A/N: It has been a long while since I have written a PotC fanfiction, and I have a confession to make. I'm struggling a little bit with writing James' character. I think it might be because I have never written him when he is not really in a position of power, and I'm just not sure if my rendition of him is convincing or accurate enough. What do you think? Of course, I love reviews of praise, but I take constructive criticism as well Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Chapter Three

"What happened, James?" Gillette was asking him. "Don't think I'm not overjoyed to see you. I am! And it's all the men can talk about. It's just… well, this is quite a shock."

James nodded and smiled wearily. When Phillip led him down to the cabin sometime earlier, James could tell that his former subordinate and good friend did not want to wait for answers. He had stood in the doorway shuffling his feet and stalling for time. The second time Phillip told him: "Um… yes, and there's the wash basin in the corner there," James unceremoniously ushered him out.

"I am greatly indebted to you for your generosity," he had told him. "But please indulge me a bit further and allow me to wash and change before you batter me with questions."

That had subdued the other man, and James was left to refresh himself in peace. He sighed with comfort and gratitude the first time he brought the cloth dipped in cool, clean water to his face. It felt like he hadn't been clean in ages. By the time he was done, the water was brown, and he felt much more like himself. He also realized his hunger for the first time. When Phillip had mentioned dinner on deck, James felt his stomach turn. He had spent hours in the dingy shouting and waving before the HMS Redemption had actually come close enough to notice him, and all he wanted to do was get out of the hot sun and into a comfortable bed. Now he knew that would have to wait until he got some food on his stomach.

He dressed in the clean white shirt and trousers Phillip had left hanging over a chair for him. Luckily, Phillip was relatively his size, and the clothes fit almost perfectly. He brushed and tied back his hair and put his own dirty boots back on. Looking into the mirror, he almost saw the man he once was. If his coat hadn't been muddy, torn, and stained with blood, he could've put it on and been Admiral Norrington again. As he stared into the reflection of his own weary hazel eyes, he heard Tia Dalma's voice again.

"Be careful which side you choose."

"James?" Gillette was staring at him expectantly. They were sitting at a table in the cabin waiting for their dinner, and James realized he hadn't yet answered the man's question. He put his head in his hands. "I don't really know what there is to tell you, Phillip." He wasn't exactly sure why, but he didn't think that it would be wise to reveal the mystical details of his miraculous return. "When Bill Turner stabbed me I must have lost consciousness because what happened next is a mystery to me as well. I suppose Davy Jones and his crew tossed me overboard, and I drifted. I remember nothing before I was rescued by a native woman and taken back to her home. She nursed me there until I was well enough to request a means to try and find my way back to Port Royal."

Phillip hadn't advanced through naval ranks by being a stupid man, and James could read the skepticism on his face. Still, in light of the information Tia Dalma had given him and her advice, James simply could not entrust the true story and his supposed purpose to the man who held his former title. Even if that man was a dear friend.

"Forgive me for interrogating you," Phillip continued after a moment's pause, "It's just that when you spend nearly two months believing someone is dead their return comes as quite a surprise."

James managed a laugh. "I apologize for shocking you, Phillip. I had no idea you would be commanding the ship I flagged down."

Phillip joined in his laughter. "I'm glad of it, I assure you."

James peered at Phillip with a hint of envy. "Congratulations are in order, I see. It seems you have been promoted."

Phillip fidgeted with a button on his coat and looked down at the table. "I'm sorry, James. We all thought…."

"I know. I know," James interrupted. "There's no need to be uncomfortable. I do not wish to contest your position as admiral. I am very glad the station was given to someone worthy."

"You do not want to be reinstated?"

"Not at all." James thought he was mostly speaking the truth. While a part of him hungered for the recognition and glory of a high station, he did not feel that it was a proper way to begin his second chance at life.

Phillip relaxed back into his seat with an easy chuckle. "I almost wish you would take the title from me." He grew serious. "We are preparing another attack on the pirates, and I feel you would be more suited to the task than I."

Now James looked away. He remembered the time when he had been the scourge of piracy in the Caribbean. Who knew then that he would become I pirate himself? Or that he would die under the power of a cruel and overzealous madman. This life would not be the same. "So Cutler Beckett still desires to rid the seas of every man who calls himself pirate?"

Phillip looked startled. "Cutler Beckett? No, Cutler Beckett died when we were defeated at Shipwreck Cove. It is his younger brother, Bartholomew, who has now taken command of the East India Trading Company."

"Oh." James raised his eyebrows. He certainly would not mourn the death of the man who caused so much death, pain, and suffering. "This brother, what's he like?"

Phillip shrugged. "Young, but he seems to possess a zeal to rival that of his late brother. More than that I cannot say."

James knew that Phillip was not one to speak ill of his superiors, but he did not have high hopes that this Bartholomew would be much better than his brother.

A knock on the door interrupted the two men. "Ah," Phillip said, rising from his chair, "that must be our supper."

James didn't watch as Phillip went to the door, but he turned in his chair when he heard him growl, "What? Urgh, wait! Rose!"

James watched as Miss Gillette pushed past her red faced brother with a supper tray in her hands. "I ran into Mr. Taylor on my way down," she said. "So I offered to carry our tray and spare him the trouble."

"Rose," Phillip warned through gritted teeth, "I didn't tell Mr. Taylor to bring dinner for three."

Miss Gillette sat the tray down on the table and wiped her hand on the front of her light green dress. "I know," she answered as she began to set out plates, cups, and cutlery, "so it's a good thing that I went to the galley to inform him. How rude of you to forget our guest."

Phillip rolled his eyes. "It wasn't our guest that I had forgotten."

She seemed to ignore him, but James thought he saw the corner of her mouth turn up in a smirk. "Milk and sugar in your tea, Mr. Norrington?"

"Um… neither. Thank you, Miss Gillette." He glanced at Phillip. The other man was still red in the face, but when he met James' eyes he only sighed and shrugged his shoulders.

"Well are you two going to sit?" Miss Gillette turned to them with her hands on her hips and one eyebrow raised. She smiled with satisfaction when Phillip moved to pull her seat out for her, and James almost smiled with her.

The bread was slightly stale and the soup was bland, but James felt like it was his first meal. He guessed, in a way, it was. He knew that Phillip and his sister were looking at him askance, but he didn't care. He wasn't really in the mood for conversation anyway.

"So, Mr. Norrington, what's your story?" Miss Gillette asked as she tucked a stray strand of strawberry blonde her back into her bun and leaned toward him.

"Rose!" Phillip scolded, "don't be so forward!"

"It's alright," James assured him. He thought he saw the trace of a blush spreading across Miss Gillette's freckled cheeks, and he did not wish to make her uncomfortable. "It's only expected that your sister would be intrigued after the commotion I caused on decks earlier." He stared down at his nearly empty bowl of soup and thought about her question. There were so many answers he could give. He was an accomplished sailor, a man to be feared and respected. He was once a pirate. He was a man in love with a woman who might be dead and didn't love him anyway. James cleared his throat. He would settle for the most painless version of his unlucky story. "Well, Miss Gillette, I have been a sailor my whole life. I met your brother in the naval academy, and I have been happy to serve with him for many years since."

Phillip smiled around a crust of bread. "James was a few years ahead of me in school, and I always thought of him as a sort of mentor."

James nodded. "Yes, and Phillip served under me when I was commodore, then Admiral Norrington. I was wounded and cast overboard by pirates when I was on assignment for Cutler Beckett, but a native woman found me and nursed me back to health. Now, well, here I am."

Miss Gillette stared at him, mouth agape. She nodded slowly and smiled. "That's quite a story."

"Yes, well." You don't know the half of it, he thought. James met her green eyes. He tried to return her smile but couldn't manage it. Thinking of his past was too hard. He looked away from her quickly. "Forgive me if I am not very entertaining company tonight. I am not quite myself."

Miss Gillette looked concerned, but James couldn't bear the sympathy on her face. He had seen that look before. Elizabeth had worn it when she chose William Turner over him, and again when she had seen him at his lowest in Tortuga.

"Of course," Phillip said, "we know you have been through a lot. Would you like me to show you to the cabin I have had prepared for you? It should be ready."

James was already standing. "I would appreciate it." Phillip and his sister stood too. James turned to her. "Miss Gillette, I apologize again. I hope you don't hold this rudeness against me."

She smiled at him, and he realized for the first time that evening that she was pretty. Her features were not as regal and refined as Elizabeth's but, the freckles that spread across the bridge of her nose and cheeks gave her an innocent, youthful look. And her hair was the color of a wheat field caught in the light of a setting sun. Yes, he supposed if he had passed her on the street years ago he would've looked twice, but now it took all evening for him to even notice that she was an attractive woman. "I understand, Mr. Norrington," she told him. "You have had a long day."

He was thankful to have some time to himself to think when Phillip finally led him to his cabin. But he couldn't resist grabbing Phillip's arm and asking him a question before he went in. "Phillip," he said, and his voice felt thick and a little hoarse. "Have you heard any news about… about Elizabeth Swann? Anything at all?"

James' heart sank as Phillip shook his head. "I'm sorry, James. We think she survived the battle, but no one has heard from her or Turner since." James rested his forehead on the doorframe and closed his eyes. Phillip clapped a hand on his shoulder. "I know how you felt about her, but she chose her path. If she is happy with her life now then that is all you can ask for."

James nodded, but he wanted so much more. "Thank you, Phillip. For everything. I'm going to get some sleep."

Hours later James tossed in sweaty, tangled sheets, unable to rest. He couldn't stop contemplating what his next step would be, how he would fulfill this purpose Tia Dalma had given him. He couldn't stop thinking about Elizabeth. He wondered where she was and what she was doing. But those thoughts led to painful conclusions. After ten more minutes of staring at the ceiling, James resolved to get up. He dressed hastily and left his cabin.

On deck, the salty breeze hit him right in the face, and he took a deep long breath. The cool air felt nice, and he thought a walk might help him relax enough to get some sleep. A few minutes into his walk, James came upon a group of crew members up late dicing and drinking. "Admiral Norrington!" one choked out, startled, as James approached them.

He held up his hands. "As you were men. No need to stand on ceremony with me anymore. Gillette is your admiral now. I intend to formally resign my position when we return to Port Royal."

There was some murmuring, but for the most part, the men returned to their business. James watched them dicing for a few minutes and was about to leave when the man to his right passed him a bottle. "Have a drink, Sir."

James stared at the bottle. In his mind he was taken back to his day in Tortuga. He had spent most of his time there in a drunken stupor. It was the lowest point of his life, and when it was over, he had sworn to never touch a bottle of rum again in his life.

He almost passed the bottle back to the man beside him. Then he saw Elizabeth on that last night. He remembered the way her lips felt, and he remembered that he would never feel them again.

James brought the bottle to his lips and took a long swig.