some way. But it was difficult to say whether it really was a gut feeling or her own fear, dread, and paranoia talking all at once. She certainly knew which one she hoped it was. It was difficult to be sure.

"Of course I can't guarantee that," she said quietly and then tried to deflect "Nobody can. Not with what lies ahead."

"You know what I mean," he pressed, not fooled by her deflection for a moment "Theodora, I love you dearly and I trust you as much as I reasonably can in this moment, but you are scaring me."

The admission in itself felt like it had something in her heart threatening to tear, but he knew her. He knew her well, damn him. Well enough to know that some forceful show - shouting and demanding that she call off whatever plan she had on the go - would do nothing to help his cause. But this? This had her blinking back tears. A man like James Norrington admitted his fear even less easily than he felt it to begin with. If he was doing so now, it had taken a lot for him to do it. And it still didn't make a difference. It couldn't.

"It's too important, James."

"Nothing is this important," his voice threatened to rise into a shout, brought back down only by sheer willpower - to such an extent that it seemed to take physical effort for him to do so, his posture consisting of nothing but tension "I don't care if you would be saving the world, if you would be a hero to every living soul on this planet, I do not care - if this is truly such a risk, do not do it, Theodora."

"It's not that simple. If you knew, you'd agree with me."

"Is it Elizabeth?"

"What?"

"You've had this goal in mind for a long time. Almost as long as you've been here. You befriended Elizabeth swiftly upon your arrival, perhaps you wish to save her from some hardship that yet lies ahead."

"What? No, it's not-"

"Groves, then. You befriended him, too, and he's soon to set sail along with all of us. There is a risk for any soldier that comes with us that they may fall in the face of the pirate threat - is Groves to be a casualty of war? Death is the card you consistently play close to your chest, it's too important to be risked by discussing lightly. Is Groves fated to die?"

"Groves is- in the version of events I know, Groves will be fine. I would've told you otherwise, he's one of your men."

He frowned as he took this into account, and though he seemed to believe her, he nodded slowly. Theo knew that he was dangerously close to puzzling this whole thing out - he probably already would have, were he not operating the two very reasonable assumptions that a) he was not destined to die before the year was out, and b) that she wouldn't be able to marry a man that was soon fated to die without being able to at least let on in some way or another.

"I'm not getting into some sort of 'yes or no' game with you here until you manage to puzzle it all out through process of elimination," she said finally "But it couldn't be more important, and I can't be talked out of it. You'll understand after the fact. I swear you will."

"I promise you now that I will never understand it if you die," he snapped, but then stopped and immediately fell silent when he realised he'd used the word that the both of them had so carefully avoided so far "That is far beyond the scope of my ability to be understanding, that much I swear to you, Theodora. We've not yet been married even half a year, you will not make me a widower in the coming months. I will not allow it, and I would never forgive it, do you hear me?"

It was nigh on impossible to stop the tears that rose to her eyes - not just because she was powerless to fix his upset, but because all of the things that were upsetting him so much were the very things she was trying to prevent. She didn't want to become a widow in the coming months, she would never allow it and she would never forgive it. They were very much on the same page, and he was fighting against something that would prevent an outcome that neither of them wanted. Yet another thing she couldn't explain.

"I'll probably be fine," she protested, blinking back her tears - because she refused to be the woman who cried as a get-out-of-jail-free card in any goddamn situation.

"Probably is not even close to good enough!" He said fiercely "When I married you, it was so that we would have a life together. Not mere months. In fact, if anything I insist that I go first if it is to come to that. While there is breath in my body, you will not come to that manner of harm. I will not permit it until I am entirely unable to prevent it - and even then, I swear to God, Theodor, to God, that I would watch from beyond the grave and still do what I damn well could, and so I expect you to show even some small modicum of that regard for your own welfare."

Okay, now she was crying. If his previous comments were hitting too close to home, this newest onslaught was taking a sledgehammer to that home. While the tears, once they began slipping down her face, made him fall silent, they did not prompt a u-turn, nor an apology. That was good. The last thing they needed was his resenting her for that, too, later down the line.

"I need time. And solitude. To think," he said, shaking his head and turning his gaze towards the fireplace "You should go to bed. Rest. It's been quite a day."

Nothing in his tone left any room for argument - and she had no desire to fight him on it, anyway. When she reached the doorway she paused and shot a glance over her shoulder. James had moved to the window and was staring out of it resolutely, a thoughtful frown on his face - barely suppressed frustration lingering there. He needed time alone, and she wouldn't fight him on it. She never would. If she were in his shoes, she'd be out there pacing the streets of Port Royal a thousand times over, swearing belligerently as she did so. Hell, that was her on a good day. Still, she couldn't help but wonder, unease clawing at her insides, just how long it would take him to really work it all out once left to his own devices.

A/N: We'll get some of James' POV in the next chapter again. Things do be heating up.

Tumblr - esta-elavaris

IG - miotasach