While the menfolk were gone, Theo and Elizabeth kept much to their usual routine, although it was filled with less of the usual mirth than it had once been. If she was being honest, Theo had barely noticed that, her mind elsewhere, but after almost two full weeks of it, Elizabeth appeared to decide that it had gone on quite long enough.

Never one to let things lie if she was discontent with them, she strode into Theo's bedroom one night in her nightgown, plopped herself down beside her on the bed, and addressed her without preamble.

"I understand you're upset. You've every right to be. But I must point out that I am not among those who deserve to be punished for what happened that night."

Theo blinked her surprise, watching Elizabeth with muted curiosity. That was the key word, she supposed. Muted.

"I'm not punishing you for anything," she said quietly.

"You are not yourself," Elizabeth replied archly. "You haven't been yourself ever since…since all of that. And as I said, I understand that, but I do not deserve to be on the receiving end of it."

"You don't," she replied readily. "And I'm not. Punishing you, I mean. I'm not doing that."

Even the senior of the Swanns – Elizabeth's father – had offered her a brief, awkward, but sincere apology for what had gone on that night. Either Elizabeth had pointed out to him that not all gathered had shared his spirit of everything being in good fun, or he'd realised it himself after sobering up, and after hearing the whispers about town. The Governor didn't have to do that, she hadn't blamed him for it either because he hadn't meant harm, her ire was saved primarily for Amelia and Norrington, but she still appreciated the gesture all the same. They were good people, the Swanns.

"Then what are you doing?" Elizabeth entreated.

Her legs folded beneath her, she leaned forward and rested a hand on her arm. Theo, haltingly, placed her own hand over it.

Theo paused, debating on her answer. The thoughts that had been steadily circling her mind, on and on, ever since that disastrous dinner party, weren't something she'd planned on sharing with any here. Not just because Elizabeth was the only person she really could share them with at all, but because she knew Elizabeth herself would not receive them well.

But maybe it was better than her thinking that she'd spontaneously decided to hate her.

"I got too comfortable. That night was a reminder not to do that. I can't pretend it was a welcome reminder, but…it was a necessary one."

She felt most like herself like this – if she ignored the excess of frills and lace and white linen that she sported from the collarbones down, anyway. Her hair unbound, rather than forced into a ridiculous updo, no corset, no seventy skirts, no bows, no satin slippers, and no jewellery other than that which she brought with her. Sure, she didn't hate the adornments – sometimes they were even fun – but they weren't her. She'd been reminded of that now, and she wasn't in a rush to forget it.

"Too comfortable? What? Here?" Elizabeth's hand slipped away, but she didn't shift back.

"Not…not here as in here, with you, in your home. But in the general, wider sense of the word, yeah. I got too comfortable?"

"I don't understand!"

"I don't belong here, Elizabeth. It's not my world. I'm- I'm three centuries out of time. I have no business swanning about, developing crushes-"

"Crushes?" Elizabeth's dark eyes regarded her with concern. "Is…is that an ailment? Is it serious?"

"No, it just means to…to take a liking to someone."

The concern changed to hurt, and she had to rush to clarify.

"In a way that means more than friendship. I wasn't talking about you."

Although if she had to keep clarifying that particular part of what was about to be a very impassioned speech, she'd find herself once again fleeing up the stairs in a fit of mortification. The sorrow that softened Elizabeth's face then didn't help matters. Her cheeks began to burn.

"Oh, Theo," she sighed.

"It's not like you didn't know."

"Yes, but you never admitted it."

"I didn't fully realise it until that night – when it was…" stamped all over and promptly set on fire, "…shown to be the idiocy that it was."

"He looked positively wretched after the fact, you know."

"Good."

In order to settle for that one-worded response, she had to push down quite a few arguments – all of which she had no energy for. The primary one being that he probably only looked so wretched because he knew his little display would earn him Elizabeth's scorn. But maybe that was the reason behind his actions. Not only to show Theo herself exactly where she sat in his estimations, but to show Elizabeth, too. If not the whole of Port Royal.

But mostly just Elizabeth. She'd certainly teased Theo enough about whatever spark she was so sure she'd seen, it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that she'd made similar comments to Norrington, and he'd seen fit to act accordingly. Especially after his ruse and been rumbled, and he had no reason to keep…to keep pretending that he…

She reined her emotions in before the lump in her throat could grow into something more embarrassing like, god forbid, tears. Instead, she turned her mind to practical matters. Like leaving. Because she'd spoken honestly to Elizabeth – it had been a sorely needed reminder, and she'd begun to piece together the beginnings of a plan.

That would've been part of why others were seeing a change in her. Not only because she no longer had the heart to put on a cheery face and make an effort with the people who had tittered and delighted in that display, but because she really was distracted. So she fell back to the sidelines – in spirit, when she couldn't do so physically, kept her mouth shut, and retreated inward.

There were only two people she could think of from this story who might harbour knowledge of other worlds. The first was Davy Jones. His job, even if he ignored it, was distinctly supernatural in nature, and unlike Barbossa it wasn't just a curse that had been unwittingly rained down upon him. It was possible that career instilled him with some knowledge beyond mortal means. However, she highly doubted he'd be inclined to help.

The other, far more obvious, choice was…well. His ex-girlfriend. And, being a goddess, she packed a hell of a lot more of a punch. The odds of Calypso being able to help her were greater, and – if she was doing her best to be optimistic – her inclination to help her might also be weighted in Theo's benefit. But therein lay the problem. Because to get to her, she'd have to go through Captain Jack Sparrow, and she was barely more confident that he'd want to help her than she was that Jones ever would.

"I don't know what his motives were – I can hardly pretend otherwise, because I cannot fathom what he was thinking – but he is not a bad man, Theo. There would have been a reason. However much it backfired."

"You see a very different side to him than I do," she replied. "He's in love with you. It only makes sense that he makes sure you only see the highlight reel."

The phrasing was odd, but Elizabeth seemed to get the spirit of what she was saying.

"I've known him for years. Years. Only the most artful social climber could pull off such a façade, and he has little taste for that mode of being. If he despised you, he would simply avoid you. He's been doing the very opposite of that."

"To pry information from me. To make sure that you are safe."

"He's not in love with me."

Theo could only laugh at that. It didn't go appreciated.

"He's not!" Elizabeth said firmly, thinly controlled ire burning in her eyes. "Perhaps once he was. Perhaps now he thinks he still is, Theo, but he's not. I just wish he would realise that."

What could she say in response to that? Elizabeth had the trump card in this discussion each and every time – how long she'd known him. There was little Theo could say that the other woman wouldn't confidently beat back with that fact, over and over again, even if Theo herself thought that it made precious little difference.

The only thing she could possibly use in favour of her argument was the movies, but Elizabeth knew nothing of them – nor Theo's knowledge of them. If she unveiled that now, she'd show herself up as a liar to the only real friend and ally she had here, and she couldn't face that. Even if it was selfish of her.

But the silence was taken as a sign of weakness, and Elizabeth seized on it to further her point. Her hand reached out again, taking her hand and using it to lever herself forward until she sat shoulder-to-shoulder with her on the bed, speaking softly.

"Captain Norrington is a man who prides himself in his plans. He sets goals, he meets them, he deviates from them only when necessary – and is only flexible with them when the heat of battle calls for it. Maybe he did fall for me, I do not live in his mind so I cannot say-"

"He did."

"If you're so certain, I'll believe you. But you must believe me when I say I am certain of this – he has changed, since he got to know you. But he's…he's so committed to his original plan, and the way he thinks things should be, that he won't let himself see it. That is the impediment. His inflexibility. Not his feelings. And if I'm as right as I'm sure I am, he'll be going through a rotten time now because of it."

Another 'good' was on the tip of her tongue in response to that last bit, but she didn't have the heart to say it.

"It doesn't matter anymore," she said instead.

Although she took the bite from her words by leaning against Elizabeth, and squeezing her hand.

She squeezed back. "It does. You just share a common trait. You're both too stubborn to see what's directly in front of you."

James Norrington had been in a foul mood ever since setting sail. Or, to be more accurate, since the night before setting sail.

Having plans backfire was part and parcel of a naval career – or, indeed, sailing at all. But none had ever backfired quite so marvellously as his had that night, and…and her face haunted him. Haunted was an extreme word, melodramatic even, and he was not given to melodrama, but it was the only one that truly fit the bill. And many men might class themselves as lucky, to have the face of a fair woman so stuck within their minds during, if not their every waking moment, then certainly a great deal of them, but it was the expression on her face that he could not rid himself of.

The same expression, levelled at him three times throughout the night. Firstly, during that moment in the gardens. Then, when he supported Miss Simmonds' ploy. Then, the final time, during that terrible encounter at the foot of the stairs. Each time, it increased in severity, and each time it struck him with the same force as a physical blow might – not least because how she usually allowed others to see little other than mirth.

If she showed her hurt, it was because it was so great that she could no longer bring herself to conceal it. And he was the one who'd caused it.

It mattered little that he had not meant to. No, indeed, it did not matter at all.

Those looks, even from the first, had his heart sinking further than he thought her capable of instilling in him – than he thought any capable of instilling in him. And while James was not prone to flights of fancy, he was sure in those moments, while they were being levelled his way, that he'd promise her all he owned if it would only take that expression off of her face.

And no higher power had opted to be merciful on him that night – not that he deserved it – for it hadn't ended there. Her parting words, though they had not impacted him quite as much in the moment, had grown to gnaw on him endlessly, more and more with each day that went by.

You'll be rid of me soon enough.

It had the sound of a vow to it. An oath. To the extent where he expected – where he feared – that he would return to Port Royal, only to find she'd departed for Ireland in his absence. Or the Americas, perhaps. It didn't matter, for either way he would find her gone, and though the prospect of her absence alone troubled him greatly, two other things bothered him when it came to that particular notion. The first, that he couldn't quite pinpoint when the moment came that he began to view such an outcome not as a goal, nor a boon, but something to dread.

The second plagued him more. For the realisation that Miss Swann would scorn him for such an outcome was a delayed one – and, further still, even after he realised it, it was not his primary concern. And he could hardly pinpoint when that had changed, either.

Undoubtedly, the men had noticed his foul mood, along with how it only worsened with each day. It wasn't as though he did much to hide it, regardless of the fact that those who had not witnessed the debacle firsthand would have heard the whispers of it since, and all would therefore know exactly why he was so displeased.

Perhaps they'd think his worries were based where they should have been. That he feared returning to find his standing with Miss Swann drastically lowered. If they suspected otherwise, they kept their whispers out of his earshot – even Groves, who had so openly voiced his bemusement at his actions made no further mention of it.

He had not explained his reasoning to the Lieutenant when he'd asked, but he suspected the question had been somewhat rhetorical in nature.

Explaining it would not justify it, in any case. It had been a gamble – but like all gambles, he only saw just how preposterous it was when it well and truly went up in smoke.

Timing was at the crux of it. That was his only excuse as to why he'd acted as he had without thinking it through properly. For Theod- Miss Byrne had been angry, and she'd been…well, while not drunk, certainly under the sway of the strong wine that the Governor liked to offer his guests. If she was ever going to allow a crack to form in her façade, it would have been then. If she was of higher birth than he'd suspected (and that fact was looking doubtful now), she would have played well out of spite, in that state.

What would have followed was a foolish daydream. He'd corner her and, seeing that the game was over, she'd confess everything in a flurry of tears, finally entrusting him with her true origins, and endeavouring to secure his help – which he would offer unconditionally.

Only it didn't happen like that, did it? No, instead he'd embarrassed her twice in a row, and then finished things off by – for all he knew – driving her from Port Royal entirely. And even if she was there when he returned, she'd likely never speak to him again. And that, he feared, would be even worse than her absence.

And, though he'd so often wondered at just how little he could work out about Theodora Byrne, he knew one thing. Regaining a place in her good graces would be all but impossible. Not after a minor slight, perhaps, but after humiliation heaped on humiliation? Few could forgive that. Few should forgive that.

God, but he was a fool.