Pairing: None

Characters: Will Turner, James Norrington

Word Count: 594

Prompt: Ten

Summary: Does love ever truly die?

NOTE: I have no claim whatsoever to any of the brilliant POTC characters; I am grateful to be sitting at a banquet table set by truly talented storytellers.

A/N: Thank you, FreedomoftheSeas, for inspired beta-ing!


Perfect Love

The Flying Dutchman rode at anchor with an eerie stillness in the calm seas between the World of the Living and the distant, echoless shore off her bow. Bound for the world beyond, all of her passengers save one had already descended the ladder in single file, stepping into the small boats and coracles in which they would complete their final journey. The last passenger slowed his steps, and hesitated at the mouldering railing, his head bowed and hands braced on either side of the gangway.

Concerned, Captain Turner stared at the back of the man's head. "We've brought you as far as we may, soldier," he said gently. "There's no ship to take you back. You're nearly home, friend; you'll soon be at peace." The man slowly raised his head and looked back at Will. The look in his dark, expressive eyes told of the great burden of grief he carried, although he tried to smile.

"Admiral Norrington!" Will exclaimed. "I had forgotten that you would be one of the souls I'm charged with escorting." He stepped forward to clasp Norrington's hand, saying, "I'm in your debt, sir. But for your actions, Elizabeth would have died. I can never repay you for your sacrifice."

Norrington lifted his gaze hopefully, knowing that this was the moment he must make his petition to the Captain of the Dutchman. "If I may beg a favour of you - if I may hope you might grant it-," he said, knitting his brows together, "Would you allow me the privilege, the honour, of serving aboard the Dutchman?" He waited for the answer with anxious, intent concentration.

Will was taken aback; flattered, but unsure why it seemed so important to Norrington. It wasn't fear of death, and it certainly wasn't fondness for Will, his victorious rival for Elizabeth's hand. Still, Norrington looked so quietly desperate, so humble and sincere, that Will could not find it in him to refuse.

"I suppose I owe you this much; you gave up your life for her," he replied. "Very well." He pointed to the ship's bow. "Help ready the ship for weighing, then; we need to make passage back to the oceans of the living world."

"Ay, Captain." Norrington saluted, relief washing over his face.

As he began to carry out his orders, Norrington's heart was filled with hope and gratitude. He thought of his last glimpse of Elizabeth - not on the dark and bloody night of his death, but later, from the deck of this very vessel. Through a salt-encrusted spyglass, he had seen her for just one moment, when she greeted Will at the shoreline for the day they were promised: one day for every ten years of Will's service.

Norrington smiled as he recalled Bootstrap remarking to Will that ten years was a heavy price for one day; "depends on the day", his son had answered. Leaning on the rail, Norrington thought the same of his own bargain. As long as he served on the Dutchman, he would not be parted from Elizabeth: every ten years, he would see her face once more through that spyglass, as she greeted her husband.

His own life was never meant to be joined with hers – that he knew – but he could still watch over her from afar. With a light heart, he lifted his head and made his way forward to where the crew was hauling up the ship's anchors. He could bear the next ten years easily, for they would pay for one more glimpse of the glorious, radiant face of his perfect love.