All right, here's a VERY long chapter to make up for the fact that I will most likely not be able to upload anything for the next week. Sorry about the length - hope no one is offended. Though, really, no one should be because here is the REAL return of the amazingly hot Will Turner!!! So, please enjoy, and please keep reviewing! I can't even begin to explain how excited I get every time I see someone's sent me a review... (yup, I fully admit that that's pretty sad, but it's the truth...)

As always, I do not own "Pirates." Which is a real pity. Especially if everyone was real... shutting up...

5. Old Ghosts

Judging from the vast number of dead, James figured it would be nearly a year until his turn to go to the Locker, but chance shortened his wait. It was the seventh day that the Dutchman had been ferrying souls back and forth to the Locker. The now-familiar sight of the ship cutting across the horizon never failed to cheer James, as he looked forward to seeing the happy faces of the people who were being rescued that day. As he watched the ship loom above his boat and saw a group of women clamber thankfully on board, he was surprised to hear a voice yell, 'Norrington!' Looking up, he saw Will Turner beckoning him up. James shrugged, and, feeling slightly guilty, climbed up the rope ladder that was thrown down to him with an apologetic grin.

When he reached the deck of the ship, James realized that perhaps a bit of caution was in order – after all, the last time he had seen Turner, they had been sword fighting on top of a giant rolling wheel, trying to kill each other (and Sparrow) for possession of Davy Jones's key. And, James reminded himself, that is how they had both gotten into this mess in the first place, because if he, James, hadn't stolen the heart of Davy Jones and given it to Beckett…

Suddenly, coming up to the deck of the Flying Dutchman did not seem like such a good idea. James gritted his teeth and expected the worst when he turned to face the captain of the Flying Dutchman.

'Mr Turner,' James said without quite looking the man in the eyes, 'you seem to have come into the possession of an extraordinary ship – well done. I trust you'll put it to much better use than its last owner.'

Will Turner nodded. 'Admiral Norrington,' he replied coolly.

James shook his head at the irony. 'Not an admiral any longer, thank you,' he corrected Turner politely. 'I think that even if I happened to be alive and with a good ship to sail, I should choose to rid myself of that title.' He finally was able to meet Turner's eyes. 'I'm sorry. I should not have tried to take the key from you. Your motives were far more pure than mine… and I regret that it was my foolishness that has gotten us into this current situation.' He stopped, biting the inside of his lip and hoping that Turner wouldn't throw him off of the ship permanently for this reminder.

Instead, Turner smiled hesitantly. 'Even if you had given me the key, it would have turned out no different,' he said, and held out his hand for James to take. 'You died to save Elizabeth,' he said quietly. 'I would have to forgive you for that, even if for nothing else.'

James looked down and nodded, swallowing a repressed sigh. 'Is she…' he began, and had to swallow again before he could go on '…is she all right?' Turner nodded. James gave an involuntary sigh of relief and smiled. 'Thank you,' he whispered, not looking at Turner, who let go of his hand and began to make his way to the back of the ship. 'Mr Turner,' James heard him call, 'are we ready to set sail?'

James turned in some confusion, wondering if Turner had begun to talk to himself. Then he spotted the man at the helm. And James Norrington, for the first time since his death, was very afraid.

The man at the helm smiled placidly back at James, a bit puzzled as to why the ex-admiral looked as though he had just seen the Ghost of Christmas Past. As he began to steer the boat southwards towards the Locker, the old pirate grinned and said, 'No need to look so fearful there, sir. You're dead, there's naught that can hurt you now, especially not me.' He furrowed his brow slightly. 'Have we met?'

James leaned over the edge of the railing, looking down on all of the people floating in boats below him. 'Yes,' he replied stiffly, 'twice.'

He is a young boy of eleven, crossing from England to the Caribbean for the first time with his father, a commodore in the Royal Navy who has just gotten a post at Port Royal in Jamaica. He idolizes his father, who is his role model, his teacher, and the only family he has left, since his mother and sister both perished from consumption back in England. On the ship, he is proud of his new fine uniform and powdered wig, and the triangular black hat that fits on top of it, just like his father's. He is especially proud of how everyone respects his father on the boat, and how they all tip their hats to him and call him 'Master Norrington,' because it makes his father proud. He will do anything to please his father; when his mother and sister died, he even made himself not cry because his father thought it was weakness to show any emotion other than anger, and even that in moderation.

But when they are nearly to the island, everything goes wrong. One night, a night where there is not a star in the sky but the moon is huge and round like a staring eye, he awakes from a dream about England to find himself in the middle of a nightmare. Frantic screams from above deck signal the coming of the pirates, and he smells fire burning, watches its golden-red flicker through his window. Across the room, his father has already leapt from his bed and is pulling on his boots and sword. 'James, stay here,' he orders calmly, slapping on his wig and his hat before pulling the door open and going outside.

James runs to the door and puts his ear to it, his whole body shaking. In the corridor outside, there are shouts and yells, some panicked, some eager. Suddenly, he hears his father give a cry, and, even though he is not supposed to, he throws open the door, and stops in horror.

A rough-looking pirate has disarmed his father, who is now sporting a deep cut on his leg. The pirate advances on the wounded man, who, although facing his death, never lets his defiant gaze drift from his enemy's. As the pirate's arm pulls back to deliver the fatal thrust, the boy cannot help it and screams, 'Father!'

'James!' barks his father, more fearful for his son than for himself. The boy wants to run or to shut his eyes, but he cannot leave his father, cannot let his father know that he is afraid even in his father's death. He pulls his small sword from its scabbard and holds it warily at his side, knowing he is no match for the pirate. He realizes he is probably going to die, but he wants his father to be proud of him until the very end. He takes a deep breath, trying to will himself not to cry.

But, miraculously, the pirate does not deliver the thrust to his father's chest. He stares at the young boy, who, although trembling in his miniature uniform and his hat that does not quite fit, does not lower his eyes and stares straight at the pirate. And he lowers his sword. He stares down at the man bleeding on the floor and shakes his head. 'You've got a brave son there,' he says in a husky voice. He smiles at the boy.

And, sheathing his sword, he bounds out of the corridor and up the stairs.

Will Turner, having noticed that James was talking to the helmsman, returned to give introductions. 'Ah, well I see you've already met. This,' he said, gesturing with his hand, 'is Admiral James Norrington, who, despite his title, is actually a good and decent man.' James didn't have it in him to even attempt a smile. 'And this,' said Will, who took the admiral's lack of humor for an excess of formality, 'is my father, Bootstrap Bill Turner.' He clapped the helmsman on the arm, who in turn gave the admiral a small smile and a wave.

James felt as though the ship were suddenly sinking away beneath him. So now not only had Will Turner stolen Elizabeth from him, but this Bootstrap Bill, Turner's father, was responsible for the deaths of both James and his father. It was too much to bear. James suddenly felt most unsympathetic for anyone even remotely connected to the Turners and turned slowly on Will with a very forced smile frozen to his face.

'So, tell me,' he said, 'were you aware that your father is the one who sent me down to this godforsaken no man's land in the first place? Were you aware of the fact that when I was helping Elizabeth escape from that wretched ship, which I might remind you she was on only because of your ridiculous and irrational behaviour in trying to save your father, that same father you were trying to save, that man right there…' James pointed an accusing finger that trembled with rage at the bewildered helmsman '…not only called the alarm on your fiancée and her entire crew of pirates, but also skewered me as thoroughly as if I was a wild pig and left my soul at the mercy of Davy Jones…'

James's anger reached a boiling point, and with it came the horrible pain that seared through his body, more horribly than ever. James gasped and slid to the floor of the deck, his back pressed against the railing and his chest heaving with the effort of not crying out. He looked up, only to see Will Turner looking at him with a very concernedly, and Bootstrap with a terrible look of dawning realization on his face.

'God, no,' whispered the old pirate, clutching the wheel of the ship in his horror. 'What have I done?' He walked slowly to the side of the gasping admiral and bent down. 'Yes,' Bootstrap whispered, staring at James's face with widening eyes, 'yes, that's right… you were freeing the prisoners…' He closed his eyes. 'And that was Elizabeth... Oh Will, forgive me, how could I have been so stupid?!'

Will shook his head. 'You didn't know. You'd never met her.'

'But I recognized her!' Bootstrap stood up, turning to Will in panic. 'She said she knew you… she said it… why didn't I remember? What came over me when… when I followed them to the deck, and…'

'And killed me?' James coughed, using the railing to struggle to his feet. His eyes blazed. 'I notice that no one has even bothered to apologize for ruining my life, and I blame no one more than the two of you (except, of course, Beckett and Sparrow).' The two Turners gaped for minute, quite unsure of how to react. James gasped again, then shook an accusing finger at the pair as best as he could while trying not collapse from the pain. 'I've had enough of you, both of you,' he seethed. 'When we get to the Locker, I give you full permission to throw me headlong off this bloody ship, just so you can have one last laugh at me as I swim to shore.' With great difficulty, he staggered away from the helm and down to an empty cabin, where he slammed the door and tried his best not to keep from screaming with rage.

It was all just so unfair. James really did hate being dead. Especially since Turner (that being Will, not Bootstrap) still would be able to see Elizabeth once every ten years – not very often, but at least he still would. And he, James, had died for Elizabeth. Didn't that count for anything? Why was fate so cruel?

James got about three minutes of solitude before door opened, and in walked Turner, who sat down in the chair across from the table. James turned away sullenly. 'Turner, I am not in any mood to be bothered by anyone at this moment, and least of all you' he growled through gritted teeth.

'Commodore, just hear me out, all right?' said Will, forgetting about the admiral's promotion in his agitation. He grabbed James by his shoulder and James reluctantly glared in Will's general direction. 'My father was driven mad on Davy Jones's ship. His very soul was being slowly sucked out of him, and whatever he may have done to you, on my honor I swear to you that he did not do it in his right mind. Please…' Turner bit his lip, looking down at his shoes apologetically, and James suddenly realized that Turner hadn't changed much from the scrawny boy he had picked up from the shipwreck during that crossing from England. 'Could you please forgive him? The whole matter has… hurt him deeply.'

'And why could he have not come to apologize for himself?' said James acidly.

'Who says I haven't?' a raspy voice whispered from the door. Bootstrap walked into the room timidly. He whispered something to Will, who nodded and left, closing the door behind him. 'Admiral… if I could take back what I've done, I would take back a lot of things, this included. I… I truly was not in my right mind.' James remembered the savage chanting, and nodded stiffly. 'You may not believe me,' continued Bootstrap haltingly, 'but although I always have been and always will be a pirate, I have never killed anyone unless it was my life or theirs, and I have never liked killing innocent people…'

'I know,' James said quietly, cutting Bootstrap off. 'You spared me once before. My father's ship… you attacked it, and were going to kill him, but you stopped when you saw me.' He sighed. 'I suppose I have your son to thank for that sudden change of heart, don't I?'

'Ah.' Bootstrap sighed. He looked at James for a long moment pensively. 'Yes, I suppose you do. I was imagining what it would have been like if it had been me on the floor there, and it was my son about to watch me being killed.' He smiled faintly. 'You might find this strange, but I never met William until a few months ago, and since I'd never met him… well, after that night, I always imagined him looking like you. And after I finally met him, I couldn't help but wonder a bit what had happened to that boy whose face he had worn in my imagination for so long.' He broke off, slightly embarrassed. James took in the irony of the situation.

'So, Admiral,' said Bootstrap finally, breaking the silence. 'I may have killed you, but I never wanted you dead. And I'll grant that you have every right to be angry with me right now - I just pray you'll forgive me some day.' And with that, Bootstrap rose and left the cabin quietly, leaving James no less angry but slightly less vengeful.

Within the next sunrise, the ship had reached the barren seacoast of the Locker. James, who had been awoken by cheers when the ship reached her final destination, climbed back onto the deck, where he stood watching the women around him hug each other goodbye and shepherd their children off of the boat.

'Turner.' Will, who had been staring off into the distance with his forearms leaning against the railing, turned and greeted the ex-Admiral with a nervous nod. They had not spoken since the previous evening. James stood next to Will, leaning against the railing and staring into the distance as Will had been.

'Is your father all right?' James began awkwardly.

Will could not quite conceal a relieved smile. 'Yes, thank you.'

James slowly exhaled a breath he had not known he had been holding. The two men stood in silence for a moment, thinking about the same woman off on an unreachable shore. 'So, what happens now?' said James finally.

'You have two choices, Admiral. One: You go into the Locker and, when you're ready, drink from the Waters of Oblivion; your soul then forgets all it ever knew and is returned to another being in the world of the living. Two: You can join my crew and sail the seas until whenever you see fit to stop. It's your choice.'

James scratched his chin. He had to admit that Turner really wasn't such a bad person, and would probably make quite a good captain (much better than Jones, at any rate). But there was that one little issue when it came to Elizabeth, and James wasn't sure if he really wanted to put up with a gnawing sense of insane jealousy every time he saw Turner staring off into the distance for the rest of eternity.

'I have no doubt you'll do a fine job of running this ship, Mr. Turner, but I must refuse your offer,' said James, a good amount of his old admiral tone creeping back into his voice as he tried not to make his admiration for Turner's skills as captain too apparent.

Will sighed. 'I thought as much,' he admitted. 'You'd have been a great help on board, but it's probably best if we go our separate ways.'

He held out his hand, which James took.

'Good luck to you, Admiral Norrington.'

'Good luck, Captain Turner.' It sounded a bit funny to James, but it was the proper thing to call him now, and a little voice in the back of James's head scolded him briefly for not having followed protocol from the second he climbed aboard the ship. The second before Will pulled his hand away, James leaned forward.

'Take care of her,' he whispered into Will's ear. Will nodded, his eyes not meeting James's, before James broke away and headed for the nearest boat to shore.