Time passed. He wasn't sure how much as days meant nothing to him anymore. At some point, there was a need for a crew. He needed money and wanted to get off this rock so he went to sign up. Fate must have had something against him.

Why else would he end up working for Jack Sparrow?

It didn't last long, though was certainly informational. Elizabeth had been there looking for Turner. Apparently, the East India Trading Company had set up shop in Port Royal under one Cutler Beckett. Said man apparently had arrest warrants for Elizabeth, Turner, and himself. Supposedly he'd helped in the escape of Sparrow.

As if.

Anyway, Turner had gotten to Sparrow first in search of buying the pirate's compass off him with papers containing a full pardon and letters of marc. Sparrow had those on his person at the moment. James couldn't figure out why Beckett would want a broken compass until he overheard that it would lead to the chest of Davy Jones. That was something he was loath to believe; Jones was a scary bedtime story for sailors, but he couldn't be real. Of course, he'd fought with undead pirates so why this would faze him he wasn't sure.

They found the chest.

They found the heart.

Turner showed up and made a grand announcement about stabbing the heart to free his father. Sparrow wanted the heart for his own nefarious ends. James wanted in for the promise of his life being restored.

After a bit of sword swinging, threatening, more sword swinging, and a dizzying ride on a dilapidated water wheel, he was back at their boat. He found the letters, but realized that he'd need something to trade. The chest was there, but there was dirt on the seat.

He could literally feel the light come on.

The heart was in Sparrow's jar of dirt. James stuffed both that and the papers into his coat and grabbed the chest, leaving the others to get away while he drew the… fish things away. He tripped and was promptly surrounded. One of the creatures with a conch shell for a head demanded the chest, so he gave it to them and ran off. Of course now came the problem of actually getting off the island. He hadn't quite thought that far; he hadn't thought he'd get this far.

It took a couple of days of waiting on the beach for him to spot a ship and flag it down. He met Mercer who apparently worked for Beckett. The man had way about him that sent the hairs on the back of James's neck stand on end.

Thankfully they were less than a week's journey to Port Royal. The short amount of time was enough to drive James crazy. The crew even seemed to sense that there was something… off about the man.

He met Beckett who wasn't any better.

The short man seemed harmless enough as opposed to Mercer who looked dangerous. There was an air about him though that spoke volumes. James felt more at ease around pirates than he did around Beckett and his powered wig.

Negotiations were short. He traded the heart for a full pardon and a commission, becoming Admiral Norrington long before he was supposed to. His house had been sold in his absence, but Beckett provided him spacious quarters elsewhere. Theodore Groves was still around, though James wasn't sure how much he could trust the man. He seemed to be in Beckett's pocket, but it was hard to tell.

James met with Governor Swann. The man had aged decades since he'd seen him last. Swann was nothing more than Beckett's puppet. Things had definitely gone downhill since he'd left.

Time passed as time does. Beckett sent ships out and when they came back they were filled with people. James was confused. He didn't like being confused.

Beckett cleared things up for him.

These people weren't people; they were pirates or associates of pirates. They were branded as enemies of the crown and the East India Trading Company. Their punishment: to hang by the neck until dead.

He thought the first few ships had been enough. They'd made a statement. Pirates would leave the Caribbean. The seas would be safer.

But no.

The ships would leave and come back, each time their brigs full of prisoners. Days were filled with hangings. One day in particular he watched the people being unloaded like animals. All this killing was taking its toll on him. Hanging pirates was fine by him… it was all the others, the ones that had "associations" with pirates that made him want to slit Beckett's throat. He could hardly find a reason to hang a woman and certainly never a child, but Beckett clearly set no bounds as to who was guilty of piracy.

Apparently selling something to someone who'd talked to a pirate a decade ago was considered piracy.

The line seemed never-ending. If it wasn't for the sun's journey across the sky, James could have sworn that time was simply repeating itself in a seven minute loop. Time enough for a group of prisoners to ascend the gallows, the rope tied around their necks, that final drop, and soldiers taking the bodies down only for the process to start all over again.

He could hear the jangling chains in his sleep.

The sun was just descending when he decided to journey down to the cells. He didn't know why he did it; it only that it saddened him to see so many innocent lives being cut short. Maybe it was some form of perverse self-inflicted torture.

The faces tended to blend together. They were just a mass of sadness, resignation; there were a few that glared murder at him. He'd stopped taking notice awhile ago.

There was some commotion down the corridor. The guards following him hurried off to see what it was. James stayed put; he was tired of the violence. His eyes scanned the cells without much interest…

… until they landed on a figure a couple cells down.

"Victoria?" it came out as more of a gasp than anything.

She looked up at him, brown eyes dead. All the life had been drained from her. He hated himself for being the first in what was probably a long line of drunken one night stands.

"James?" even her voice was tired. He fought for something… anything to say to her. Could he even say anything to her?

"You look well," she said, hand resting on the bars.

"I am," he replied, "What are you doing here?" he knew the reason, but couldn't wrap his head around it. She was less of a pirate than he was.

"Apparently I'm a pirate," she smirked mirthlessly.

"Nonsense," he replied.

"That would be what I told them, but they wouldn't listen."

He glanced around and saw that the other guards were still elsewhere for that moment; he bent so their eyes were level, "I will do what I can to get you out of here."

She smiled grimly, "James, I'm going to die."

"I can try to stop-"

"You can't," she cut him off.

He felt helpless, "Tell me what to do."

"Don't let me die like them."

The request was hard to swallow. She was ready to die, waiting for it. All she wanted was to not be hung alongside those who'd ruined her life.

James didn't have time to reply as the sound of boots came from down the hall. She followed his gaze as he stood, brown eyes steady with his green ones. They held no fear for what was coming; only asking him to respect her final wish.

He walked away, heart heavy. The calls for mercy or of abuse fell on deaf ears. It was as though they didn't exist.

Don't let me die like them.

Did she mean for him to kill her?

If she did, would he?

Could he?

Could he kill her?