"My life," he started, "was good. Too good. Someone once told me, 'the thing about being the last of something is that, soon enough, there won't be any of it left.' And it's true.

My father, well, he died in a fire. A fire. My father was the best pirate I knew. He could escape anything, or so I thought. Death can occur anywhere, Norrington. In the form of a mutinous crewmember or the form of a tiny bee. Life is disposable; you are disposable.

Now you don't know me very well, Norrington, but I'll tell you—I never wanted to be a pirate. I just wanted to escape that lifestyle. But, in escaping, I proved myself a worthy seaman…a worthy pirate. Sure, I liked the adventure and the fame (and the treasure). But I wanted a family, a normal life. A quiet life, savvy?

But I can never have that. Not after all I've been through. My name, my face, is too well known. I'd be arrested on the spot. We'd have to hide; we'd have to keep moving. And who am I to condemn my own family to that?

I was helpless, spiraling down into a dark depression. And I hated myself for it. I felt like I was drowning and couldn't cry out for help. Not from anyone. Not even Gibbs.

It had occurred to me that leaving the crew this way would devastate them. What would they do without me? If course, Gibbs would take over my duties as Captain, but Mr. Gibbs is more of a seaman, if you ask me. You should know, wasn't he in the Royal Navy?

I had to be sure my crew would be well supplied to get to port after I was gone. And when I saw that they were……I did it.

I'm not a bad man, Norrington. Not in the least. All those legends...

They say truth is hidden in lies, Norrington. Well, the truth is, I'm a coward."

I realize I had been holding my breath this entire time. But being undead and all, I don't think it matters much. "Did it hurt?"

Jack looks at me and chuckles. "Hurt? The last thing I remember is meeting Gibbs' gaze. I squeezed the trigger, and then…nothing. It was as if I had closed my eyes that very second. No pain. No bright flash. There was no white light at the end of the tunnel, and my life did not replay before my eyes. I woke up—or opened my eyes, if you will—and I was on one of those boats. It had seemed like only seconds had gone by. But no, no pain. Why?"

I remembered the cold firmness of the gun in my hand, my certainty. I remember the fear that jolted through me when I placed it on my right temple. "No reason. Just a question."

"And now to change the subject, let me ask you something, James Norrington. Why did you choose your Commodore form? You were a Commodore when I bested you, when you lost your dignity."

Great, my turn to be put under investigation.

"Well, it's a touchy subject…" I start.

"Its Elizabeth, isn't it?"

Funny, how someone who barely knows me can figure my biggest weakness from one sentence.

"Yes. Elizabeth. She promised to marry me when I was Commodore—you were there, you should remember. I had everything I wanted. My job was perfect, my friends were loyal, my life was just one big high. I was flying; nothing, I thought, could possibly bring me down. Of course, then you came into the story, but that doesn't change the fact that my year as Commodore was the best of my life."

"And the, uh—" he motioned to his hair.

"The wig? Oh, that damned thing was itchy, and bloody hot."

And for the first time, we laughed together.