Will naturally wanted decorum on board his ship, and wanted to administer justice in the most equal way possible. So he had his men take the four of them, the quartermaster, Defoe, James, and Rose, and isolate them and guard them. Defoe was taken to the brig, the quartermaster was guarded at the helm, Rose was isolated in her room, and James was taken first into Will's quarters, where Will asked him what exactly occurred in his own words. After, Will called Rose into his quarters.
James was hunched over, his usually perfect posture marred by the pain, his shirt bloodstained and tattered. Rose instinctively wanted to treat him, but kept her distance. "He needs medical care," Rose said.
"They all do," Will reasoned. "And you will administer the care to all of them because you caused this. Understood?"
Rose nodded, though she internally disagreed. James looked at her, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. Rose winced at his weak demeanor. "I suggest we move him to my quarters, where I can properly attend to him."
Will had no problem in permitting this, but he had something else far more important to say. "Now before I dismiss Norrington and get your side of the story, Rose," he began, "I need to apologize to the both of you."
Both James and Rose were confused and very interested in this unexpected turn of events. Silently, they allowed Will to continue.
Will drew his attention to Rose, finally telling her at least a portion of what had happened when Rose was first taken to the Locker. He explained how Calypso had spoken with him privately, healing and transforming Rose in the meantime. He told them how Calypso had warned him that one of his men would cause Rose great harm, and because of James's history, he naturally assumed that he was this prophesied troublemaker. He limited Rose's duties to keep her safe, and threatened James several times to not approach her. So certain was Will in his prediction that he completely ignored all of the dangerous signs of Defoe's behavior.
"Please forgive me," Will said to both of them. "I completely misjudged the situation, and it has caused you both immense pain and danger."
"I'm fine," Rose said, "Thanks to the help of Mr. Norrington."
She looked over at him, but his tired eyes stared blankly at the ground. It was clear he was just barely conscious enough to listen to what was going on around him. Will and Rose exchanged a concerned glance, then rushed to find a few men who could help James get situated in Rose's quarters.
When they were alone, Will began the process of getting a statement from Rose. "Now," he began, "I understand that Defoe attacked you. I do not expect you to give him medical aid in person, as I have yet to decide what to do with him. I still need to hear his and the quartermaster's accounts. However, you will provide the care they need and supply one of the men to give it to them. I cannot have it any other way."
Rose nodded, then plaintively stated, "Don't punish James any further. He did nothing wrong."
"I know. He was only trying to protect you," Will said. "And honestly, thank God he was there. However, I still need your side of the story."
Rose gave it, without interruption, and when she had finished, Will nodded and quietly asked her to leave. She returned to her chamber, where there was still a man stationed outside, but she was permitted to close the door. Inside, James stood uncomfortably in the center of the room, uncertain of where to go.
There was nothing to be said. Rose felt so incredibly sorry for him. She helped him out of his shirt and onto her bed, where he laid face down, allowing for her to closely examine the wounds. She had a few poultices on her belt, but she ached to be back at her station on Shipwreck Cove, where she had unlimited access to nearly every herb she could fathom. He winced when she applied a mixture into the cuts, but soon his breathing relaxed into a normal state, though he still found it difficult to speak.
"You…asked me what I meant…when…I said this was 'painful enough as it is,'" he managed to say. "I think…I can honestly say that this is precisely what…I meant."
She closed her eyes and gave a slight sigh of relief that he was still his same, sarcastic self. "Shh. Don't push yourself."
"I'm fine," he said. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine."
His eyes grinned. "Liar," he whispered, smiling.
She smiled back. "We're one in the same now."
"What…liars?"
She gave a small laugh. "Well, yes. But I mean to say that now we've both been injured at the hands of the other."
He gave a small nod as his eyelids grew heavier. After a time, he muttered, "You're better."
"What?" Rose asked, not fully hearing him.
"You…said that you were as good as any man here. You're not. You're better."
Rose's heart fluttered at this, but she still felt so conflicted by his affection. All she could do was put her hand over his reassuringly. Shortly thereafter, he fell asleep. Rose watched over him for a time, but soon grew exhausted herself. She crossed the room to her hammock and crawled inside, swaying back and forth with the rocking of the ship and the sound of his breathing.
When she woke up, James was gone. It was already morning, and Rose had slept for over twelve hours because of the chaos of the previous day. When she saw he was gone, she immediately went out the door. The guard outside her door was gone as well. She first went to the second deck, where the men slept in case James had simply returned to his own quarters, but there was no one to be found.
She finally found him upon going outside, where she realized that the ship had since returned back to the Locker. He was in a chain working line, helping to hoist a sail she had repaired a few days before. He wore a new shirt and his jacket, having abandoned the ruined one from the day before. Rose went to him and grabbed him by the arm. He turned, and his appearance shocked her. His face was no less haggard or weary, though his demeanor was as if nothing had transpired.
"What are you doing?" Rose asked. "You are nowhere near well enough to be back at work. Come back with me!"
He shook his head. "No, I feel much better. You've already troubled yourself too much."
"I'm not a fool, James," Rose said. "Come with me." She led him back to her chamber, though he protested the entire journey.
"I assure you, I'm fine. I feel healthier. I'm on the mend," he had said.
"Take off your jacket," was all that Rose responded with once they were safely inside her quarters once more.
He took a deep breath. "I'm fine," he said again.
"Then, you should be able to take off your jacket."
He begrudgingly did so, revealing the dark red stains on the back of his shirt. Rose gasped. "You call this fine? The wounds opened up again! Take off that shirt."
He obeyed, wincing as the bloodied shirt peeled off his injured back. Rose led him back to her bed. Once she had settled and worked to reapply the poultice the the wounds, she said softly, "Now if we are to be civil to each other, I must lay down a rule— No more lies."
He grunted in agreement, then said after a moment, "Will came to a decision this morning. About Defoe. He sent him to the Locker. That was the first he's ever sent. I was not about to miss that bastard being sent off. He tried to take Will with him though."
"What?"
"He attacked. Will's currently nursing a nasty chest wound that I would take a look at if I were you. Defoe made the same deadly mistake I did, forgetting that the Captain doesn't have a heart in his chest to stab. I would have woken you, but—"
"That's alright," Rose said. She understood the severity of that punishment. "How's Will taking it?" she asked.
"Not well. He feels like he's becoming like Jones." James began to get furious. "But what Defoe did was absolutely deplorable, I—" In his rage, he started to sit up.
"Shh," Rose said, settling him down. "I know what he did."
He looked at her as though he was trying to read her. "He didn't... truly hurt you, did he?"
"No," she said, smiling. "You got there just in time."
James let her work in silence, although his breathing had increased along with his heart rate. There were words he needed to say, and for some reason, he knew it was now or never.
He reached his hand backwards, gently taking hold of one of her wrists and stopping her movements. She looked at him in confusion as he slowly pushed himself up to a seated position, and he motioned for her to sit next to him. As soon as she was settled, he said, "I can't help but make a note of how we appear to have reached some parallelism between past and present.
Rose gave a small smile, absolutely wracked with anxiety over what the next few moments were sure to bring. "What do you mean?"
"Port Royal. You were attacked and I dressed your wounds. You confessed your feelings that night." Rose felt flushed with embarrassment at the memory, and with eyes averted, listened to him continue with, "Now I've been attacked, you've dressed my wounds…" He swallowed back apprehension as he said quietly, "And now I…I'm afraid I must confess my feelings."
Rose's eyes went wide. He was going to come clean about his emotions once and for all, and she was wholly unprepared for it. She didn't say a word, only listening and waiting intently, so James proceeded with, "I never thought I would see you again. But that day when Elizabeth brought you onboard..." His voice trailed off, then he locked eyes with her directly. "I wanted to do anything to keep you alive. To keep you out of that hell you were living in. And when you recovered and were yourself again, all I could see when I looked at you was that night." He shook himself from the memory and looked earnestly at her. "I promise you, although I did deceive you, I never anticipated your affections. I was jarred by it, having always been the pursuer, never the pursuit. And when I saw you here…I thought there might be hope for me yet. And not this…this great void of—"
"Loneliness," Rose finished. "I know that feeling all too well."
James nodded. "But with Turner's looming threats hanging over my head to stay away from you, which I truly could not have cared less about, honestly, and then your revelation that everything you felt for me was a mistake…"
"So that's what caused you to be so cold towards me," Rose realized. "You must understand, I didn't mean—"
"It's alright," James said. "You said what you meant, and I was wrong to judge you for it. But truly, your words were a painful reminder of what I could never have. A reminder of who I am."
Rose furrowed her brow. "Who?"
He took a deep breath. "You once told me that I could be the hero of my story. Well, that isn't the case. You were right; I am the villain." He stared down at his hands as he continued, "I felt unworthy of happiness, even in death. And the notion of spending the better part of century in the midst of a constant reminder of my shortcomings in the form of you sounded like an existence more tortuous than what I experienced in the Locker. That's why I was cold to you, and for that I'm sincerely apologetic."
She leaned forward towards him, trying to comfort the pain he was feeling. She was so torn; A large part of her was flattered and floored by his confession, and was eager to return his affections once again, but another part of her worried that these were the false emotions arising again. She knew that there was only one way to combat the weakness.
"James," she said, waiting for him to look at her before she proceeded. "When I said that what I expressed to you back then was a false and a mistake, I meant it."
At this, James shifted uncomfortably and looked away, jaw tight. Rose drew her arm towards him and laid a hand on his cheek to turn his head towards her. "No, wait. Listen to me," she said calmly. "I meant it. I was hurt and alone and scared back then. I was insecure and unstable. You showed me kindness…and that's all it took to utterly confuse my mind. It wasn't real."
His jaw tightened even more, and he let out a rapid sigh, shifting his position as if to stand and dart out her door. "I understand," he said, voice tense. "Forget I said anything. I'll—"
"Let me finish, please!" she begged him, holding fast to his arm. "However," she continued once he resignedly put his full attention on her once more, her voice barely above a whisper, "It's not too late for my feelings to blossom again. But this time, genuinely. Slowly. Naturally. In a time when I am fully in control of myself and can commit to getting to know you fully."
James pulled back from her touch. "No, absolutely not," he said, voice elevated in upset.
Rose's stomach dropped. "What do you mean? James…"
His breathing was heavy again, though he did not give the impression of being angry in the slightest. "I've already been a consolation prize once, and I have no interest in being one again."
"Consolation prize?"
"Elizabeth accepted my marriage proposal because she thought it her only choice. I don't want your affections if they aren't sincere. I couldn't take it again."
"James, this is my choice, and I make it in all sincerity. I want to know you. I want to see if we could make a life out of this. A life in death, but a life nonetheless."
He slowly looked up, eyes filled with apprehension. "I don't deserve this," he said.
Her heart beat still faster. "What don't you deserve?"
"A happy ending."
"Of course you do," she whispered. "We are wicked in our own ways and good in others. What you did for me was good. What you did for Elizabeth was good. You are more alive now than you ever were when you were living."
And with that, he leaned into her and kissed her. All of Rose's thoughts and fears ceased to be, and were replaced by a sudden, existential joy.
They separated, opening their eyes. They entered the night as islands, separated by pain and uncertainty, and parted as one.
