Honor
From his balcony, his cozy office overlooking the new face of Port Royal, Lord Cutler Beckett drummed his fingers.
He had a heart – a literal heart- he was not in the humor or mind set to muse his figurative heart by any means, he had the Port, his enemies were dead or lost, and now he had the man. Norrington was a catch by any means, a skilled leader and fighter. Beckett's lips quirked. "Every dark corner of the map is filling in."
"And where will you go when it's done?" a dry voice asked from the doorframe, the now clean Commodore staring blankly at him. He still stood as he did, as a condemned man with nothing to lose. As a pirate. Some filth can never be washed off, Beckett thought with a surprisingly bitter tone.
"I do not think it's a question of where." Beckett answered, lips thin.
"Perhaps it's a question of honor then." Norrington said. The accusation hung in the air. A man with nothing to lose…
"Preaching to the choir…" Beckett muttered, listening to the footfalls in its wake. Outside the fine new clock of the fine new Port struck midnight.