A/N: This story is just a little something that popped into my head one night. It takes place after AWE, and for all intents and purposes in my story, I'm going to have to ask you to just disregard OST for now. As far as I can tell right now, the plot of this story will have nothing to do with the fourth movie. Also, I realize that it is probably a little inaccurate that Tia Dalma/Calypso would bring Norrington back from the Locker, but I couldn't really think of another way to do it. And I just had to bring the lovely Admiral back from the dead! So sorry about that little discrepancy. Otherwise, enjoy the story!

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean or its characters. The only thing I do own is the OC I will be introducing very soon.

Chapter One

The first breath James drew when he was back in the world of the living burnt his chest, and he was taken by an uncontrollable fit of coughing. But still the feeling was sweet, like a deep gulp of air after being trapped underwater. Every limb in his body was achy and stiff, but with much effort, he pulled a hand to his forehead and wiped away beads of sweat or water. When he tried to open his eyes his lids were heavy, but he succeeded in letting in two small cracks of blurry light and scenery. As his vision slowly focused and cleared, he realized he had no idea where he was. He lay back on the hard wooden floor with a groan.

"Ah, so you be awake."

James shot up and had to stifle another groan of pain. "What's going on here?" he demanded as his eyes searched the shadowy room.

"Would dat be anyway to talk to de woman who saved your life?"

His eyes finally lighted on a dark skinned, dreadlocked woman who sat in a chair on the other side of the room. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and she regarded him with such a cool, hard stare that he had to brace himself from shrinking away. He made his voice steady and firm. "Forgive me if I seem brash, my lady, but I simply must know who you are and how I came to be here!"

She smiled at him, revealing a set of blackened and rotted teeth, and stood from her chair. "I 'ave been known by many names, James Norrington." She turned her back to him and touched one of the many relics sitting on a shelf. "And I 'ave taken many forms." She sat an eyeless, grinning skull back in its place and turned to him. "But you may call me Tia Dalma. As I am now."

"Thank you, Miss Dalma," James replied, taking great care with his words and tone, "but, if I may, I still do now know how it is that…."

"I be gettin' to dat!" She cut him off with a firm slash of her hand. "Do you not remember anyt'ing dat 'as 'appened to you?"

James furrowed his brow and rubbed his jaw in frustration. He felt many days worth of stubble, and when he pulled his hand back, he could see that his palms were stained with dirt and grime. He slowly brought both hands to his face as memory dawned on him. "I had taken command of The Dutchman for Lord Beckett, and… I died. I died." He dropped his hands and stared at Tia Dalma. "I was dead. I was in the Locker."

He shivered at that last thought. Throughout his career in the British Navy, he had never been a very superstitious sailor. He had never been one to put much stock in tales of mermaids, sea monsters, or other such folly. But recently he had battled cursed skeleton pirates and captured the heart of Davy Jones. Still, he hadn't believed the stories about Davy Jones' Locker, that damned place that swallowed up souls lost at sea. He couldn't measure his time there in a matter of days. It could've been a blink or an eternity. He never wanted to go back.

He swallowed. "If I was in… Davy Jones' Locker… how is it that I came to be here?"

She smiled at him again, and he suppressed a shudder. "I 'ave my ways. And my reasons." She bent close to him and brushed her fingers through his loose, damp, dark brown locks. "Many t'ings you 'ave been, James Norrington, but I sensed your time 'ere was not done. You 'ave a purpose."

James stood and scrubbed his face hard with frustration. He slammed his fist against the wall and growled. "What the bloody hell does that even mean?" He balled his fingers into fists and squeezed until he could feel his nails etching angry half moons into his palms. "I'm sorry," he breathed. "Forgive me, Miss Dalma, but you must understand how confusing this is for me. In fact, I would be very much obliged if you could be a little less… cryptic."

Tia Dalma met his words with a flat stare. After what seemed like an eternity of silence, she continued, "De Pirate Brethren 'ave separated, alone and squabbling among demselves! De Navy is rallying for another attack. It is not my custom take part in de wars of men. I will still be. Always." She paused, and her face contorted into an ugly mask of rage. "But dey have no respect for de sea!"

James could feel the power in her voice, and he could almost see roiling, gray waves in her dark eyes. He was too cowed to question her further, and he was afraid of where her answers might lead.

The tempest behind her eyes subsided, and she went on. "I do not know what your part in dis be, but you 'ave a part. Dis is a second chance." She looked deep into his soul. "Mind which side you choose."

An hour later, James was in a dingy, adrift in the ocean. Tia Dalma had given him a small amount of supplies including a compass. "So much good this does me!" he shouted to no one, tossing the compass onto the dingy's wooden floor. "Where am I supposed to go?"

The hopelessness of his situation washed over him in full force. He was glad to be out of the Locker, but he longed that space between, where there was just… nothing. No pain. No worry. No regret. Really, he had met a nearly perfect end. Not every man was sent to his death with the kiss of a beautiful woman on his lips.

Elizabeth.

He had no idea where she was or if she was okay. He didn't know if she was even alive. James had asked Tia about her, but she was just as maddening in her answer then as she had been with everything else.

"Her fate is no longer entwined with yours."

Those brief seconds when his lips had mingled with her had been wonderful. It was as if nothing else was real. There was no Cutler Beckett to take orders from. No Davy Jones. No Brethren Court. It was just Elizabeth and him, and he had been able to imagine what his life might have been like if she had returned his love.

His reverie was broken when he looked up and saw a ship on the horizon. He stood p in the dingy and began to swing and flap his coat in the wind. The ship was rather far off, but he hoped that the motion and the shine of the gold brocade would catch a watchful crew member's eye.