"What're ye doin'?"

James didn't respond. He kept his eyes firmly shut, took a deep breath, and concentrated.

Nothing happened.

"Can ye hear me?" the irritating voice spoke again. "All right there, Jimmie?"

"Do not call me that," James said, scowling. "Be silent," he added.

Thankfully the voice obeyed, and James concentrated again. He focused on the space outside of the cell, imagined himself appearing there in the blink of an eye.

Again, nothing happened.

"Look," the voice spoke up, "I'm not one to begrudge a man for needin' a quick shut-eye, but I'm not sure this is the opportune moment to—"

James growled and said, "I'm not sleeping. I'm attempting something which requires my full attention. Now do stop talking."

Silence. A shuffling noise. A huff of breath. A tongue clicking against teeth.

James sighed heavily and opened his eyes. It wasn't working, and as much as he would have liked to blame the aggravating pirate standing behind him, he knew Sparrow wasn't the problem.

Reluctantly, he turned around to look at his other companion and admitted, "Jones and his men can move from one place to another with a simple thought. I was hoping I could do the same." And put my unfortunate position to some good use, he thought bitterly.

"Ah, I see," Sparrow said, accepting the impossible idea impossibly fast. "Perhaps such abilities are within yer reach, but I imagine Jones is too slick to allow ye to just pop in and out of his cage whenever ye feel like it."

Sparrow had a point. Which, of course, put James in a foul mood.

"Now that's settled," Sparrow said pointedly, his eyes suddenly sparkling, "ye haven't explained your mysterious she yet."

James rolled his eyes for the fifth time in so many minutes, releasing an irritated sigh. Sparrow had been hounding him for the better part of a half hour in regards to whom Turner had been referring to, as if that could possibly matter in their current predicament.

But the pirate wouldn't take "no" or "shut up" or "do you wish to be throttled?" as an answer.

"If I indulge your curiosity, will you please be quiet and focus on escaping this cell?" he asked through gritted teeth. Bloody Sparrow and his stupid bloody nosiness.

"I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, mate," he responded with an admonishing finger. "Bein' quiet and escapin' brigs are my specialty."

James closed his eyes, gathered what little patience remained to him, and opened them. The sight of Sparrow staring up at him with bright, curious eyes didn't improve the situation.

"Her name is Ona. She was the one who found me and pulled me out of the water after my… death. She and her captain saved my life." He turned away from Sparrow and gripped onto the cell bars so he could hold himself upright in the sudden rough waters, but also giving himself something to do so he didn't have to meet the pirate's eye. "And because of Jones, her ship was destroyed, her captain was murdered, and she was imprisoned along with me until she was turned over to Beckett's custody."

"So, she's the she," Sparrow responded satisfactorily. "Which means ye'll be savin' the she, yeah?"

James didn't respond, clenching his fingers tightly around the rotted iron bars.

"Ah. Perhaps ye have somethin' else in mind, then," Sparrow said, his tone a little too knowing.

"Do not concern yourself with what I have in mind," James snapped, sending the pirate a glare as he turned back around to face him. "Focus your attention on escaping this cell. As soon as possible would be preferable."

Sparrow, apparently, was unwilling to let it go.

"But then, what to do after our preferable escape?" he asked, grabbing onto the middle pillar so he could stand closer to James. "Do we flee into the hills, i.e. into the safety of the Pearl's bosom? Or," he asked, ignoring James' grimace, "or, and this is the plan I prefer, because I made it meself… Do I find the heart and give it a wee stab?"

James couldn't have stopped his shock from showing even if he'd tried. Sparrow's golden grin spread.

"So, that's the somethin' on your mind, innit? It's the somethin' on me own mind as well."

"You?" James stared at him hard, trying to find the jest in his statement. "You want to take over as captain of the Flying Dutchman?"

Sparrow gave a careless shrug. "Eh, immortality doesn't sound so bad, does it? Especially when savin' the world is an immediate side benefit."

James couldn't get past the idea that Sparrow, of all people, wanted to ferry the souls of the dead into the next world. Unless he planned on ignoring his duties as Jones had, but James couldn't see the pirate being able to live with a face full of tentacles and other slimy unmentionables.

"Hardly," he said with a scoff. "With you as captain, I doubt the world would be a much safer place. I trust you as far as I can throw you."

With an impish grin, Sparrow said, "So… quite far, then?"

James huffed in frustration. "You cannot be the new captain."

"But it's in the title, mate," Sparrow responded with a small frown. "Unless… by yer immaculate glare, I take it ye already made plans to fill that vacancy. I mean, someone has to do it, and soon, if…" Sparrow waved a hand at James' chest, "yer extreme case of psoriasis is anything to go by. How do ye even know about the heart?" he asked before James could tell him where he could stick his own sword.

"I was stationed aboard this ship long enough to find out," he answered shortly, his eyes narrowed in extreme dislike. "I even possess the knowledge in regards to the location of the key and the chest."

"Well!" Sparrow got a sudden gleam in his eye that James did not like at all. "I'm all ears. And eyes, and other… various sensory organs."

"Not. On. Your. Life," James responded, enunciating each word very clearly through his gritted teeth. Sparrow gave him an almost pitying look, as if he wished they could be better friends. Or… friends.

"I like yer cousin better," he said wistfully. "Sensible man. Good head on his shoulders."

James frowned. He hadn't thought about his cousin and the connection to Sparrow in a long time, and with good reason. Any thoughts of Sparrow, especially memories involving his family and childhood, were tinged with such negativity he avoided them at all cost.

"Didn't Fitzwilliam betray you and try to turn you over to the Royal Navy?" he asked flatly.

"Ah, yeah. That he did," Sparrow said with a fond smile. "Still a more agreeable fellow than you. Look, mate," he interjected when James' scowl deepened into something that bespoke impending violence, "I know we've had our differences, but—"

"You stole my ship and got it blown up!"

"Commandeered. I commandeered your ship," Sparrow corrected him, and then immediately backed away a few paces when James took a step toward him. "Ye can thank Barbossa for that. And to be fair, ye did try and have me hung. Hanged. Hanged-ed."

James gave a smile so humorless that Sparrow's expression of unease was almost comical.

"If we are on the topic of tallying grievances, then may I remind you that you also ruined my life, caused the death of my men, and lost me my commission?"

"Ah," Sparrow said, his voice and smile strangely subdued, "so it was I at the helm of yer ship what steered you into that hurricane?"

This time, James did lunge at Sparrow, but the wily bastard dodged and slipped out of his reach. James lost his footing on the ever-moving deck and hit the side of the cage, digging his fingers into the bars so he wouldn't fall.

He whipped his head around, expecting Sparrow to be on him with flying fists and kicking legs, but the coward merely hid behind the wooden column. Much as he had done at the tavern in Tortuga when James had threatened to end his life there too.

Tortuga, where James had truly descended into hell and misery. The memory filled him with a fury so dark he could almost feel it blotting out the light of the swaying lanterns. James bared his teeth and growled:

"You are a noxious, vile, larcenous, lice-ridden sonofawhore—"

"Oi!" Sparrow yelled indignantly, real anger flashing in his eyes. "Ye can insult me all ye like, but speak an ill word about me mum and I'll make ye start cryin' for your own. Got it?"

James didn't attack again, instead blinking as if the sun were in his eyes. The darkness receded and he had the decency to feel a flush of shame. He didn't know Sparrow's mother, but he had never spoken ill of a woman in his life and never intended to. It seemed the new James Norrington was becoming someone capable of all sorts of unkind thoughts and deeds.

What would come next, he wondered.

Perhaps some of his internal anguish played on his features, because Sparrow's next words were less inflammatory.

"Let me do this."

James looked up at the pirate, caught off-guard by his unusually somber tone. His eyes were dark, for once not glittering with roguish humor.

"Let me worry about Jones. I take care of him, and you focus yer energy on savin' yer bonnie lass from the clutches of that grubby little… man-boy," Sparrow added with a look of slight disgust. A fair expression for anyone who had tangled with Lord Beckett more than once.

James looked down toward the deck, once again shamed and even humbled by Sparrow's sobering and fairly rational case. But it didn't stop him from pointing out, "How do I know you won't be as cruel a captain as Jones? How do I know I won't be forced to suffer even more… humiliations?"

"For one, I'm not that slimy tentacle-faced git," Sparrow said with full confidence, now moving in front of the crusted column and leaning against it. "And for another, which I doubt ye'll believe, but… I don't hate you, mate. I don't even dislike you."

Sparrow neglected to see the glare focused his way, and continued on.

"Even now, in your new position as…" Sparrow waved at him vaguely, "… Admiral Fish Man, I've grown rather fond of yer sultry demeanor."

James scoffed, raising his eyes to the ceiling before answering, "You're right. I don't believe that."

Sparrow rolled his tongue across his teeth, staring at James with that serious look again.

"And there's a third point in my favor. You owe me."

"Excuse me?" James asked dryly.

"You owe me. Or, more accurately, you owe me dad. Or have ye forgotten?"

Dread dropped like a stone in his stomach. No. James had indeed not forgotten, and never would.

When James neglected to speak, Sparrow continued with his diatribe.

"Dislike me all ye want. Hate pirates until the end of time. But ye can't deny what happened that day. Nor how yer own father treated you because of it. I'm thinkin'… his attitude is more than likely responsible for yer, in my most humble opinion, unreasonable unfriendliness toward me and mine."

It took every ounce of willpower James had at his disposal to not lunge at Sparrow once more, and he curled his hands into fists to give them something to do that didn't involve wrapping around the pirate's throat.

But he did send Sparrow a glare, warning him to stop speaking. And per usual, the self-involved pirate ignored it.

"Puttin' all these pieces together, I believe I've made a very compelling argument. But let's say… that's not enough to convince you of my sincerity. So the last point I wish to make, is this. I've thought long 'n hard about what it means to be the captain of a glorified cargo ship of the dead. It's not quite on the beam, but I've made my peace with it. Can ye say the same?"

Sparrow eyed James closely, scrutinizing his face, suddenly not so self-absorbed.

"Are ye willing to take on the burden of bein' trapped on this ship for nigh eternity? Only returning to land once every ten years?"

James gave a scoff that sounded too much like a bitter chuckle.

"I'm not exactly leaving anything behind, am I?"

Sparrow's eyes narrowed, his eyes a little too sharp.

"What about yer bonnie lass? The one who saved yer life?"

"What about her," James stated in a flat yet vaguely warning tone.

Sparrow shrugged with one shoulder and pretended to be scrutinizing his nails.

"Are ye willing to say goodbye to her forever after ye so heroically save her from Beckett's evil ways?"

"What business is that of yours?" he growled out, some of his control slipping. Sparrow always had a way of getting under his skin, and this time was no exception.

"It's me business because convincing ye to drop this act of bloody senseless martyrdom is in me best interest."

The pirate's expression slowly changed, his eyes darkening as his mouth set into a grim line. James was once again struck by how serious and intense he could be, and it made him wonder if all those times Sparrow had escaped by a dog's hair if it had less to do with sheer luck and more to do with actual cleverness.

"Between you and me, ye've got at least one thing to look forward to. And what do I have waitin' for me? After all of this, ye think I'll be settled with goin' back to drownin' in rum, pillagin' sleepy burgs, and relievin' careless ships of their cargo, the value of which barely covers the cost of feeding me crew?"

Sparrow waved a hand dismissively.

"Trifles compared to life as the immortal Captain Jack Sparrow. And then you can go back to being Admiral No-Longer-A-Fish-Man Norrington. Sounds good, eh?"

"If I agree to this, will it shut you up?" he asked dully. Desperately, really, trying not to dwell on Sparrow's words. Because never would James have guessed that Sparrow had become discontent with his life. But that's exactly what it sounded like. In fact, the pirate had been oddly frank with him this entire conversation, and James found it quite… disturbing.

"It'll get me to shut up all the time!" Sparrow responded jovially. But then he paused thoughtfully and said, "'cept for once every ten years when I go ashore and catch up with me best mate Jimmie. And Jimmie'll bring his swarm of ankle biters, of which there should be at least five else I'll be disappointed, and the little brats can finally meet their legendary immortal Pirate Lord Uncle Jack."

Oh, my God, James thought as he rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming on despite the fact it shouldn't be possible for him to even have a headache.

Aloud, he simply scoffed, as if to dismiss the nonsense coming out of Sparrow's mouth. But he could feel his resolve slipping. James didn't want to be captain, not of this ship at any rate. In fact, if he never saw the Dutchman again he could die a happy man.

But still… he was resentful and angry that Sparrow would even suggest that there was any sort of… unidentifiable, malleable future that included Ona. Why would she want anything to do with him now? He'd ruined her life. Not unlike how Sparrow had ruined his.

And then he thought, no, that wasn't entirely truthful. The pirate couldn't be blamed for all of James' misfortunes, Sparrow was right about that. Everything that had happened to Ona in the past few days, however, solely rested on his shoulders. And James didn't see how he could earn her forgiveness, or if he deserved the chance to try.

But… he could undo some of the damage he had caused. He could make amends. Isn't that what he had told her he wished to do?

"Fine, fine. I yield," James relented unhappily.

"Splendid!" Sparrow announced while rubbing his palms together. "Now do us a teensy favor and tell us where the chest and key are, and Bob's your uncle, Fanny's your aunt, we'll get this ship transferred to her right proper owner."

James opened his mouth, but before he could respond, the ship tilted at an alarming angle and they both went sideways into the barnacled hull. Sparrow yelped in pain, but James hardly felt anything. He saw why when he looked down. Dark green scales now covered the backs of his hands, sticking out under his shirt sleeves.

Wonderful.

"We need to leave, now!" James yelled, pulling his shirt sleeves over his hands. "Should you have any ideas, by all means, do share!"

"I've got plenty of ideas," Sparrow responded, rubbing his shoulder where it had slammed into a cluster of mollusks. "Just not sure they're applicable to our current conundrum—"

A booming echo overwhelmed whatever Sparrow said after that. James' gut clenched with unease.

"Those were the bow guns," he said with a frown. "But whom are we firing upon?"

"Let's not wait around to find out, eh?" Sparrow said with an unusual amount of focus and determination. He began to pace around the cell, unsteady as he went. And then he began talking to himself, Sparrow's eyes distant and unfocused as he mumbled under his breath.

They didn't have time for this.

"For God's sake, Sparrow!" James snapped, fighting to remain on his feet as the deck swayed. "You've done this before!"

"Eh?" Sparrow asked, raising his head to stare at him blankly.

"Fort Charles?" James said, his voice tight with frustration. "Turner engineered your escape, didn't he? How did he break open that cell door?"

Sparrow looked away from James and began to mutter to himself again. He did this for long enough that James' frustration was overshadowed with concern, and he leaned in closer to hear what the pirate was saying.

"Half-pin barrel hinges." The phrase was spoken over and over with the reverence of a prayer, but it made no sense to James.

"What?" he asked in a low voice, trying not to startle him. Sparrow didn't look particularly well in that moment, and when Sparrow snapped around to face him, James took a step back.

Sparrow blinked, as if just now noticing him, and then he said, "Leverage."

And without any further explanation, he rushed to an empty barrel in the corner, put it on its side against the cell door, and then grabbed the crusted bench and tried to uproot it.

Not understanding what the pirate was up to, but seeing he couldn't do it alone, James grabbed the other side of the bench. Sparrow gave him a surprised yet happy expression, and James felt almost… tolerant towards him.

They pulled hard and the rotted wood came away from the hull with a wet, cracking noise. Once the bench had been ripped away it now resembled a simple plank. James didn't know what use that could be, but Sparrow took the piece and guided it onto the barrel, at which point James just stood back and watched.

Sparrow jammed one end between the cell bars, pressed down hard on the other, and…

The entire door came free and fell to the ground with a hollow clang. Sparrow stepped through, spun around, and gave a rather pleased grin that, James had to admit, was fairly deserved.

"That's how you did it," James responded, grudgingly impressed.

"Smart boy, that William." Sparrow immediately grimaced and added, "Don't… tell him I said that."

"I'm unsure we'll live long enough for me to do so," James responded acidly as he followed him out of the cell.

"And now…" Sparrow not-so-subtly blocked his way, his expression regaining its natural roguish quality. "About a man with a chest and a heart and a key…"

James couldn't stop his eyes from rolling, but he had given his word. And for that to have meaning again, he'd have to start keeping it.

"The chest is in the captain's quarters, guarded by two swivel guns," James explained, eyeing Sparrow sharply. "Do refrain from killing the men guarding it. They're simply following orders."

"Done. And by done, I mean, not to be killed," Sparrow explained hurriedly when James gave him a cold glare. "Next?"

"The key is hidden on a string that Beckett's man, Ian Mercer, keeps around his neck." He lowered his voice and said, "Him you may have to kill, because he'll surely be trying to kill you in return. That is, if Jones doesn't get to you first. And I can only imagine what manner of evil he'll bestow upon you."

The disgusted look on Sparrow's face was amusing but also relatable, and James was suddenly glad he wouldn't be the one to try to retrieve those specific items.

"Perfect. Purloinin' hearts and not killin' hapless souls, also my specialty," Sparrow said with an impish grin. Then he leaned forward, his face suddenly too close to James as he said, "I knew ye would make the right choice."

Both repulsed by his breath and close proximity, James back away, but Sparrow had already turned and was walking briskly toward the door. But before he left the brig, he gleefully shouted over one shoulder:

"Five ankle biters, mate! Don't let me down!"

James could only shake his head and roll his eyes, wondering how on God's green earth he had landed himself in a situation where he was allied with Jack Sparrow. Then again, it hadn't been the strangest thing to happen to him in the past week.

Not wishing to wait for Sparrow to take down Jones' single-handedly, James made his way up through the hold, across the steerage, and up the steep stairs that poured down with rainwater like a miniature waterfall. Squinting and shielding his hand against the spray of storm and sea, James widened his eyes when he caught sight of the chaos on deck.

He had just enough time to see Jones' crew working together with Company marines to keep the ship from being ripped apart by the storm when cannons boomed. James hit the deck as hulls and bulkheads splintered and exploded around him.

It lasted for several seconds, and when he had the chance, he looked up across the tilted deck—directly across a massive, gaping whirlpool to a ship on the other side. Even from this distance, he knew that vessel, with its black sails and dark hull.

The Black Pearl.

"Prepare to board!"

Mercer's voice had shouted into the violent wind, but it was followed by an explosion and the cries of men as a cannon fire ripped through the quarterdeck. James couldn't hear but he could see an exchange between Jones and Mercer, and it quickly turned deadly as the captain grabbed the man with his claw and began to smother his face in tentacles.

James had to look away when the slimy appendages entered Mercer's eyes and mouth, his stomach roiling. He'd always distrusted Mercer, always finding himself uneasy when he was around the sly, dark-clothed man. But it was a horrific death he wouldn't have wished on anyone.

However, James did look back in time to see Jones pluck the key from Mercer's collapsing corpse. And when he descended the stairs toward the main deck, James was suddenly seized with fear that Jones was going to spot his poor hiding place.

Fortunately at that very moment, Jack Sparrow appeared on deck, holding the chest by one handle, and nearly walked right into Jones. Both captains stopped, took a step back, and then Jones began to laugh. His crew converged around him, leering with misshapen faces.

"Lookee here, boys. A lost bird," Jones mused with a cold grin as he and his crewmen crept forward toward the pirate. "A lost bird that never learned to fly."

Sparrow smiled as he too backed away, his expression almost nervous as he said, "To my great regret."

James was torn. This would give him the perfect opportunity to attempt to escape while the captain was distracted, but even Sparrow couldn't best a dozen cursed men—

But then he saw he needn't worry. James watched with faint amusement as Jones was about to get a taste of the frustration that had so often plagued James when he had had the pirate just within his grasp.

Sparrow jumped onto the railing, gripped a clewline, said, "But! Never too late to learn, eh?" and hit a lever with the chest which sent him hurtling into the air. The pirate disappeared into the mainmast, and with a vicious snarl, Jones vanished as well.

"Thank you, Jack Sparrow," James muttered under his breath. That got Jones out of the way, and now his men were grabbing onto ropes and swinging across the watery chasm toward the Pearl, with the Pearl's crew doing the same. The air was suddenly filled with monsters and pirates, many of them colliding or knocking each other astray in the middle, and then they passed through to the ships on the opposite sides.

James ducked out of sight as members of the Pearl landed on deck. The last thing he needed was to cross swords with pirates when he had more important matters to attend to. Ascending the stairs to the fo'c'sle deck, he gripped the barnacled railing hard to keep on firm foot and not fall overboard. The rain made it almost impossible to see, but he raised his head and gazed up, away from the Pearl, toward the rim of the maelstrom.

Not having any true idea of what he was doing, James narrowed his focus onto that edge of churning water while expanding his thoughts outward to envision the Endeavor. He also recalled the feeling when Jones had yanked him across space without them ever truly moving, and as he did, he felt a tingling across the back of his neck.

Seizing onto that feeling, James concentrated on the image of Beckett's flagship as forcefully as he could. He released the railing, shut his eyes tight, and pushed.

He was suddenly flying through air, or rather through water, the strange sensation causing his stomach to flip upside down again and again like a stone down a mountainside. Then he came to an abrupt stop, opened his eyes and mouth…

…and breathed in a lungful of seawater.

jack and franklin are the biggest Norrona shippers