Disclaimer: I don't own POTC. Chapter title is a poem by Walt Whitman. Witty, I call him.

A/N: I had to do this scene. I don't know what it is about Norrington, but I love him. I'm going to experiment with his character and we'll see what he's like when he's not a commanding officer.

Chapter 11: O Captain! My Captain!

Annie had a migraine, so Camille brought her dinner upstairs to her room. Other than that, and with the exception of Gretchen, the beginning of dinner went wonderfully.

"So what is England like? I've never been there," Camille inquired.

"Well," Norrington cleared his throat. "It's much different than here in Jamaica, I must say. And much colder," he began.

Camille nodded eagerly, being very polite and listening intently. They all carefully avoided the subject of ships or anything to do with the Navy, and so far it was going splendidly.

All of a sudden, the talking died down and the dining room was silent as Jack waltzed in. James had his glass tilted to his mouth, about to take a sip of wine, and froze.

Camille had mentally been preparing for this moment, and had gone through every possible scenario from best to worst in her head. She turned around and smiled. She was sitting next to Will, who was at the head of the table. Across from her sat Norrington, with the shocked expression on his face. "Hello, Jack. You're just in time for dinner, now have a seat."

Jack narrowed his eyes, not recognizing the former military man at first. He simply stood there, mentally matching up the facial features. Then he looked at Camille sternly. "What in th'bloody hell is he doing here?"

"Watch your language, Jack," Ana Maria scolded.

Norrington cleared his throat, putting down the glass and toying with his napkin. "Good evening, Sparrow," he said with his voice full of disdain.

But Camille worked through the tension, her cheerful voice not wavering for a second. "He is our guest, Captain," she said, addressing Jack very formerly to soothe his bruising ego. "I took the liberty of inviting him to dinner."

Jack continued to look at James, and Camille could see him weighing the situation. He slowly walked up to the empty chair next to Camille and pulled it out, not taking his eyes away from Norrington as he sat down. "I thought you hated the British Navy, love," he said to Camille.

"They have never wronged me, and that is really beside the point," she tried to hint to him. But he didn't get it. So she leaned over and whispered in his ear as quiet conversation again resumed. "He's no longer the Commodore."

"Ah, I see. Well that really changes the fact that he's tried to kill me!" Jack exclaimed, his eyes seething with fury as he and Norrington continued to stare each other down.

"Perhaps I should be going," James said, standing up. "I would feel terrible intruding in to Mr. Sparrow's home like this," he said sarcastically.

"Captain," Jack corrected through his gritted teeth.

"Stop fighting!" All eyes turned to the little girl with brown fuzz covering her head. She had her tiny hands clapped over her mouth, looking wide-eyed.

Camille nodded. "Well put, Cadence. James, please sit down," she said firmly.

"Oh, so now you're calling him by his first name?" Jack demanded.

Camille rolled her eyes. "Anyhow, I suppose this may seem a bit suspicious. I believe it may be time for a confession."

"Nonsense, we've done nothing wrong," Jack stated.

"Poppycock! He's a pirate!" Gretchen shouted.

"Gretchen, please," Gabriel insisted. "This is not our matter to get involved in."

James looked at them all, and then back to Camille. "Well since we are on the subject of confessions, I hate to admit that he is right," he said, meaning Jack. "The money stolen from your father's vault was found to be in Gillette's possession shortly after your leaving Port Celebros."

Camille's mouth hung open for a second before she remembered her manners. She looked at Jack who sat next to her, looking rather comfortable now. "I'd always thought that had been you."

He looked at her. "Me?" he said innocently. "I know better than to mess with you, Miss Quartermaine."

"It took you quite awhile," Ana Maria teased, getting an extremely rude hand gesture in return.

"Jack, not in front of Cadence, please," Will begged, speaking up for the first time in quite awhile.

"Ah, dear William! There you are, mate!" Jack pointed out. "Didn't see you there."

"Well, he has been there the entire time!" Priscilla pointed out, almost shouting from across the table at the other end.

"Yes thank you, Miss Thatcher."

Camille smiled, and couldn't help herself. "I'm sorry," she apologized when the men looked at her. "I am just so happy that Gillette is in jail."

And to everyone's absolute surprise, it was James who let out a loud and hearty laugh. Jack looked terrified, like the man was convulsing or something. James sat back, still chuckling. "I've never liked that man."

"What? He followed you around everywhere!" Will asked. He too, was surprised.

"He is a very shallow man, but is capable of charming his way into and out of most situations. He was a brilliant fighter, though. That was the sole reason I tolerated him for so long."

Camille put her hand to her chest, signifying that she was very relieved.
"I'm so glad to hear you say that, James." She glanced at Jack, who was observing James' state a bit more closely. He looked at her questioningly, and she winked. "More wine?"

James nodded. "Ah, yes thank you," he said, eagerly putting his glass forward. He tilted his head back and took a large gulp. "As I was saying, I have never known I man whom I have disliked more."

"Not even me, Norrie?" Jack asked, grinning devilishly.

James shrugged. "Very unlikely. Gillette was a…a…" he searched for the right word.

"A prick?" Camille offered.

Will's eyes widened. "Camille!" he said warningly.

But Jack laughed. "I think we should do this more often. I'm rather enjoying myself." He began reaching across Camille to get the bottle of wine that was quickly emptying. Coincidentally, one of the two candelabras was there and lit.