"Ah, Elizabeth, it's you." Beckett smiled as he watched her stop dead in the middle of the hall. He knew Mr. Turner was in the house somewhere, and so was quite surprised to find Elizabeth crying. Her eyes were wide with surprise and a look of fear crossed her face.

Elizabeth took a breath, managing to speak. "Lord Beckett. What are you doing here?" She had thought he'd left, watched him sail away. He appeared to have come alone. Maybe they left him here… serve him right. She tried to regain her composure, pull herself together.

"Why I am here is none of your concern and as such that information will remain withdrawn." There was a strange expression playing across his face. It could have been sympathy or curiosity, but Elizabeth couldn't be sure. She could see the light behind him, illuminating a sort of sitting room. "But if you don't mind my asking, why are you crying? I thought you'd be rather happier; I gather Mr. Turner is here as well."

He saw Will's name caused her pain, so he left the subject alone. He tried something else; he hated to see people crying. "Weren't you hoping to find Tia Dalma? I'm sure Cassan—I mean, the Lady, could help you." She looked up at him, her eyes clearly asking him why he cared, clearly displaying her resentment towards the Lady of the Sea. She went into the room behind him without a word, and sat down, while Beckett decided to leave her alone and went off to find Cassandra.

She heard footsteps at the doorway again, and turned towards the man, asking a question before she saw whom it was. "Why, might I ask, do you care?" She turned to see a different man standing in the doorway, a look of concern on his face as he saw she'd been crying.

"Elizabeth?"

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Cassandra walked away from Will's room, thinking over what had been said. It wasn't much, but it was meaningful:

'I love you, Cassandra. But I love Elizabeth more. I just can't do anything more that could hurt her.'

'It's all right. But maybe you should be telling her.'

With every step she took, she could feel the pain returning. Pain she hadn't felt for four years. Heartbreak. She remembered the last time as if it were yesterday.

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Will lay back in his bed staring up at the ceiling. His pain was subsiding, but he thought it best to let it stop hurting completely before he risked agitation again. He had spoken to Cassandra reasonably well about the ordeal, and now was preparing to face the woman he had scorned multiple times. Elizabeth. He had hoped she would come to see him, but as of yet she had not. He looked out the window again. The person who had been pacing was gone now, out of his sight. He wondered how upset Elizabeth would be, what he could say to calm her.

He thought instead about Jack. As mad as he was at the pirate, Jack was one of his closest friends. This sort of betrayal should be unforgivable, but Jack was Jack. Will figured that given the right circumstances, he could forgive Jack. If only he'd had the chance. Jack was gone, being jealous or spiteful was only an insult to his memory. Will wished things had turned out differently, but they hadn't. There was nothing he could do for Jack, although if it would help calm Elizabeth he'd do anything to reach this goal.

He thought again of the kiss he had witnessed. It was meaningless. Well, it had meaning at the time, maybe just a passing whim. She loves me. He was doing that dangerous thinking thing again. It had gotten him into enough trouble already yet he couldn't stop theorizing. He couldn't stop analyzing, couldn't control the jealous fire that had been kindled. He wondered if the kiss was real. There was meaning, yes, and definitely passion. But it didn't seem natural.

Will couldn't extinguish his thoughts any more than he could turn back time and stop the kiss, prevent any of this from happening. He resigned himself to letting his mind wander as he closed his eyes, wishing Elizabeth would come.

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Elizabeth turned around, fearing she was going insane. Here was another voice out of place, someone that shouldn't be here that was. It wasn't Beckett's authoritative, harsh voice. It wasn't Will's soothing tone, angry or forgiving. It wasn't Jack's drunken slur. It was the warm, surprised voice of James Norrington.

"Elizabeth?" He asked again, not entirely sure why she wasn't responding. "Elizabeth, are you alright? What happened?" He saw the tears forming; saw the tracks they'd already left on her cheeks. He moved and sat down beside her, allowing her to do the only thing possible at the moment: break down and cry.

She couldn't have Will. She couldn't have Jack. Will wouldn't believe her, he didn't trust her, and he loved Cassandra. And although she might deny it, the only other person she could love in this world had been condemned to Davy Jones' locker by Elizabeth herself. James Norrington was the one sitting beside her, trying to comfort her, open and willing to listen. She couldn't have Jack. She couldn't have Will. James was her shoulder to cry on.