Later, Jack wouldn't remember much about the short sail to Port Royal, although he was fairly sure he was setting a speed record that would not be broken any time soon. Certainly the little lieutenants couldn't keep up in their Indispensable. James had been boasting that she might be a match for the Pearl, but it wasn't as if they had had an opportunity to test that theory. Besides which, he wasn't entirely certain how the Pearl might take to James. She had a funny way about people.

She was restless beneath his hands now, as if feeling his urgency – though in Jack's mind, there was really no 'if' about it. He spoke to her, told her how strong and swift and lovely she was, and implored the sky for a fair breeze.

His crew knew better than to approach him with anything less than a near-death emergency. Gibbs seemed fond of Aiden and distracted him from violent seasickness with the tallest tales in his considerable repertoire. Claire paced, and often her pacing brought her near the helm.

"I think your ship is haunted," she said once, to which he replied with a shrug. A little while later, she informed him that one of the beads in his hair looked exactly like those belonging to a man she'd met in India, who had invoked Kali for selfish reasons. He choked to death on nothing that they could see before she'd even drawn her blade. Aiden swore it had been the goddess herself who'd done the deed, but Claire refused to rule out the possibility that a lesser demon had taken control of the man.

His curiosity piqued by this story, Jack asked if she didn't believe it was God punishing the unrighteous.

Claire snorted. "Surely you don't think we have anything to do with the church?"

"Dunno," Jack replied. "Demonic possession an' all, could be you're doin' holy works. After all, where'd the beasts come from?"

Her face went blank and distant, her eyes focusing on the wide sea before them. "Hell I believe in, Captain Sparrow. I've been too near it to have the luxury of pretending otherwise."

"And heaven?" he said, not really sure where he was going with this line of questioning, since he didn't intend to make a judgement on theology until the day he could argue his case before some divine court, if indeed one existed.

The slayer glanced back at him, hard-edged once more. "I'll admit to a greater level of doubt with that one."

"What's your young man say on the subject, considering he's gotten t' see much of what you have?"

At that, she visibly bristled. Chin held high, she sniffed, "I don't know what O'Connor believes. Feel free to ask him yourself." Jack chuckled at the stubborn pride of young people as she stalked off to bother Anamaria.

She didn't return for some time. On her next circuit, she asked what it would mean to him if this man were to die.

He closed his eyes and counted very slowly. It took till twelve before he could make himself breathe normally again, and about seventeen before he turned around. He found some gratitude in the fact that Claire's lips thinned and her hands twitched, feeling the need for a weapon.

"That is something," he said in a voice so low it was almost swallowed by the gusting wind, "I'd rather not find out, 'f it's all the same to you."

She held her tongue for the rest of the voyage, though he could feel her wary gaze upon him from all corners of the ship.

He dropped anchor in the small bay he always used for visits, taking a boat closer in rather than having to pick a path along the coast. Sneaking into town was not an easy task, as he was well-known and strangers were immediately noticed, but Jack didn't busy himself with the details of the operation. Though he was vaguely aware of greeting Elizabeth and Will, nothing really made an impression upon him until he walked into the dark bedchamber, and then the whole world seemed to sharpen until he feared it would break into a thousand pieces. Or perhaps that was only himself.

James was lying peacefully on his back, pale beyond reason, arms straight at his sides. He looked so near to – and Jack cut the thought off before it had the chance to complete itself. Dropping into the armchair and taking James's near hand in both his own, he suppressed a shudder at how his temperature had fallen. Strange, too, was the lack of sensation he received in return – even in sleep, James never failed to respond to the lightest touch.

"'Lo, Jamie," he said, stroking his fingertips along the back of James's palm.

Filing in behind him, the Turners and the strangers regarded each other with trepidation. "Er, Jack?" said Will after a moment.

"Claire and Aiden, Will and Elizabeth, whose happy home this is," said Jack without looking up. "Let's catch each other up, shall we – vampire slayer, watcher, blacksmith, governor's daughter and general nuisance."

"Watch your mouth, pirate," Elizabeth replied, her voice soft and lacking in any fire.

"What's a vampire slayer?" Will wanted to know.

He left them to their own devices, busy counting the shallow dips and rises of James's chest as he breathed. They were standing near enough to reach out and touch, but Jack was no longer there to do so.


"Jack. Is this really necessary?"

"Nnnghh."

Pinned beneath him, James heaved a sigh and locked his arms behind the pirate's back. "Do you do this to your pillow when I'm not available?"

Jack's head popped up, eyes dancing. "Jealous?"

"Hardly," said James with a laugh, wrangling one leg free and hooking it behind Jack's knees His face darkened with sudden heat. "I know when you're mine."

Ducking down to puff a breath against his nipple, Jack shivered delightedly at the low, rippling tone. He nudged the commodore's thighs farther apart, reaching down to stroke him back from exhaustion. "Yours, eh?" He grinned at the soft moan escaping James's lips, the almost puzzled crinkling of his brow. "I like the sound of that."

"Jack, please," James panted, rocking up against him, fingers tightening around his arms. The blatant need in his voice spurred Jack on where he might have taken his time, lingered on small pleasures, teased just a little. Instead he prepared them both with eager, trembling hands and took him hastily, sinking into that willing body while rough cries assaulted his ears. Claims were staked aloud on both sides. By the time he coaxed James's release from him, his throat was raw, but that was not what silenced him; he found himself unable to speak for the wonder blooming in wide green eyes.

"Fuck...James – oh –" was all he managed to gasp out as he spent himself.

"Any time," said James, voice quaking but warm, as Jack pulled out and flopped to the side.

This time, it was James who reached out in the darkness and Jack who yielded to his grasp, whispering, "Don't let go."


"But you always have to, don't you?" he murmured, bringing James's hand up and pressing lips to his knuckles. "Not this time, love. This time I really, really mean it."

The others had relocated to the hallway to give him a modicum of privacy, although the door was open and he could hear their quiet voices. Aiden was saying something about supplies and rituals, while Will was asking Claire about the sword she wore.

He lost track of time while he watched the faint flickers beneath James's eyelids. When Elizabeth laid a hand on his shoulder, he jerked in surprise and grimaced at the protest of stiff muscles.

"A moment, Jack?"

Aiden was standing beside her, hefting the bag of books he had insisted on lugging with him. "There is something I must do, to find out what's plaguing him," he said gently. "It shouldn't take long, but it will be best if the room is cleared. The flow of energies is very delicate and too many presences may disrupt it."

He let Elizabeth help him to his feet, reluctantly turning James's hand loose. The sympathy in the man's eyes made him scowl. He wasn't some helpless maiden clinging to an ailing sweetheart. He'd brought the two of them here for a reason, after all. "Y'do what needs t' be done."

Claire and Will were sequestered in the baby's room. He was looking more and more rattled as she explained the basics of what Aiden was preparing to do, though he tried to smile at Jack. Patting the lad's arm absently, Jack stared at the door to the adjoining room.


James was sitting bolt upright before he'd fully awakened.

The only sound cutting through the darkness was that of his own ragged breathing. He ran his hands over his face, down his neck, his chest, astonished to find himself whole and unharmed. The pain grinding his bones to dust was gone, leaving no reminder in its wake.

Something shifted to his left. Steeling himself, he flung the coverlet back, fully expecting to see the lifeless face of someone dear to him.

He was half-right. Jack peered fuzzily up at him, flipping a limp hand. "Oy, can't a bugger get any sleep 'round 'ere?"

Unbelieving, James gaped at him. "Jack? You're really here?"

"Where else would I be? Honestly, Jamie," said Jack with a yawn, "keep this up and they'll soon call you madman 'stead of me." He rolled nearer, nuzzling into James's thigh.

Slowly James let go of his shock. Already the details were fading away, remnants of an unpleasant dream and nothing more. This – this was reality.

He brushed fingertips over the planes of Jack's face, assuring himself that his eyes and ears did not lie. Jack purred in appreciation, arching his back as James slid down to kiss every bare inch of him. Finding him naked beneath the sheet, he kept moving lower, frantic with the need to touch him, feel the warmth of his skin. Jack sighed sleepy encouragement to him, now marking the tanned chest with damp kisses. He planted his hands flat on the mattress and drew himself up, shortening James's path to the dark thatch of hair between his legs. James smiled and bent to kiss him there, too.

But he never got the chance to take Jack in his mouth because he was still moving, his hips twisting out of James's grip. Confused, James glanced up at him.

Jack was not writhing in pleasure; he was struggling. Far from the sweet entreaties James had believed he was making, his muffled whimpers were actually sounds of distress. A thick rope was knotted securely around his neck, winding up and disappearing into the dark above their bed. His face was beginning to darken from lack of air, his tongue stuck out and bloodied from the uncontrollable gnashing of his teeeth.

The rope jerked, pulled aloft by some unseen force, bearing Jack with it.

"No," he hissed, taking hold of Jack's feet. The opposing pressures only made him spasm harder. James let go immediately, rising to his knees and stretching his arms upward. The ceiling was impossibly far above his head. He could only watch, frozen, as Jack was yanked out of reach until his head thunked against wood. A plank was set into the joint of wall and ceiling, the rope running beneath it and trailing back down. He found the end of it clutched in his own hand.

James released it, fumbling to catch Jack as he fell. Bending him over his lap, he brushed tangled hair out of his face.

"Please, oh God, please –" He was not a man to whom prayer came naturally, nor was he without his moments of doubt that it would be futile regardless. But he looked at Jack's still face, and he made his plea.

I have never in my life asked for anything, not like this. Only – only let him live, and I swear I'll never touch him again.

If God was moved by his vow, James saw no sign of it. Jack lay across his legs, not moving, not breathing – nothing but dead weight for him to hold onto.


It hovered near his crouched form. There was no longer any need to rend his mind with pain, physical or mental. He was ripe.

Almost disappointed, it began to reach out to him, but something penetrated its peace.

The disturbance came again, a feeling like an inquisitive prod. This one was sharper than the first, strong enough to make the rocks grumble.

If it could have, it would have stamped its foot. It nearly adopted the form She had chosen for it, just for the satisfaction of displaying its displeasure. It had been so close.

But first, this insolence had to be dealt with. Muttering to itself, it diverted its attention to the intruding presence, leaving him alone.


She had been peeking through cracks, waiting for a chance, and she snatched this one up in the time it took to draw a whole breath.


Cool hands cupped James's chin, lifting his head. He allowed himself to be directed, unable and unwilling to muster resistence. If his captor had finally decided to let him look upon its face, what did he care? He had no one to tell, since he was never getting out of here sane, and probably not alive.

The face before him was nothing like what he'd expected. For one thing, it was a woman's face – a girl, really. Though she was paler than any living person he had seen, her loveliness was not marred by the yellowed cast of illness or the blue tinge of death. Black hair tumbled thick over her shoulders, matching equally dark eyes below a widow's peak and a high forehead. They absorbed the grayish light without reflecting it. Her features – straight nose, arched brows, small, heart-shaped mouth – were intelligent and curious. She had a stubborn, rounded chin and fine cheekbones that rather reminded him of Jack's.

Even as he opened his mouth to ask who she was, part of him knew.

"I haven't much time," she said, her whisper like a slow rush of water. "You're in danger, James, but you will not be lost." She lifted her chin, eyes fierce. "We'll see to that. But you must hold on, or I cannot help you."

He had nothing to say to this, though he was filled with relief at having company. The girl – ship – spirit – whatever she was – cocked her head, regarding him with interest. "For a long time I've wondered about you, James Norrington, and now I have met you. You are brave, and handsome, and good," she said, running one finger along the curve of his jaw. Her touch was soothing, helping to ease the tension in his shoulders. "It is easy to see why he loves you."

"Jack," he said, grabbing her hand roughly. She pulled it free with a warning frown. "Is he all right? And Elizabeth, and Will –"

"They are fine," she said, sounding cross. "They're watching over you."

And in his head he saw another vision, a true one this time. The Turners stood by the doorway to their bedroom, hands linked, with another couple he didn't recognize. He looked past them to the bed, where he saw his own body lying.

"So that's where I am," he said quietly.

Jack was by his side, pressing his hand tightly and watching shadows move across his face. If he tried, he could almost feel the calluses on Jack's palms, the bones of his wrists –

"No," she scolded, "it isn't time yet."

Drawn back to the twilight world, he looked at his companion and shook his head. "I'm very sorry, all this is unfamiliar to me. I don't understand."

She got to her feet, black skirt swishing around her ankles. "Nor should you. This fight was begun long before your time." She looked so wild that he found himself leaning away from her, afraid.

Noticing, she softened her gaze, though she did not smile. He got the impression that she didn't do so very often. "I mean you no harm, James – in fact, I mean to help you."

"Why?" he couldn't help asking. "What have I got – why am I here to be helped in the first place?"

"There is too much to explain," she said. "I am here because I will not let him lose you, if it can be prevented."

"You love him," he said, knowing that he would have a difficult time understanding the Black Pearl as a living entity under normal circumstances. But in this world, it was an easy thing to accept.

She planted her hands on her curving hips. "Of course I love him," she declared. "And you remember that I had him first." Her head turned as if she heard something he could not, and her brow furrowed in dismay. "I have to go now, James, but remember what I said – you are not alone, and neither Jack nor I will let go of you."

"Please, I –" He found himself speaking to empty air. She had gone. Unfortunately, that didn't mean he was alone.

"Talking to someone unseen, were we? Confessing our sins, perhaps. No matter." He slowly lowered himself to the ground, stomach churning at its return. "It will all be over soon."

He threw himself into the crush of the pain this time, focusing doggedly on it. His agony seemed to increase tenfold, but better that than he let a thought slip to warn it of what he had seen.

She had promised him that this was not the end, and perhaps he was a fool for it, but he believed her.