It wasn't the locker. That was certain, the Admiral thought to himself.

It wasn't much of a relief, but any sort of comfort at the moment was welcome. I mean, honestly, he'd just been stabbed through the stomach by the father of the fiancé of the woman he loved – who, by the way, was probably criminally insane. (The father, that is. James would never be so cruel as to slander Elizabeth.)

Well, no matter how you looked at it, Admiral Norrington's method of demise was distinctly unhappy.

Now, here he stood, still in his coat, looking about the place where he'd awoken –thankfully sans the rusty spear through his gut. With a quick, critical glance, James determined he wasn't in the locker, nor did he believe that he stood in Heaven –there hadn't been any sort of judgment yet –and it was really too mild of a climate to be Hell.

"Purgatory," he bit out with a scowl.

The place seemed to be some sort of island. It was mostly black rock and greyish, gritty sand. It had already begun settling inside Norrington's shoes when he shifted his feet. There was a volcano with a patch of mist gathering around its base toward what James assumed to be the south. He could only hope the jagged mountain was dormant. He highly doubted it, though His luck didn't exactly lead him to expect a kindly dormant volcano in Purgatory.

James' scowl deepened as he felt his stomach give out a growl of hunger. "Of course one still needs to eat. Once a man is dead he certainly should still need to sustain the non-existent functions of his corpse. Perfectly logical."

"Oh, don't be such a fusspot, Norrington. You can't have everything," a voice drawled out of the mist that had coagulated on the rough plains of the desolate island.

James spun on his heel reaching for his sword, which, of course, was no longer in its customary place at his side. "What hellish apparition are you?! Name yourself!" he demanded, hiding his true terror behind his booming 'command' voice.

A smaller stocky figure appeared from the mist. "I believe my mother was the last to use that particular adjective. I do hope this isn't some newly invented horror for me. My mother's personality in your ghastly bean-pole like body," Beckett stopped before the Admiral with a bold expression on his cold face.

"Lord Beckett?" James couldn't help but scowl. This was one man he had hoped never to set eyes on again.

"That selfsame "hellish apparition" at your service," the former lord gave a mocking bow.

"I see your grand scheme failed. How does that feel, Beckett?" James quipped, quite in the mood for a little retribution.

Beckett sniffed, looking in the opposite direction. "I wouldn't know."

James snorted. "Oh, my mistake. Death was part of your plan, then? How silly of me to think otherwise. What – do you intend to rule the world from purgatory?"

The admiral's words were met with silence, which only increased his mirth. If he was to suffer here on this dreadful little island, he certainly wouldn't do so quietly. He was stick to death –no pun intended –of keeping his mind to himself.

"Coincidentally, how did you die? What with the fleet, the Dutchman, the soldiers, how did you manage death with the cards stacked so nicely in your favor?"

Beckett looked thunderous. "I might ask you the same! You, with your new position in charge of the most dangerous ship on the sea! You, being the youngest Admiral ever to sail under the Union Jack, ended up dead at the hands of a psychotic old fish-man. Though, to be honest, once I knew the whole story it wasn't hard to guess what killed you," he sneered. "That dreadful Swann girl has the "kiss of death" they say."

James was flabbergasted. How did the frustrating man know EVERYTING? They kissed in the dark, alone before she left –blast it all! Beckett was the most infuriatingly knowledgeable person he had ever had the misfortune to meet. Aside, perhaps, from his two good friends, Andrew Gillette and Theodore Groves…he hoped desperately that they were still alive. Though he felt ashamed at the small part of him that wished they were here relieve him of some of his suffering.

James clasped his hands behind his back, allowing his emotionless mask to slide into place. He quickly pushed away all thoughts of the living he had left behind. "That doesn't answer my question, Beckett."

"It's Lord Beckett, to you!"

James smirked. "Not anymore. You're dead."

Beckett cursed. "I went down with the Endeavor. There was a maelstrom courtesy of the goddess Calypso. I went out with a…bang…you might say."

"The ship's powder magazine exploded." James couldn't keep the grin off his face.

"Yes" Beckett's surly expression wasn't to be matched. Certainly James had never seen anything more childish in all his years at sea and to be fair, there had been some dreadfully childish midshipmen under his command.

"And with your tiny little legs you couldn't get yourself over the rail to safety?"

James had never heard quite so much colorful language from a refined gentleman before. He resisted the urge to block his ears and waited for the furious man to calm himself.

"If you must know, I was in shock. I never lose, you know." Beckett seethed. James might have described Beckett's look as murderous, but you can't kill the dead, so it was really more enraged than anything.

"Now, Beckett-

"Lord!"

James rolled his eyes. "I believe we should build some sort of shelter."

Beckett narrowed his eyes. He was in no mood to be trifled with. "Has the thin air up there addled your brain, Norrington? There is no we. I am going back to build my shelter and you can rot for all I care."

James sighed inwardly. The little man was certainly spiteful in death. What happened to all the "rest in peace" rubbish he'd been told as a child?

"I merely meant, we could be here for some time, and it might prove…beneficial to form an alliance of sorts until we figure out what this Purgatory business is all about. For all we know we could be sharing the island with vagabonds and cutthroats," James reasoned, watching his once-commander out of the corner of his eye.

Beckett puzzled for a moment, calculating the pros and cons, calculating if he would come out the victor should trouble arise. That was Beckett's game. He played to win and no other option was acceptable.

Finally,

"Follow me, then, if you must. But I swear if you eat all of my food I'll put you out like a mutt on the porch." Apparently sitting in a shelter alone with the possibility of the lawless running rampant about the dismal island sounded awfully distasteful.

"You're really going to build a porch in purgatory?"

"Shut up, Norrington."

"Will it have columns too?"

"I believe I just gave you an order, Norrington!"

James didn't even feel the least bit sorry. "I believe I mentioned this earlier, but all forms of rank are abolished with death. So, I can, more or less do and say as I please."

Beckett stopped and turned, angry once more. "And who created this ridiculous rule?"

James smirked. "As men, we are all equal in the presence of death," he quoted.

Beckett cursed again. "I swear to you, Norrington, if you weren't already dead I'd kill you for your insolence."

"I know," James replied with much amusement as he took slow long strides, easily keeping pace with Beckett. "But, think about it! I could have been worse."

"Do enlighten me," Beckett snapped quite at the end of his tether with his smug companion.

"We could have been stuck here with Sparrow."

Silence reigned as the truth of the statement sunk in.

In the privacy of their own minds, both men quickly prayed that Sparrow live, if only to spare their own sanity.

They knew they could bare to suffer the other's company, at least for a time, but if Sparrow was added to the mix? There would certainly be no resting and absolutely no peace.

"You've probably cursed us, you know. He'll die now, just to spite us both," Beckett replied at last, a sour expression on his face.

"He certainly has a penchant for turning up when he's not wanted," James agreed.

"So do you."

"Indeed not! When have I shown up unceremoniously and caused you grief?!" James demanded indignantly.

"You constantly caused me grief. You and your bloody morals. So hard to find men without them these days!" Beckett lamented.

James scoffed. "Morals are not a fault, Beckett."

Beckett glared. "Lord!"

"Dead, remember?"

"Bloody Hell, I hate you."

James smirked. "At least we'll always know where we stand with each other. You, of course, half a foot shorter."

"I've had it up to here with your brainless insults-

"Funny," James mouth twitched as he fought not to laugh. "I didn't know you could reach that high."

"At least do me the honor of insulting me intelligently!" Beckett talked over James, his icy voice cutting through James' amused drawl.

"As you wish!" James chirped almost cheerily, before picking up the pace. "Come alone we've got a shelter to build."

...

"Don't smile in Purgatory, Norrington. It's rude."

A/N: Just a fun, sarcastic, witty little piece about James and Beckett.

My friend and I were discussing the 5th movie and how James is rumored to return and she mentioned that Beckett should come back too! So, we discussed how the two would behave together in the land of the dead and this happened! She's recovering from some surgery so this is to help cheer her up! :D

Hope you all enjoyed! ^_^