OK, here's the last of Beckett (yay!) and the first of Will (even more yay!) Sorry there isn't a lot of Will in this chapter, but there will be more in the next... so, please enjoy, I'll try to write more when I can... and PLEASE review! I love reviews so much!

As always, I own no one and nothing.

4. Hope Arrives

Nothing changed for the people in the boats. The sky would brighten, then darken; the sea, if that was really what it was, was always so still that the stars reflected off it like a mirror, unmoving and cold. Once James, figuring he had nothing to lose, stuck his hand into the water to see if he could possibly row himself in whatever direction he chose to, but as soon as his hand touched the icy surface, the place where the mad old pirate had stabbed him began to burn with such a piercing pain that even after he pulled his hand out of the water he remained lying on the bottom of his boat with his teeth gritted in agony for a good two days.

He stopped looking for people that he knew. It was too depressing to see more and more of his men, in their smart uniforms, sitting helplessly in their boats, having died for who knew what selfish whim of Beckett's. And then he stopped caring. It was obvious to him by this point that everyone would eventually die.

At long last, after what seemed like an eternity, something finally happened. James had been lying on his back, watching the clouds in the sky turn into figures that looked first like his old boat and then like his wig, when an eerie feeling made him sit up. He looked about him in confusion, not sure whether to be pleased or wary at this change in the atmosphere, and then he saw him. Cutler Beckett. James could have laughed out loud; revenge was indeed sweet. As Beckett's boat drew nearer, James tipped his hat sarcastically at him.

'Lord Beckett,' he half sneered, a vengeful smile playing about his lips. 'I must admit, I'm rather surprised that Jones didn't send you straight to the Locker… heaven knows, you certainly deserve it more than most…'

Beckett looked about in alarm, and then spotted James. 'You!' he sputtered in rage and fear. 'What are you doing here?'

'What, you mean no one told you?' James raised one eyebrow at the enraged little man. 'Davy Jones, your latest tool, had one of his crustacean-covered pirates spear me through the middle before he tried impressing me into his crew.' An arrow of pain shot through James's invisible wound; he knew he was getting too angry and made every attempt to calm himself down.

'Norrington, I may have overlooked a few obvious things in this whole pirating business, but the fact that you are a traitor and died helping prisoners escape has been made perfectly clear to me,' snarled Beckett. Both his wig and his hat were slightly askew – James wondered why. 'And it's thanks to you and your wretched friends that I ended up here.'

'Oh, really,' said James in interest. Perhaps he'd be able to find out what had happened to Elizabeth. 'If Jones doesn't send them to the Locker, I'll be sure to thank them. I'm sure most everyone else down here would too. Oh, by the way, did I mention Governor Weatherby Swann sends you his regards?'

Beckett turned red. 'You… you…' he spluttered apoplectically.

'What?' asked James casually. 'Not so brave down here, are you, not knowing how long you'll be floating around, surrounded by your enemies, are you?'

Beckett shook his head. 'Not for long,' he breathed triumphantly. 'Jones is dead. Turner has control of the Dutchman now, and you can bet he won't want to be spoiling his looks and turning all cephalopod… ergo, I'd be shocked if he didn't turn up in a few days to carry us all away to this Locker, or whatever it's called…'

James was more than a little surprised. 'Oh, so you really expect me to believe that Turner would have given up the love of his life, cut out his very heart, just to sail the seas forever?' James tried to sound nonchalant, but found it rather difficult as his heart had started beating more quickly than normal at the thought of Elizabeth. 'Sounds much more like the kind of thing that Sparrow would do in my opinion…'

'Kindly do not ask me to explain to you the love lives of pirates, Norrington – that's your area of expertise, not mine,' snapped Beckett. James flinched almost imperceptibly. 'All I know is that when our armada was on the brink of destroying all the pirates forever, the Dutchman was somehow… sucked into a maelstrom, or something of the sort… by your dear friends aboard the Black Pearl, and when it finally had the audacity to bob back up to the surface, it was being sailed by Turner and his lot, and - ' Beckett sputtered a bit more in rage before finding the right words ' – and then both the Dutchman and the Pearl broadsided the Endeavour and, well…' He scratched his neck absently, gazing off into space in a most disgruntled manner. James grinned in pleasure at the image of Beckett being blown into smithereens by the people who hated him most, and wished he had been there on the deck at Elizabeth's side as it had happened…

'Well, cheers.'

'Don't get smart with me, Norrington.'

'Haven't you forgotten, Beckett? We're dead. You're not my commanding officer any more, and there's nothing you can do to hurt me.' James smirked. 'In fact, I'd be more worried about yourself than me, seeing as your last act on earth was to try to kill Turner and his friends… I do hope he doesn't let you onto the Dutchman when he comes to pick the rest of us up…'

The boats were floating away from each other. James sincerely hoped that this would be the last he would ever see of Cutler Beckett, even if Turner was merciful enough to ferry him to the Locker. He waved his hat mockingly at Beckett, who was leaning as far out of his boat as he could go and half shouting threats across the water.

'Don't be offended, Beckett. It wasn't anything personal… just good business.'

Beckett stood up in anger; his boat tipped, and Beckett went flying into the water, emerging with a splutter and clutching his head in agony as he righted his boat and clambered back in. James chuckled under his breath to himself as the scene faded slowly into the fog.

The next day, when James awoke from a dreamless sleep, he again felt a change in the air. In all of the boats around him, the ghosts were whispering in excitement to each other, and a great shout went suddenly up. James looked about, and then saw the cause of their joy: spurred on by a breeze that hailed from the north, the looming outline of the Flying Dutchman was growing larger against the horizon. James grinned. Leaning against the railing of his ship, a bandanna tying his hair off of his face, was William Turner, surveying the mass of boats with a steady gaze. Never thought I'd be glad to see him, thought James, but, if it means getting out of this mess…

'Women and children in the first ferrying!' shouted Turner to the mass of souls in boats that were all squabbling to get onto the first ferry. 'Who's been here the longest?'

James sighed. Ferrying the souls of all the people who had died over the past who knew how many decades… this was going to take months. He decided to wait it out as long as he needed to – Turner was right, women and children did have the right to go the first round. He watched as a mass of petticoats and their offspring crowded onto the boat and wondered if his mother and sister were among them. He hoped so. As the Dutchman sailed towards the south, he joined in with the men waving goodbye to the figures standing on the deck.