And now, onto the main story! (Sorry for such a long prologue, by the way!) Disclaimer: Rien n'est à moi.

Part I: The Voyage to the Locker

3. The Boats

James jolted awake, as if a bucket filled with icy water had just been poured over him. The sky was dark, and only a sliver of the moon cast light down upon the misty waters of the ocean. James groaned, the pain of dying ebbing slowly from his chest. He sat up, one hand massaging the throbbing spot where the pirate had pierced him with the spar, his other hand holding his hat on. What he saw around him made him start with surprise.

It certainly was not anything like he had been expecting. Hundreds of small rowboats bobbed upon the coal black waters of the ocean, small lanterns perched on each boat casting an eerie haze through the mist and an unearthly glow on the ghostly faces of the boats' passengers. James, shivering at the strangeness of it all, turned slowly to look around him, gripping the edge of the boat to lessen the pain that still pierced through him. Behind him was a boat with a pair of sailors, to his left was a boat with a small boy and his dog, and to the front was a tough-looking Chinese pirate (or, at least, his tattooed back looked tough – James couldn't really see any more of him than that). Finally, James turned to his right and gave a shocked gasp.

'Governor Swann!'

The ghost of Weatherby Swann turned his head slowly, the curly locks of his wig swaying from the rock of his boat. 'James? James Norrington?!'

'Yes, sir,' replied James crisply, leaning a bit farther over the edge of his boat and breaking into what seemed to him a ridiculously giddy smile. It was so nice to see at least one familiar face amidst all the gloom and uncertainty. The ghost smiled sadly at the deceased admiral.

'So. They got you too, James.'

They was, of course, Beckett. The smile dropped from James's face, and he shook his head angrily. 'Sir, I'm sorry. What they did was unforgivable, and - ' he faltered for a moment, trying to find the right way to apologize for a crime that he had not committed '- and I pray you will believe me when I tell you I had no part in it.'

'I'm not blaming you, James,' the governor said with a small smile. 'I know you are a good and honest man, and you would have stopped it if you could. But it seems that man has gotten the better of all of us – you, me, and those poor, poor pirates…' He gave a small chuckle. 'Really, just listen, did you ever think I'd be sitting here, feeling sorry for the pirates!'

'Elizabeth would be proud of you.' James meant it somewhat in jest, but in a strange way thought it might be true. The thought of Elizabeth was like a burst of warmth through the frigid sea air and it made him feel more prepared to face whatever lay ahead.

'Ah, Elizabeth,' sighed Governor Swann. He scratched at his wig ruefully, his face drooping. 'By now I don't doubt that Beckett has managed to execute her, if not get rid of her through blatant murder…'

James smirked. 'Well, he nearly pulled off one or the other...'

Governor Swann started. 'What?' he asked urgently. 'Have you seen her? Do you know if she's all right?'

'I should hope she is. I… died getting her off of the Flying Dutchman.' It was a strange statement, James decided, to be talking about his own death in the past tense. Governor Swann, meanwhile, clapped his hands in relieved joy.

'Bless you, James, I always knew you would have taken good care of her!' the governor began, and then stopped, embarrassed, when he saw the admiral's face fall.

'Too late for that now,' said James softly to the wavelets lapping up against his boat. He looked up, realizing that his boat was even now drifting farther and farther away from the governor's. 'Governor Swann!'

The governor looked up, smiled sadly again, and gave a small wave.

'Take care of yourself, Admiral!' he called before fading away into the mist. James cursed to himself, wondering if he would ever again see the governor (or anyone else he knew, for that matter).

The days wore on. James spent most of his time intensely bored, imagining what had befallen Elizabeth, and trying not to suspect the worst. The pain in his chest had faded to a dull pulse that annoyed but did not seer unless he became too angry about something.

To his surprise, he saw very few people he knew. A few of his old men, who tipped their hats to him and called, 'You too, Admiral?' before floating away. A schoolmate who had drowned at the shore back in England. His old swordsmaster, who nodded approvingly at James's admiral uniform before drifting away.

Once he even saw his mother and little sister, both of whom had died when he was a boy. 'Mum!' he shouted. 'Virginia!' The pair turned and stared at him for a moment, and, to James's delight, his boat began to drift closer.

'James!' whispered Mrs. Norrington, who had not seen her son since he was ten. She took in his uniform and looked at his face, and her eyes welled up with tears. 'Oh James, just look at you – all grown up, a handsome young admiral…' She clasped her hands.

'Jamie?' gasped Virginia, who had died at the age of seven. 'You're so old!'

'Hush, now,' admonished her mother as James began to chuckle. 'What happened to you, James? How did you end up… down here?'

James grinned. 'I died defending the woman I love from the squidy bloke who's supposed to be ferrying us to the Locker, and from the most evil scalawag the East India Trading Company's ever seen…' He threw a mischievous glance at Virginia, who was listening wide-eyed for the name of this monster. 'Cutler Beckett!'

'Cutler Beckett?' repeated his mother in amazement, shaking her head. 'Always too ambitious for his own good, that man…'

'He was the smarmy one Dad was always complaining about, wasn't he, Mum?' Virginia piped in.

'And he killed you?' Mrs. Norrington said in disbelief.

'Well, not personally.' James shrugged. 'I don't think he'd find me important enough. But he was the reason we ended up on the ship of Davy Jones, and that's where I died.'

'And…' James's mother paused. 'Your father?'

'Dead.' James decided to withhold the reasons why.

'So that makes all of us!' exclaimed Virginia. 'All the Norringtons drifting about forever in little boats… except didn't you say you died defending your wife?'

James shook his head. 'No, Ginny,' he sighed. 'I wish she had been, but she wasn't.'

The boats were beginning to drift apart. James reached out a hand and grasped his mother's briefly. 'Take care, James dear,' she said, trying to smile through her tears. Virginia waved. And then they were lost in the fog.