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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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Looking back at Mal, Will nods.

"We have dinghies. Are you saying we should just take one and go to the temple?"

Change Barbossa's plan? Leave behind Elizabeth and Tonks?

"Absolutely. We leave before everyone gets into position in the city, gettin' out before Barbossa meets with Sao Feng. With travel time between the temple and the main city, we're going to return to the ship with the map before anyone suspects where we could be."

Or before Dora's drawn out somewhere without him.

Will takes a second to reply.

Leaving Barbossa would betray the fact that he doesn't have Will's full loyalty, before Will's finished working out how he's going to get the Pearl for himself. On the other hand, maybe Will can prove himself trustworthy by getting this done fast. After all, Barbossa already thinks him simple. Simple and trustworthy would be ideal.

Leaving Elizabeth would mean he didn't have to wait for her to talk to him.

"The temple's on a river. Two men can take the boat up there without much difficulty."

That's a 'yes'.

Yes.

Mal's grinning.

"I can leave as soon as I tell Dora I'm off. When are you thinkin'?"

Telling people wasn't really on Will's agenda.

"I'll tell Barbossa," he concedes, then adds without a pause, "and Elizabeth. Then I'll see you on the main deck."

"Shiny."

Without another word, Mal starts heading off, making his way back through the swinging hammocks to find Dora.

Will takes a few moments to check his sword and pistol. He moves towards his coat, then thinks better of it, choosing to go in just his shirt.

After waiting a handful of deliberate seconds for Mal to leave, Will follows. He has no intention of telling Elizabeth, but he is going to tell Barbossa. If only to prove his trustworthiness.

As fate would have it, Elizabeth is returning from the galley and approaches the stairs from the opposite direction but at almost the same moment as Will. Hesitation flickers across her features, but it would be absurd to pretend she hasn't seen him or to find somewhere to hide until he passes.

She stops, absently twisting the stem of the apple she'd just pilfered (Barbossa had insisted on bringing apples) and stares at Will, distant expression firmly in place.

Will stops as well, for once disappointed in seeing her. It doesn't last long though - it never does, once he sees her, and remembers what it's like to just look at her.

His mouth tries to smile, but it fades.

"Aren't you sick of apples, yet?"

He nearly is.

"Very nearly," she replies, hoarsely echoing his own thoughts.

Her attempt at a smile is slightly more successful, if not at all convincing.

"But by eating the bread, one is in danger of breaking one's teeth."

This is easily the most she has said to him at one time in a week.

It is, and that brings his smile back, wistful as it is.

"Is Tonks getting enough to eat?"

Elizabeth nods. "I believe she is. Mal makes sure of it."

There's an odd note to the statement, as if she's unconsciously jealous of the time Tonks and Mal spend together, the care he takes with her. Which isn't the real problem, of course.

This is the real problem.

"She stopped being sick," she blurts out, then immediately drops her gaze to the apple in her hand.

Because she's missed him, missed talking to him and looking at him, missed knowing that he's looking right back. Even if she can't meet his eyes right now.

"Good."

Will pauses, looking at her steadily. He wants to reach out. Touch her face, brush her hair out of her eyes, make contact somehow. He wants to comfort her, because it breaks his heart to see her like this, to know she can't look up at him, can't meet his eyes.

She must really miss Jack.

That thought ruins everything, and pity is replaced by a bitter resentment. Subtly, Will draws back.

"Glad to hear it."

It's subtle, but it's enough for her to notice something has changed. Elizabeth flicks her gaze back to Will, all wide, dark eyes and injured pride, and what she finds on his face soon has her focusing stubbornly on something over his left shoulder. All traces of surprised delight and what little hope she allows herself to feel in her weaker moments disappears, leaving her face as impassive as ever it has been on this journey.

"Yes," she snaps quietly. "I can't imagine you would take pleasure in her suffering."

Sometimes, when her heart is especially sore, Elizabeth forgets this is mostly a mess of her own making.

"Of course I wouldn't."

Will's face hardens further, eyes searching Elizabeth's face again.

For a second there he had been hoping she'd talk to him, that it would be made OK. That he would be able to ask her to wait for him while he went after the map to speed up things.

Instead he turns, and heads up the stairs.

She should say something, call him back or make some sort of witty remark that would have come so easily to her former self, but Elizabeth does nothing. Watching until even his boots have disappeared above, she focuses on steadying her breathing, fighting the urge to scream or shout or kick something.

It's times like this that she keenly feels the limited space on board.

After another few minutes staring blankly at the stairs, she turns on her heel and stomps away.

Later, she goes to find Barbossa.

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?"

Of course he doesn't notice.

"Right," Will says, distant at first, before he pulls his focus back. "Right, let's go."

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