A/N: I'm not sure if this is a drabble or an oneshot…maybe somewhere in between?
James Norrington stared keenly at Beckett, trying to read his expression. He had expected shock, excitement, even awe from the British lord. He was disappointed. Beckett's real surprise was well hidden beneath a mask of smug satisfaction.
"Well, Mister Norrington, it seems these Letters of Marque are perfectly legal. Welcome back to His Majesty's service," he said with a sigh, never taking his eyes off the bag containing the heart of Davy Jones. Just then there was a disturbance. The former Governor, Weatherby Swann, rushed into the room.
"Lord Beckett! What news of my daughter's fate?" he asked, panting slightly. Norrington glanced between the unmoved Beckett and the anxious Swann. He stood frozen, hoping that the only woman he had ever loved was all right. He turned and gazed silently at Beckett. The man in question feigned a look of remorse.
"I am so sorry to say this, but it seems Miss Swann was killed when the Black Pearl sank. My informants tell me that none survived." Norrington suddenly felt hollow, like everything that had any meaning for him had been taken away. Beckett and his henchman, Mercer, exchanged a very brief look before Beckett turned to eye his prey. Weatherby Swann was ashen and his eyes were widened in horror.
"Elizabeth…dead?" he whispered. Pain filled the empty space in Norrington's self. Somehow, Mr. Swann saying it aloud made everything seem worse. How could this have happened? How, after he had done all he could to draw off Davy Jones' men? After everything that had happened? Norrington wondered vaguely if he had been there, been there to help fight the Kraken, instead of taking the heart so he could have his life back…would thing have been different? The life he had wanted so badly now seemed pointless.
"Lord Beckett," Mr. Swann choked out, breaking the silence, "Are you sure no one survived?" Norrington raised his head and watched Beckett, a sudden hatred for the man flaring up inside him. Beckett nodded.
"Quite sure. Now, if you please, I have business to attend to…" He rose from his chair and walked to the door, beckoning the two shocked men over. They stepped out into the street, the bright Caribbean sunlight appearing somewhat dull now that they had such dark tidings. Mr. Swann stumbled away from his old office, dazed. Norrington paused on the threshold. His loathing for Beckett still burned in him. If he hadn't come and arrested Elizabeth, she'd still be alive. She'd be married to Turner, he recalled with a pang, but she'd be alive.
"Again, my deepest apologies –." Norrington seized Beckett's arm and slammed him against the wall.
"Don't apologize as if you were really sorry, Beckett! You caused this, you caused innocent people…people I…" his voice cracked with emotion and he broke off, "…They're dead! And all you care about is Davy Jones' heart, so you can profit from other people's misfortune!" Mercer and one of the red coats suddenly appeared and pulled Norrington back. Beckett dusted himself off and then smiled unpleasantly.
"Listen, Mr. Norrington," he said in a dangerously quiet tone as he leaned forward slightly, "Your ex-fiancée's loss doesn't matter to me. But what does matter to me is that my plans remain secure. And if I think that someone is going to disturb my plans, I have the authority to have them removed. So unless you want to spend the rest of your miserable life in a prison cell, I suggest you stay out of my way. Understood?" The two glared at each other. Beckett sneered and walked back into his office. Mercer and the red coat released Norrington and followed Lord Beckett back inside. The former Commodore stared hollowly at the closed door before he headed back into the town.
That evening, he sat in a local tavern and sipped on mugs of rum and ale and thought about what had happened. Elizabeth was dead, that fact remained in his mind like a dead weight no matter how much alcohol he consumed. He felt like it was his fault. Guilt mingled with sorrow and regret as he stared into the flames that danced before him from the tavern's hearth. He wished things had been different. He wished so very much that Elizabeth was alive. He wouldn't care if she married Turner and he never saw her again, as long as she lived. After a while, the pain was just too much for him, and he went from sipping on rum to draining as much as he could. After a while, he felt himself slipping into the all too familiar state of drunkenness he'd been in when he was in Tortuga. His thoughts, sight, and emotions blurred as his mind lapsed into unconciousness. The grief and pain ebbed away, but even as he fell asleep, Norrington knew it would be there when he woke up again.
A/N: Aye, I'm aware it's angst. How would you feel if you learned the person you loved had died a horrible death without ever saying good bye?