The sun shines bright, the jungle is alive as ever, and the over all calm the scene provides...is enough to turn Emily's stomach. Knowing the truth about this island, about what it had housed and about the way time is distorted, it's just disturbing. She doesn't want to bask in the victory of what she's about to do to the vile slave traders that have just been herded onto the beach. She just wants to be rid of them, and then she wants to go home.

The Sea's Queen is already firing on the slaver's ship, since it has long since been emptied of anything of value. Emily pauses a moment for this at least, just watching as the vessel is destroyed and begins to sink slow but sure.

"You - you could take us back, you know. Turn us in. The Admiral...he'll be right quick to punish us proper."

Oh, he would be, Emily knows this. One thing she will hand to the Admiral is that he has a very real sense of justice. His version of right and wrong may be warped, but it is strict, and his punishments are swift.

Too swift.

Emily rounds on the slaver's captain, unable to contain the fire that blazes to life inside her. "Oh, you'd like that very much, wouldn't you? Be quick and easy, it would. Short drop and a sudden stop, you're through. And it's nothing, nothing at all in comparison to the kind of torture you were going to force those girls into."

He collapses. It's possibly the most undignified thing she's ever seen, the way he falls right to his knees and starts to begging. "There's no - no hope for us here! That's a hard thing, leaving a man where he's bound to die, one way or other! Please!"

Emily snorts, shaking her head, disgusted. "Bound to die? Oh, I'd say you could survive plenty long enough. All that greenery, looks to me like there's bound to be fresh water somewhere in there, I'm sure you'll do just fine." She kneels down so she's at his level again, glaring at him. "But no matter what you choose to do, you will rot here." She hauls back, fist clenched, and snaps it forward so it connects solidly with his face. There's a crack, and he flies back, hands already up clutching his nose as he groans.

Getting back to her feet and shaking out her own now-bruised hand, she spins back around and leaves them to their fate.

"Feel better?" Her mother appears as soon as the Queen clears the barrier surrounding the island.

"Honestly?"

"I expect I should be on the short list of those you would always be honest with."

Emily sits next to the older woman in the window seat, biting her lip. "Yes. I very much do feel better." A pause. She glances at her mother. "Forgive me for saying it, but you would know. Does that - am I some sort of monster?"

Her mother's eyebrows shoot up, and there's another moment of silence - and then she's laughing softly as she shakes her head. "Oh, dear. Oh, my dearest Emily. Perhaps one could argue that your methods are harsher than some would approve of. But no. They are the monsters. Your determination to be rid of them so thoroughly, and all because of the way they traumitized a group of silly, tittering little heiresses... there's far more heart left in you than you realize."

Emily just nods, calm and collected. But really, she's far more relieved than she would even let on. Because her mother would know these things. "Well..." She throws her shoulders back, clearing her throat. "Let's not go spreading that around, then, if you please. I've a bit of a reputation going, you know."

"Oh, I know very well." Her mother rolls her eyes. "Don't worry, you're secrets quite safe with me." She runs a hand through Emily's hair, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "But don't ever lose what you do have left, dearest."

Emily snorts. "Even if all it does is find me more trouble?"

"Yes, even if all it does is find you more trouble. Though, we both know very well you wouldn't know what to do with yourself if you weren't constantly in some manner of trouble. You're more like your Uncle than your father in some ways, I could swear it." She shakes her head. "Now, come on, I'd say it's high time we get you home."

"Right, and how are we going about that, anyway?"

"I think you're going to find it much easier to leave it at 'sea turtles' when asked to explain."

"Ah, well, give Uncle a laugh anyway..."

She can't explain why it's her uncle she seeks out first. Maybe it's because she sees the Pearl and thinks it's been too long since she's seen him. Maybe it's because no one will be more understanding of all the things that have just happened to her than he will. Maybe it's because she knows she can tell him about all that's just happened to her and not have to leave anything out – he's one of the only people she knows who truly won't judge her.

Actually, maybe it's all of those things rolled into one.

It's getting late by the time the Queen sails in to Shipwreck, and the sun is setting by the time Emily goes looking for her Uncle. She checks all the taverns first, of course, but doesn't find him in any of them. So, she heads back down to the docks and slips aboard the Pearl (with a nod to Cotton and his parrot, who squawks a greeting).

The door to his cabin is open, and she goes unnoticed a moment. Her uncle isn't alone, which isn't surprising. What is surprising…is that his company is Anamaria. They're sitting at his desk and talking in murmurs, and Emily hesitates a moment, deliberating, then finally knocks on the door. "Permission to come aboard, captain?" She says, trying to be playful, though her tone falls a little flat. "Would I be interrupting something?"

Her Uncle's eyes light up, but Ana shoots to her feet and is across the room in moments. "Emily? Gods above, girl, have you any idea how worried I've…"

"We expected ye back some months ago." Jack clarifies, and his tone implies Ana's not the only one that's been worrying.

"I know. There was..." Emily trails off. "Well. It's a long story."

"Oh, it always is, with you." Ana sighs.

"Have ye gone to see yer papa yet?" Her uncle's brows furrow. "He's been losin 'is mind, 'e 'as, tryin to figure where ye could've disappeared to."

Emily rubs the back of her neck. "No, I…" She doesn't know how to go on. Reaching up to the pocket of her vest, she takes out the pretty little sapphire stone she'd got away with snatching up as she escaped the cave and turns it over in her fingers.

"Emily? What's the matter?" Ana asks, gentle.

"I…just… Papa doesn't always listen. Doesn't always…"

"Come." Ana slips an arm about Emily's shoulders and leads her further into the room, where Jack gives up his chair for her to sit in.

"Tell us, then, love." Her uncle urges, but also gently. "What's 'appened?"

She does. She tells them it all, starting from the very beginning because she now remembers it all so clear. Being taken in the middle of a battle, sitting a prisoner down in the trader's brig. Being inspected as he tried to decide whether he could sell her as a bride on a block somewhere, and feeling like less than nothing as he pointed out the many reasons no man would want her. And then everything that happened after, escaping, being captured and escaping again, the strange though peaceful weeks in between…

She's trembling by the time she starts in on her long misadventure with Adrienne, though she can't tell whether from just anger or anger combined with – everything else she'd felt along the way. She turns the little sapphire over and over in her hands as she does, and her voice is shaking too by the time she makes it through the entirety of the tale she has to tell. "And…by the time I'd finished sorting the whole mess out, Adrienne had gone. Run off. Got too far, Jo didn't think we'd have a chance of catching her up and we were exhausted, so…" Her fist clenches around the sapphire, and that's definitely more anger than anything else. She slams her fist down on the desk, the frustration feeling fresh and raw again. "Blast it, I should've gone after her!"

Ana doesn't seem to know what to say. It's Jack that places his hand over Emily's, understanding in his eyes, just the kind she'd been hoping for when she came looking for him. "Maybe it's best ye didn't." Her brows furrow as he takes the sapphire out of her hands, but he goes on before she can say anything. "Think about it, dearie. She'll know what's coming next time ye meet, so let 'er run scared a while, eh? Be all the more satisfyin, then, when ye find yer moment. And ye will." He holds up a finger, a bit of mischief behind his eyes now, and opens a drawer of his desk. He pulls out a bit of string, and begins tying it around the sapphire, creating a sort of sling for it. "In the meantime…" He says, but trails off. Ana eyes up the sapphire, meets Jack's eyes a moment, and then grins as she comes around the desk and takes Emily's hair out of the scarf holding it back. Sectioning off some of the brunette waves, Ana then begins braiding the strand with nimble fingers. Curious as to what they have in mind, Emily stays silent and just lets her. When Ana's finished, Jack takes the sapphire and ties it into the end of the braid, finishing it off. "In the meantime, ye keep this close. When people point it out, ye tell 'em all about Barbossa's little hell-spawn. Rumors are one thing no one can 'ide from if their spread well 'nough."

Emily takes the braid into her hands and looks down at the sapphire. "Uncle." She smiles a bit, looking up to him. "It's perfect."

"Well, maybe not perfect yet." Ana adds in. "I – we – had a present for you, see. Wasn't going to be for anything special, just it caught my eye and I thought of you, but now I suppose you could call it a late birthday gift."

"Birthday?" Emily stares at her, blank, as she runs those numbers over in her head. Nine months had been the count, since Alex left, but that had been – well, the last time she'd counted. Which was before she'd woken up with no memory in that cell at Port Royal. So, her birthday is rather long passed by now, really. She wraps her head around this, which takes a moment or two, and then she realizes… "We? As in, the two of you, together?" She asks, slow. Since when did her uncle and Ana do – anything as a 'we'?

The pair share a look, but don't seem too intent on elaborating. Jack's gone over to a trunk at the end of his bed, and pulls something out of it, and suddenly all other thoughts are banished from Emily's mind. It's a hat. It's a pretty hat, or at least, pretty by Emily's pirate-tinted standards. It's not too big or fancy, is the same style as the old hat her uncle wears, but it is colored the same maroon red as her favorite blouse, and it has a single white feather stuck in the brim.

Her eyes light up as she shoots to her feet, and her uncle chuckles. "I take it ye like the hat?"

She nods, a smile parting her lips again as she reaches out for it, almost childish. "I like the hat."

Ana takes it from Jack and comes up to place it just so on Emily's head before ushering her over to a mirror. "Now, all that's missing is that lovely corset of yours."

Emily eyes up her own reflection, scrutinizing every detail of the young woman in the mirror. From the scar on her cheek, to the wooden replacement for her leg, to the new additions – the braid in her hair and the hat. Maybe that trader captain had been right. She isn't much of a prize by the standards of some. But she never really was as far as looks went, anyway, was always too boyish to be pretty. She's come to realize that any attraction men feel to her has to do with other things – the way she walks and talks and holds herself. She's alluring because she's different.

At least until they get close to her, like Riley or…well.

But that's alright, because she doesn't need close. Riley is a friend, and fun in other ways at times, but he is little more. Alex is just history. And Peg Leg Turner decides she rather likes what she's seeing in the mirror.

Spinning around, she throws her arms around Ana and her uncle, feeling ten pounds lighter than she had coming to them. She smiles wide when she pulls away. "Do you suppose my papa will have retired for the night? You were right, I should go to see him."

"Well even if he has, heaven knows he wouldn't mind you…" Ana starts.

"But why don't ye wait 'til tomorrow?" Her uncle cuts in, a little oddly. "You two'll 'ave loads to talk about, sounds like, best leave it for when ye're both rested and ready for it, eh?"

Ana glances sharply at him, but adds nothing.

Emily eyes them both up, her smile fading a bit, but this is the best she's felt in days – weeks – months and she doesn't want to let go of the high she's riding so soon. "Well – alright. S'ppose I'll go snatch Jo n' some of the lads up instead and…"

"Go find some trouble." Her uncle tells her. "Ye've earned the chance for some fun."

Ana looks uncertain but nods her agreement, and leans in to plant a kiss on Emily's forehead. Shrugging it off, very deliberate, Emily bounces back off to do just as she'd said. She wants a drink, and friends to share it with and…

…much later that night, after she and Riley have fallen into a sound sleep in her cabin on the Queen, she dreams of sword fights in the jungle, and taking tea with the Admiral's sister, and of all sorts of other things. Her tired, rum-soaked mind once again conjures up dreams of anything and everything… except Alex Sparrow.

She's not too bad off when she wakes the next morning; she can hold her rum rather well by now and is used to the after effects, besides. Riley, on the other hand… Well, perhaps it's a good thing she'd thought to let the drapes down over the window the night before.

She could be very, very mean…but decides against it because Riley Connelly is the one and only person who can manage to be thoroughly adorable whilst just as thoroughly hungover.

"I'm going to need my arm back, love." She murmurs, holding back laughter as she runs a hand through his ginger curls. It's technically more than just her arm he's got – he's done so much growing in the past months that he's hugging her much more slender frame to him as if she were a child's poppet. He shakes his head, burying his face further into her brunette waves. He says something in return, but it's too muffled for her to hear. "What was that, now?"

He half-unburies his face, peering over at her as he squeezes her to him a little. "S'my pretty little captain, I'll keep her long's I want."

Gods. He's too much. She shakes her head, laughing softly. "Well, this pretty little captain needs to go see her papa else he'll come looking for her. Not sure he'd be surprised to find us like this, but I doubt he'd appreciate it either." He sighs, over-dramatic, but nods and lets her go. She gets up and dresses quietly, then slips across the room to peer out the window before coming back over to press a kiss to Riley's forehead. "S'early yet, love, just go back to sleep. I'll come back in a while, bring you something that'll help."

He nods again, then buries himself back into the pillows and blankets. With a last chuckle, Emily leaves him in peace.

She first goes to see Mrs. White, figuring she'll have some idea of where Emily's papa is being that he'd been staying in a room that was one of Teague's. The kind old woman – looking tired and even older than she had to start, Emily notes offhand – redirects her down to another network of rooms and hallways. She seems rather harried, so Emily decides to be kind and leave any questions for her Papa.

Which is how she ends up blinking down at a tiny, delicate, beautiful little French poppet of a girl with the biggest, brightest eyes Emily's ever seen (outside of the girl in that last vision she'd had of Alex). "Oh! Bonjour!" She chimes, pleasant. "Forgive me, I was not aware Monsieur Turner was to have a visitor this morning."

"I'm – sort of – probably, not entirely expected, I'm sorry, who would you be? I don't recall seeing you before." Emily eyes the girl up. She's dressed in something fine and French, all ruffles and lace.

"I'm called Marie. Monsieur Turner hired me just a few months ago." Her smile fades as her pleasant demeanor slips a bit, probably due to Emily's tone.

Emily takes a moment to think on that. "You mean to say…you're his maid?" She chokes back a laugh.

Marie grows even colder as she straightens and throws her shoulders back. "I keep house for him, oui."

"Oh, I'm sure. Pretty little thing like you." Emily gives her a more exaggerated once over. "Tell me, has he bothered to mention he's anything-resembling-married this time 'round?"

"Mademoiselle." Marie snaps this time, cold as ice now. "May I have a name?"

"Mademoiselle." Emily mimics a bit. "As if I hadn't had enough of the French to last a lifetime…you may tell Monsieur Turner that his daughter came to see him."

Marie freezes at this, eyes going wide. "Fille? Mon Dieu. Oh, please…forgive me mademoiselle, I did not realize..." She casts her eyes downward and, to Emily's shock, dips into a low and respectful curtsy. "I will tell him."

"See that you do." Emily replies stiffly, but really, she's just confused now. Curtsies like that are usually reserved for royalty. So why would this Marie think Emily deserved one?

Interesting.

He's waiting for her. It's strange, actually, because she can't imagine how he would have known she was here in enough time to beat her back to the ship. She's heading back with a flask full of the usual morning-after cure for Riley, and there her Papa is. He's not looking at her, though he must have heard her board the ship. He's leaning on the rail near the helm, staring out to sea, and she's not even certain how she noticed him. She does that sometimes, though. Things happen on her ship and somehow she just knows.

Like she knows that Riley is still abed below, sleeping sound again, peaceful as ever considering.

So, she makes her way up to her Papa. Something about the image he presents is off from the start; for one thing, there's a cigar hanging from between two fingers, lit, and the stil morning air smells a bit of it as she approaches him. She leans on the rail next to him, and all is silent. Does he not know where to start anymore than she does? The thought is worrying. "So." She says after a moment, drawing the word out a bit. "How -how did you know? That we'd finally made it back, how'd you know? We only just pulled in last evening. Last night, more like, and the pretty little Frenchie what answered your door this morning didn't act as though you'd been up and about yet."

He bristles a bit, right about at the part that she says 'Frenchie'. He brings the cigar to his lips and pulls in a long drag. "I knew you were coming long before you got here. We've been watching for the Queen for months."

"We?" Her brows furrow a bit. "Care to elaborate?"

He only shakes his head. "Do you know how long it's been?"

"Aye. Mother told me, matter of fact. You're not the only one she's been sneaking visits with, I get to share her too of late. Almost feels like something resembling 'family'."

"I think that's what she's aiming for." He glances at her, smiling a bit. "The closest thing to family we can manage. If you stay around long enough, we might even get in a night with..." He hesitates, just a bit.

Emily jumps on that, snorting. "Except family for us includes a certain someone else. All the more complicated when you think about it, eh?"

"No." He snaps back, not harsh, just quick. "Your mother is more than open to the idea of the four of us. I worry only of what Joshua might think."

"Oh. You should ask him." Emily replies, more subdued. "I don't half know what he thinks of anything anymore, but he's got a heart so big he'd throw his arms right 'round the world itself if he could. I doubt he'll object to at least meeting mother."

"My thoughts exactly. Anyway, you're not going to get away with that, you know." His tone is, again, not harsh. He rarely is very harsh with her. It's calm and quiet but at the same time commanding in a way that leaves no room for arguements. His demeanor is different than what she's used to from him, as well. In fact, he seems at ease in a way she's never seen before, the way he brings the cigar to his lips again and blows out a ring of smoke.

Snaking a hand up to run it through her hair a bit, Emily watches the grey cloud slowly disperse to avoid looking at her papa. "Get away with what, precisely?" She dodges, or tries too.

"With talking your way around what we should really be talking about. Emily," he turns to her now, "it's been more than eight months."

"I know. Papa, I'm missing things." She eyes the cigar. "I can already tell just by the way Ana and Uncle acted last night, so please, can we just skip to the part where you explain?"

"Oh yes. You spent well over an hour on the Pearl talking to them." He reaches out to take up the jewel tied in her hair, looking it over a bit. "Why don't you explain first."

"Oh...erm. Well, it's a very long story, but I suppose..." She doesn't know why she obeys so readily this time, there's just something about her Papa - well, she won't put a name to it. She just gets the feeling she's better off playing by his rules for a bit. So she explains, tells him the whole story just as she'd told it to her Uncle the night before. And her papa listens and puffs his cigar and doesn't interrupt, just lets her talk it all out, and by the time she finally trails off she's left wondering - why the hell couldn't he have acted this much like somebodies father when she actually needed him to be hers? "...and, well, this is all I actually managed to snatch up in that cave." She reaches up to play with the jewel a bit. "Not sure if it's worth much. Might be it is, but I rather like the idea of keeping it close. Uncle's the one that suggested that, actually."

"Yes, it certainly looks like the sort of thing he'd come up with."

"You don't like it?" She asks, tone flat.

"In your hair, like that?" He points with the cigar. "I think it looks ridiculous." He uses the same tone, quiet and calm but firm.

"Oh, well..." She turns to stair back out to sea again, grumbling. "...wasn't really asking you anyhow. So, are you going to tell me what I've missed, then, or..."

"How much do you know about Captain Teague?"

"Captain..." Brows furrowed, she blinks at him. "Why?"

"Just answer the question."

"He's Alex's grandfather. He's Keeper of the Code, he's..." Now there's a curious thought. "You know, I don't know much at all beyond that, come to think of it. Least, not about what he does here."

Her Papa nods slow. "I didn't either until he came to me, started explaining it. It's remarkable, this place. The Admiral's ships, they come and go, and they're no small threat. It's a dangerous game and I can't understand why he's playing it, but this place - this is still the one place he could not touch if he tried to. More than half the ships sitting down at the docks at any given time are -," he falters a bit, rather curiously, clears his throat and continues, "Teague's, and they're all left with at least enough men to load the cannons topside. And that's not counting the spots throughout the rest of Shipwreck that are stocked with weapons, or all the vantage points picked out just so any intruders can be picked off before they get too far in."

"It's a fortress." Emily nods. "A very well supplied one. That I do know."

"But do you understand why?" Emily only shrugs, and her Papa goes on. "Because Shipwreck is not Tortuga. There are women here, and children, entire families."

"Alright, but Papa, what does that have to do with..."

"Emily?" That's Riley's voice, calling out from somewhere below them.

She starts a bit, remembering her orginal mission here, glancing down at the flask in her hand. With a last glance at her Papa, she makes her way down to where Riley has just emerged from below. He's leaning heavy on the door frame and is attempting to sheild his eyes from the sun. She chuckles. "How's the head?"

"Feels like someone's pounding a bloody nail into my skull, and I think my belly's trying to turn itself inside out too. Did you say you'd have something that would help?"

She hands him off the flask. "Drink this down and whatever you do, don't smell it."

He blinks down at the flask, and then at her, a bit bewildered apparently, but then he shrugs and does as she'd instructed. "Don't," she heads him off when he grimaces as he pulls the flask away, "ask, either. Just..be thankful when it works."

He shakes his head a bit and hands the flask back off to her. "Who were you talking to?"

"I suppose I should've guessed that's what you spent the rest of your night doing." Her father intones. He's not come down to join them, is still up by the helm but has moved so he's watching them from above.

Riley's brows furrow as he looks up, and then he pales a bit, because he's quite obviously just come up from her cabin.

Emily glares up at her Papa. "It was a long and tiring trip we had, thanks very much, and how I spend my nights is none of your business."

"If you could be bothered to be respectful enough to stow it when another is speaking," his tone is sterner now, scolding as he makes his way down the steps to them, "I might've had the chance by now to inform you that anything and everything that takes place within Shipwreck Cove is now very much my business." He puts out the half smoked cigar on the rail beside him, tucking it back into his vest and crossing his arms as he comes to stand before her. "And that is not counting the fact that you're my daughter."

"Erm, right," Riley interjects again, obviously sensing the tension brewing, "I - suppose I'd best... Captain. Sir." And with this, he beats a hasty retreat.

Emily's too busy glaring at her papa to be concerned with Riley. "Right then, I'll shut my mouth. Explain."

But he's staring after Riley. "You know, people talk about you."

"Wha-alright. Yes, people like to talk."

"Oh, but I worry about some of the things they say of you. You, and the amount of close company you keep."

"You worry too much in general." She scoffs. "And I still fail to see how that is in any way your business. You know, I've got to thinking before, if I were a man..."

"If you were a man." He snorts, shaking his head as he finally turns his eyes back on her. "That's just what you've always wanted. You hadn't realized it until now, maybe, but that's what you were always asking for, for me to treat you more as a son and not a daughter."

A pause, and he keeps throwing her off. "Aye. I s'ppose, in a way, that is what I wish for at times. I know it sounds silly."

"No. Not as much as you think." He studies her a moment, nods his head once. "In fact, I've been thinking as well. I've been thinking that I've always approached things just the wrong way with you, and if you'll give me the chance I'm going to remedy that. Starting tonight."

"Alright." She says, and he really has her curious now.

"Come to dinner. Captain Teague and I both have some things to discuss with you, and it may be easier if we can work it all out at once. The Admiral's been busy since you've been gone, and I suspect that if anyone will know what he may be up to, it'll be you."

"Oh. No ones ever bothered to really ask me about all that before."

"As I've said, I've done some thinking." He reaches out to brush a way a strand of her hair, and leans in to plant a kiss on her forehead. "You're going to get just what you want if you keep going like you are. I just hope you'll be satisfied with what you get." He heads off the ship, but turns back to her just before stepping foot on the gangplank. "And as for that boy of yours..."

"Papa..."

"Warming your bed at night and yet he takes such care that you are still 'Captain' when it counts? I don't blame you for keeping him." He winks, and then is gone.

Emily stares after him, expression going blank. Who are you, old man, and what the hell have you done with my Papa?

Will wants this to go well. He knows Emily won't like it, exactly, the idea of what he is now. But he thinks, maybe, if he remembers to talk to her the right way, remembers to treat her how she has always so wished he would...maybe they can come to an understanding.

"You know, it'll hardly do much good to keep thinking so hard on it." Teague tells him. They're seated at the table in Will's dining room. Or, Teague is anyway. Will has been up and pacing the room for some minutes now.

"I can't stop." Will runs a hand through his hair. "I've a feeling if this doesn't work out the way I'm hoping that she'll leave again and simply decide never to come back."

"If she does, the harm she'll really be doing is to herself. She'll need help sooner or later, with this Admiral tailing her like he has been, and this'll be the best place to find it. She's no fool. She knows."

Will snatches up the glass of brandy set out at his seat. "If that's the only thing keeping her in contact, though, she'll resent me all the more for it."

"Least you know you'll still be able to keep an eye on her, though. S'all that matters in the end, aye?"

Will only sighs, and takes a healthy swallow of the brandy.

"Monsieur." Marie's small voice calls out, a little strained. "You're fille is here."

He steals one more sip of the brandy, sets down the glasss, and nods at Marie.

"Mademoiselle." Marie steps out of the way, allowing Emily entrance into the room.

Emily sends a sideways glance at the smaller woman, but says nothing. Will takes a moment to eye his daughter up a bit. She's wearing her corset now, along with a hat - maroon red, with a feather in the brim. Coupled with that ridiculous braid in her brunette waves...he wonders if she's done that on purpose, is trying to get under his skin already. "Captain." She greets first, and Will has to bite his tongue to not respond as he's already grown so familiar with being called that himself. She is, of course, referring to Teague, as well she should. This would be only proper, were Teague still the one in charge here.

Teague sends an amused glance in Will's direction. "A pleasure to see you, as always, Miss Turner."

She sends the older man a smile, then turns to Will. "Papa. I'm - rather uncertain as to precisely what it is tonight's about, but here I am."

"Here you are." He gestures to a chair, but doesn't pull it out for her. "Please. We've quite a bit to talk about, but there's no rush. Marie, would you be so kind as to go and inform Mrs. White that Emily's arrived?"

She murmurs a quiet 'oui Monsieur' and then slips out.

"You're looking more the part everyday, Captain." Teague says, playful, as he nods to the hat Emily's hung on her chair. "That's a fine hat you've got there. It suits you."

"Thank you. It was a gift from Ana and Uncle, actually. I don't know that you shall ever again see me without it, I'm so in love."

The pair of them go on in the same vein, and the conversation is easy. Teague's treatment of Emily was always indicitive of his respect for her tenacity and strength and intelligence. It never had anything to do with her sex, and so they had settled into a sort of friendship as well. It had really been the same with Jack and Emily. The recognition of a pattern, however belated, is what has Will thinking to choose his words with more care now.

If Joshua were older, a man, Will asks himself, how would I speak to him?

"Papa?" Emily. Her voice is quiet, tentative.

"Yes." He starts a bit, eyes darting to meet hers. "I'm sorry, what?"

She's studying him with those eyes of hers - so much like her grandfather's, like Will's own - and looking almost worried. "You've not heard a word we've said."

"No." He looks back down to study the plate of food that has somehow appeared before him. He's barely touched any of it. He hadn't realized he was so lost in thought. "I'm really very sorry, I have not."

She sets down her own fork, brows furrowed as she sits straight in a way that suggets she means business now. "Alright. What is all of this? I disappear without warning for eight months and come back to - to ham and fresh baked bread and fine French wine, served up by a pretty little thing that does your bidding and calls you 'Monsieur'. Not that there is anything particularly wrong with any of it, but I'd bloody well like to know what's going on, and no one else seems very willing to come out and tell me. And that's neverminding the fact that everyone here seems real quick to be out of my way now, is being awful respectful for all that it's pirates we're dealing with."

Will glances at Teague, lets out a breath, and finally decides it's just time. "She calls me 'Monsieur' because the last man she called 'Captain' had her offer herself to me as some manner of bribe."

Emily is silent a moment, then nods slow. "Alright. So you have a ship now?"

"Oh." Teague chuckles, a low and raspy sound. "He has much more than just that."

"Actually," Emily holds up a hand, "do us a favor and back up a bit. What do you mean, 'offer herself'? What sort of man offers a girl as..."

"Not the sort I'm over interested in dealing with." Will answers glibly. "He was a necessary evil that was smart enough to be out of my hair poste haste."

"And why would he have been bribing you? For what? And just how did the girl end up your maid instead? Is she warming your bed at night?" She throws it back at him with all her usual fire and sass, and he feels the usual frustration welling up hot within him.

But he knows how to channel it now, learned that quick with a crew of his own to Captain. "No. She is not." Not harsh, not loud, just the right amount of force. "I freed her to do with her young life whatever she pleased. She chose to remain here, where I promised her a share in the comforts now afforded me."

"What could anyone want from you that they would send her as - as payment?" She says it with such disgust, and he understands that after what she's experienced. He won't blame her for being touchy.

"A good many things, and if you," Teague is the one who starts in on her, but Will holds up a hand and the older man stops short. No words are passed between the two. Teague just nods once at Will, who studies Emily as she blinks at them both.

"If you can't bite your tongue and listen," he says, quiet and deceptively calm, "then you can leave." And the challenge is clear. Behave, or be done with it, but be ready for the consquences if you choose the latter. "Is that clear."

She is silent. He knows she's thinking it through, the exchange between him and Teague and the tone he's taken, and he's not backing down. He means what he said. Unsuprisingly, after a long moment, she nods. "As crystal, sir."

And all at once, he knows she gets it. She wants to be treated more like a son. Then she better learn quick she won't get to get away with what a daughter does simply by way of being daddy's girl. "Good." And like that, the tension leaves him. He remembers who he is now. "He was carrying a cargo of the same sort of, erm, merchandise as Marie herself. He had heard of you and knew you to be my daughter, so was unsure if he could get away with this under my watch. I made it quite clear I wouldn't condone it, although I could not do much beyond sending him away. That is where the bribe came from. He was rough, not smart. He'll get himself caught soon enough."

She nods. "And you - you haven't touched her?"

"I wouldn't if she consented to it. It was never a question."

"Alright."

"Alright." He echoes. "Now we've got that well and out of the way. As was implied by my dealings with Marie's former master, I am..." He trails off. Not because he's worried of Emily's reaction any longer. He just isn't quite sure how to put it in terms she'll understand.

"Captain now." Teague finishes for him, putting a certain sort of force behind the word.

Emily nods slow. "Captain. Meaning - Captain of Shipwreck itself. You are what he was." She nods at Teague.

"I am what he was. That's why you've been treated with such sudden respect as well."

Silence yet again. She studies Will, her expression unreadable. He honestly cannot for a moment tell what his daughter is thinking or feeling. Finally, she gets to her feet. "Cap -." She breaks off, looking at Teague, then Will, shaking her head. "I think I need a, a moment. Just, excuse me, please." And she darts out of the room.

Teague snorts, but there's genuine amusement flashing behind his old eyes. "I'd count that as 'going well' if I were you, lad."

Will just heaves a sigh, and finally digs into his food.

.

He doesn't go looking for her, precisely. He understands if she needs time to mull it all over, has no problem giving her this. He does, perhaps, begin wandering the halls half hoping that she'll have found a quiet room to breath a moment here; half hoping she hasn't really run off. He does not by any means expect what he finds.

He hears murmurs in a parlor just off the main entrance to his set of rooms, and is too curious to pass it up. He stops and listens a moment, but the voices are a little low for him to hear. So, he opens the door, slow and tentative.

"You know...I'm sorry." It's Emily speaking now. She's seated on a small sofa across the way from a large window, is draped across it really, one long leg held out to prop a booted foot on the table before her as she nurses a glass of amber liquid that he suspects is the brandy Teague has given him a taste for. "Papa and I... it's a strange and sometimes hateful sort of dance we do around each other. The things I said when I first saw you had... I had every reason to suspect what I did about you, but that suspicion had more to do with him than you."

And it's his little Marie that nods from her position across the room. She appears to have been busy prying the stubborn window open to let in the cool evening air. "Oui, oui. That is much as I suspected."

"I suppose I'm not the first to make assumptions. His lack of interest in you scarce makes him an angel, and now that..." She trails off and grimaces, downing what's left in her glass.

"No, you certainly are not. Monsieur Turner has his faults, of course, but..." Marie hesitates.

"What?" Emily prompts.

"Well." Marie busies herself with taking up the decanter holding the brandy and refilling Emily's glass. "It is not my place to say."

"Say it anyway." Emily's tone is gentle, but brooks no room for argument all the same.

Marie dares to meet the older girls eyes, and nods. "It is just, he speaks of you often. You and your brother, the pair of you are his very dearest of treasures. All he wants is your happiness, truly."

"Happiness. I want to believe that." Emily stares down at the glass in her hands, traces a finger around the rim of it delicately. "But we're pirates. I had to've got it from somewhere. In the end the only one my papa is most concerned about is my papa."

"I think not all is as it seems." Marie replies, quieter. Silence. Emily just shakes her head a bit. Marie clears her throat softly. "Shall I make up a room for you, Mademoiselle? Whether or not you remain here for long, I cannot imagine why you would object to the luxury of a proper bed."

The innocent change in topic has Will deciding now would be as good a time as any to make himself known. He pushes the door open as if he has just descovered them there. "Emily. You had me nervous a moment there, I thought you'd run."

She shoots to her feet, tensing as she sets the glass down heavier than necessary. "I - I had you nervous? No, I just, I needed..."

"She nearly did. Run, that is, Monsieur." Marie puts in. "Indeed, I ony just managed to stop her, and I think you still have much to talk about so I shall go prepare her room for her." And she glides out of the room, composed and graceful as ever, closing the door behind her.

"Papa. What does it mean? I mean, I get it, I understand I think, what you were trying to explain earlier, what he did - what you're here for now, but that doesn't tell me...what does it mean?" She doesn't say it aloud, but he knows what she's asking. What does it mean for us - for me?

"I don't know." He replies with honesty. "I never claimed to have it all figured out yet. I suppose, if you'll give us the chance, we'll just have to work it out as we go along."

"You expect I'll be staying a while, then."

"I expect nothing. I could demand it of you, I suppose."

"And I'd have to listen."

He shakes his head. "Have to, no. But running away is hardly the respectable way to do things. You stay because if you do we might very well manage something like family again. Or you stay simply for the fact that if you run I'll be very sure to leave you on your own until such time you decide to come crawling back. I could give you plenty of reason to stay here, Emily, if the fact alone that I'm your father isn't enough."

She looks away, paces to the the window, stares out at her ship resting quiet at the docks. "Joshy won't be coming, should I leave again."

It takes Will a moment to respond, as she's thrown him a little with the abrupt change in subject. "He hasn't come to see me just yet, in fact I've been wondering just where he's hiding."

She smiles a bit, shaking her head. "He's got it into his head that someone will be ashamed of him. He just doesn't know who it will be, so he's avoiding most everyone."

"What? What on earth could he think I'd be ashamed of him for?"

"S'not my business to tell you. I'll get him here to see you tomorrow, it'll all come out soon enough."

He debates with himself for a long moment on whether to ask the next question that comes to mind. "Will you leave again?"

She turns to him, meets his eyes and opens her mouth as if to respond...but closes it again in an instant. Instead, she comes over to plant a kiss upon his cheek. "Good night, Papa." And with this, she leaves him.

A moment passes, and Marie slips back into the room, quiet and tentative. "I did not hear any shouting. Should I take this to mean it went well?"

Will slips over to the window, watching his daughter wind her way back down to her ship, and shakes his head slow. "She's going to run."

She's going to run. She's going to try and make herself stay but nothing about this is sitting right with her and she knows. She's going to run.

She's anxious and upset and angry and her thoughts keep chasing themselves around in her head. She sits in the window seat, grows restless, shoots to her feet and starts pacing, thinks about slipping out to a tavern to find trouble, or going to find Riley for - for other sorts of shenanigans, or...but none of her usual solutions hold any appeal. She wishes she could go back and talk to her papa, make him understand why all of this bothers her so, but he won't understand at all. And she just doesn't know what to do with herself.

The mangy little tabby that has become the ships cat takes a few tentative steps into the room through the cracked open door. When Emily finally cycles back to plopping herself in the window seat with a huff, the furry little animal darts across the room and jumps into her mistress' lap.

"Hey there, little one." Emily runs a hand over the cat's orange fur. It instantly begins purring. "Huh. If only people were so easily contented, eh?" The cat sits up in her lap, staring up at her, and lets out a soft little 'mew'. Almost...almost as if asking 'what's wrong?'. It's a little bit madness, but Emily starts talking. "It's just - I love my papa. But this is too much. Where am I supposed to fit in it all? I almost feel as though he's not got room for me now." Another mew. This one could almost be scolding. "Oh, I know, I know. That's a touch childish, but honestly. He wanted me to be someone's good little housewife, thought all this pirating business was foolish, and look where he sets himself up? And now I must look pretty small compared to him and all his ships and...and... now he's got that pretty little maid, keeping her real nice with those fine dresses and I bet she's got a nice big room all to her onsies." This time the little 'mew' is comforting. The cat lays a paw over Emily's hand. "Oh, m'sure he does love me just as well. S'just...I needed him to be my father then. Not now. I'm doing just fine on my own now, thanks very much." 'Mew', it's almost as if the cats rolling her eyes. "Oh, hush up you, I made it through our last little adventure didn't I? That counts as 'just fine', you ask me."

"Emily?"

The voice startles her a bit. The cat rubs against her belly, affectionate and calming, before settling itself curled in a ball on her lap, content and purring.

"Aye?" Emily answers, too distracted to identify the voice.

"S'just me, love." Her Uncle. He peers into the room, silently asking for permission to enter.

"Uncle." She brightens, conjuring a bit of a smile. "Yes. Come in, of course."

He slips into the room, brows furrowing as he looks around. "Who were ye talkin to?"

She blinks, glances down at the cat who looks up at her and - did that mangy little ball of fur just wink. Emily shakes her head. "No one, I mean I wasn't, I was just..." She can't even come up with a white lie that doesn't sound strange. "Erm, that is, why are you here Uncle?"

He almost looks like he's debating on whether to ask - she can read him like a book, how strange is that? - but he shrugs after a moment and comes to pull up a chair next to the window seat. "Was just wondering how it went with your Papa."

"Oh." She grumbles, dark. "I wouldn't ask, if I were you." He just nods. She brings a hand up to rub the back of her neck. "You knew it wouldn't go well."

"I hoped ye'd prove me wrong."

"How did you know?"

A pause. "Similarities, a few too many to go ignorin."

"What?"

He waves her off. "S'not important. Point is...where will ye go next, then?"

"So you also knew I'd be thinking to run, and you're not going to stop me?"

"Would ye listen, if I tried?"

Silence. She huffs. "No. Be nice to know someone cared enough to try, though. Papa hasn't bothered to come after me."

"Yer Papa's got an entire city's worth of people to worry about, not just 'isself. Or you, 'ard as that may be to 'ear."

"I am. Going to run."

"Good. Ye wouldn't be yerself if ye let 'im make ye stay, and ye wouldn't be doing 'im or yerself any favors, either."

This is an oddly concise bit of wisdom coming from her Uncle. Similarities, he'd said... "Did...did you let Teague make you stay?" She asks quietly.

He doesn't seem surprised she's made the connection. "Aye. For a time I let 'im bully me into a lot o' things just the same way yer Papa could do to you now, and this is new enough to him he may try just to enjoy the feel of it. So run, Emily. S'nothin wrong with knowin when to do that. Don't let 'im make ye think different."

...

She spends the next day with her Papa and her brother and Ana and Jack. They have a bit of fun involving magic, play a game of hide and seek with just about the whole of Shipwreck as a play ground, and in general - act like a family, if a somewhat strange one. Emily does her best to give no signs of her intentions, her Papa does his best not to give reason to create tension, and over all it is really a most wonderful day. Emily ends it by tucking Joshy into bed as he settles into his new room for the night, singing him softly to sleep.

She wonders if he'd had any idea; by the next morning, she's gone.

There you go, a proper chapter. :)