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Everything in Panama City had gone mostly according to plan, a rare happenstance for the pirates in this motley crew, and the more superstitious among them spent the first few days on board their new vessel debating whether this meant good luck or bad, fair wind or foul.

The Spanish ship they'd stolen isn't large or particularly pleasing to the eye, being in need of some new paint and wood maintenance, but it's seaworthy and swift before the wind, and most importantly, well-stocked for a long voyage.

And a long journey to Singapore it will be.

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...was not one to stand by and let them die.

A man of honor...

"Good of your captain," she comments a bit stiffly. His admiration of this faceless, unknown man feels like a condemnation to Elizabeth, though Gibbs could have no idea why. "Do you ever wish you hadn't left the Navy?"

His change in careers is something about which she has long wondered.

Scowling, she draws back with the sort of haste that would cause a swish of her skirts were she wearing any, and automatically straightens her shirt.

"It is well for us both then that I have no concern for the rules of propriety. If I did, I would most certainly not be here."

Gibbs makes a face is this a touch more thoughtful than he intended. "Rarely. It was - and is, I'd guess - a harsh and unforgiving master. Men like myself suffer in the face of fops and martinets. And get sent to die in pointless fights when other men give the orders. And men like the captain...his reward for showing mercy to the French was a stiff reprimand and loss of command. He of course resigned his commission, and word has it that he went to France to serve as a privateer.

"Whatever glory the navy offered, it lost its charms for me long ago. And it's clear that there are many routes to the sea."

His eyebrows raise and his smirk turns into an amused little smile.

"Is that a proposal, miss Swann? Why, coming back to life must have made wonders for my already dashing looks."

But the joke lasts for only a few seconds. Then he goes back to seriousness.

"That's right, miss Swann. This isn't the kind of place one would expect to find you. I'd rather more think you are an above deck kind of person."

Hard-pressed not to give an undignified snort, Elizabeth ignores his comment as best she is able.

"I'm looking for Will." Just a glance of him across the ship would do, she almost says. "Have you seen him?"

"Well, yes, I have happened to see him. Usually on the opposite end of the ship from you. Or you from him. And you know, I have been wondering, miss Swann, since your being oh so much in love and all had a hand in getting me killed not that long ago, what has since happened. You see, I kind of feel responsible for your well-being now, after all we went through together at Isla de Muerta, you and Will and I. And Jack, of course."

And no snake ever dripped more poison from its fangs than he does from his lips in that comment.

"Not to mention, I won't let you two become a liability for my crew or this expedition."

"Indeed."

Elizabeth takes a moment to contemplate how she herself has arrived on this present route.

"I wonder what our course would be if James had made a similar choice," she says quietly.

"A liability?" Indignant, she glares at Barbossa and takes a menacing step closer, leading with one shoulder. All that's missing is a finger jabbing his chest, and that's a near thing. "I am not a liability. I will hold my own as well as any pirate here, perhaps better, and you cannot doubt my determination to succeed."

Again, no mention of the situation with Will. Pride pricked, she continues to eye him stubbornly. She's been watching and surreptitiously learning from him during their renewed acquaintance, and his doubt sparks her temper.

"Don't you dare try to tell me what I can and cannot do, miss Swann! Surrounded as I am by people whom I wouldn't trust with a broken wooden knife, I can and will doubt anyone and everyone. And you -are- a liability if your mind and your heart are elsewhere, no matter how well you can fight."

He eyes her. His voice all through the little tirade has been level, but cold. He doesn't trust her, and doesn't really believe she'll be up to the work ahead. Changed, she has, but maybe not enough. And as long as she doesn't make up her mind, she will very much be a liability for herself and everyone else. And if he has to prod her until she blows up for her to realize, he will.

Elizabeth doesn't blow up.

She settles her feet hip distance apart, eyes on his, and adopts a carefully controlled expression. There's no longer anything belligerent about her demeanor. Cold, yes. Cold and rigid and proud, but not bristling with anger.

"My mind and heart are right here," she tells him, and her own tone is low and level, "where they should be. I will stop at nothing, let nothing distract me, until we do what must be done. You can believe my word or not," and there's a thin smile of acknowledgment that there's little if any trust between most people on board, "but you'd be doing yourself a disservice if you think I'll be of no use simply because I went looking for my fiancé."

She lifts her chin.

"You may not think so, but you need me."

"I never said you were of no use, did I? Everyone has some use for a man who knows how to judge. But what worries me, Miss Swann, isn't that you have gone looking for your fiancé. What worries me is, for a woman who so very often asserts that nothing will stand in her way, you seem to be failing quite soundly at actually -finding- him. Or maybe just deciding who this 'him' is."

He tilts his head back, looking at her down the line of his nose, teeth slightly bared in a gesture that is more silent snarl than grin.

The look seems to faze Elizabeth not a bit. She arches an eyebrow and stands her ground, contriving to look almost amused by his reaction.

"William Turner," she reminds him slowly, as if speaking to a dimwitted child. "And though I have searched high and low and failed to locate him, my search would be greatly aided if those who had seen him would deign to tell me his whereabouts."

He chuckles at her response.

"Keep telling yourself that, miss Swann."

Then he goes to take a step away, turning to speak back to her over his shoulder.

"Mister Turner and Captain Reynolds have taken off to the temple where our navigational charts are held. The best to finish their part of the job as soon as possible and join us in Singapore."

The bottom drops out of Elizabeth's stomach, but she'll be damned before she lets Barbossa know how thoroughly his announcement has caught her off guard.

"I see." She swallows, concentrating on keeping her voice even. "And what is our first move?

"Ex-Commodore Norrington? I doubt things would be that different. And surely he wouldn't be helping with anything regarding Jack." There is a perhaps a hint of respect in his voice for his final naval commander.

Mal hasn't gotten used to the hammocks -- cloths on the ground almost feel more like a bunk on Serenity than the maritime compromise between sound sleep and a rolling ship. That leaves Mal dozing while propped up in a corner, awakened when Gibbs passes.

"Wei," he offers to the man, even if he's not really looking for him.

It's late, but Mal starts his search for Dora above deck instead of below.

It's dark, though.

"Tonks?" he calls out instead of her usual name from him, a habit he's started since being surrounded by this crew.

Mal's returned, just as Elizabeth leaves.

"Suppose she's about as thrilled with things as Dora was."

What Will may or may not notice is that Mal's gone through a slight costume change -- not so much a makeover as removing all evidence of mass-market clothing manufacture.

He misses snaps.

"Ready to go?"

"Over here!" replies 'Dora, her voice faint on the opposite end of the deck.

She's standing on the fo'c'sle, near the railing, beaming at a couple of rather battered oranges, holding one out to Mal as he approaches.

"I Summoned them a couple of hours ago, hoping I had enough energy for it," she explains, digging her thumb into the rind and giggling as the juice nearly sprays her in the eye. "Dunno where they've come from, but they're a far sight better than most of the rations."

"Portkeys, mostly -- that's when we enchant an object to sort of hurtle us through the space/time continuum when we touch it," she explains. "Otherwise there's Apparition, which is when you sort of... blink yourself out of existence, and then back in, wherever you choose. Gets harder the greater the distance, though."

Mal can't stop himself from letting out an appreciative 'Oooh' as he takes the second orange from Dora's hand, but he doesn't immediately dig into it.

"I'm leaving."

There's already an orange wedge stuffed halfway into her mouth, and at his words her hand stills.

"Wha?"

"With Will -- if we're tryin' to get the maps during or before arriving at Sao Feng's we need to leave now, and we want to do it with the least amount o' fanfare."

Mal waits until Dora finishes chewing her orange piece.

"I also want to go with Will 'fore you personally have to be off anywhere, if you get the idea."

"I do."

Chewing slowly, she looks out over the water for a long moment before replying.

"Well, you gotta do what you gotta do, yeah? It's all right." A soft, crooked smile back in his direction. "Just try not to get yourself killed while I'm not watching your arse for you."

"He went back to Port Royal," Elizabeth states dully. "Cutler Beckett had a warrant for his arrest, as he was aware. Why would he return, unless he had leverage?"

There's no doubt in her mind that Norrington gave the heart to Beckett; saying it aloud, however, leaves a sour taste in her mouth.

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