The sea was calm, the waves gentle. Not much time had passed since sunset, and the water had begun to glow green, setting off what was left of the once huge warship Endeavor in stark contrast. Most of her had sunk, but a small amount of black wreckage was still afloat; with timbers, barrels and some bodies were scattered around it.

Soundlessly the Flying Dutchman ran alongside the mess and brushed what had once been the door of Lord Beckett's great cabin. The wooden thing rocked gently, and the man who lay spread-eagled across it winced.

Every cut in his body hurt, and so Theodore had not moved since he had managed to fling himself across the door. Now, ages later it seemed, the pain was far away from his physical being, like an entirely seperate thing. It was as though it had seeped out of him with each drop of blood he lost.But he was still conscious enough to watch the colours of the sky turn from light grey to blue to orange and then black. Now the stars were coming out, and to Theodore they were large, hot, swirling things, like the sun at noon. He closed his eyes because he did not have the energy to look at them any longer, and smiled. The sea beneath him and the stars above... this was not the worst death he had imagined.

He could hear a voice beside him, very close to his ear, and he frowned, trying to place it rather than understanding the words. A blacksmith... a pirate. William Turner.

"Theodore Groves?" Turner sounded so gentle, like all the differences between Navy and Piracy no longer mattered. Then again, they didn't, at least not to Theodore. Not now.

He acknowledged, and forced his eyes open again. The stars were brighter than they had been before, but the deck of the Dutchman was dark. How did I get here?

Turner was kneeling beside him and smiled kindly. "Don't try to speak. You're aboard the Flying Dutchman."

Theodore wasn't aware that he'd said anything. He knew where he was, but he did not care. He shut his eyes again. All he wanted was to sleep, and he knew he would, soon. Then he would tell James that nothing was his fault and that Elizabeth was well and alive, thanks to him. He had so much to look forward to. Yet there was something nagging the last remainder of his consciousness, something holding him back from his well-deserved sleep.

"Theodore Groves," Turner said again, from behind a wall made of black velvet, "Do you fear death?"

Theodore smiled. He had just answered that himself. "No," he replied, then opened his eyes to look at Turner, "I don't." Those eyes were still gentle, honest. He wouldn't be corrupted like the ship's former captain had been. It had not been Theodore's doing, of course, but it was good to leave the world knowing it was turned a little bit better.

Turner nodded and began to rise, then took Theodore's hand and, incredibly, pulled him up with him. "Then we have a boat for you."

"Yes," said Theodore, still bemused by his sudden lack of pain - lack of a body. He felt so light, he knew everything would be alright. Turning to the Dutchman's new captain, he smiled.

"Thank you, Captain Turner." He walked as in a dream to climb down the side. He saw others in the water below, already sitting in boats, and his own boat was there waiting for him. He turned around.

"There's one thing, though, Captain," he began, somewhat amused that this should be his final act. Turner's expression seemed to be expecting the question. "Does he know what he's doing, or does he make it up as he goes along?"

Turner and the man beside him, who looked so much like him, both grinned, as did Theodore. Then they laughed, and so did he. Of course Sparrow made it up. No man could plan all that.

Still laughing to himself, he went over the side and into his boat. He felt free.