Sorry it's taken me so long to update, everyone!!! Please accept my apologies. I hope everyone has fun reading the new chapter, and please keep reviewing! As always, I don't even pretend to hold any rights to "Pirates of the Caribbean" or anything associated with it.

8. Caught Up in the Dance

Life in the Locker became a wearisome stretch of boredom for James. He supposed not all the people who were stuck in the Locker got the same treatment he did, mainly because he never saw any of them. He wondered if the Locker was designed to be every soul's personal version of hell, and each person was confined to that hell all by his or herself. If that was indeed the case for every person, he could imagine why so many people would drink from the Waters of Oblivion as soon as possible.

For James, the Locker was a vast, flat desert in the middle of which sat his old ship, the Interceptor, the one that Sparrow and Turner had stolen a long time ago and then somehow managed to get blown up. All day long, he paced up and down the empty corridors of the Interceptor, with absolutely nothing to do and no one to talk to. Being dead, he never felt tired, and therefore could never even escape his boredom by napping. To his dismay, he could not find a single book for reading leisure aboard the entire ship, and wondered what on earth his men had done in their free time besides drink and play cards. Within the first week, James had exhausted both rereading his maps and playing solitaire with himself, and found that there really was nothing else to do aboard the ship besides sit in his cabin and stare at the ceiling, and wish that there was something to do. He even toyed with the idea of cleaning the ship, for lack of anything better to do, and then realized that he had neither a mop, nor any water to clean with. Besides, the ship wasn't even dirty – there was no one around to make a mess but himself, and he really didn't have all that much to clutter the ship up with anyway.

James was quite sure he was going to go mad from the sheer dullness of it all. He was even beginning to regret having thrown his wig away – at least he could have amused himself for an hour or so by tearing it apart.

He was lying on a bunk one uneventful day, trying to figure out if his bunk had really been any more comfortable than those belonging to his crew members, when he found that something rather sharp was sticking into the back of his neck. Eager to alleviate some of his boredom, James sat up and felt around the inside of the pillow for whatever had been poking him in the neck. He pulled out a battered black book, wondered for a minute if it would be impolite to look inside of it, decided he really didn't give a damn whether it was polite or not, and flipped open the book.

It appeared to be a journal of sorts, belonging to none other than his former lieutenant Gillette. James wrinkled his nose – he had never much liked Gillette, having found him to always be far too whiny and clingy. And then he felt guilty for having admitted such thoughts even to himself, since Gillette had been one of those unfortunate crewmembers he had lost off the coast of Tripoli. Nevertheless, he was rather curious to see whether or not the man had ever actually had any profound thoughts, and, justifying to himself that since he was dead too now he and Gillette were square, James began to read:

Dear Diary: Well, we're sailing off to god-knows-where, probably after some more pirates. Again. These blokes seem to be rather obsessed with pirates, actually – we're always off trying to find them, it seems. I'm homesick already – it's no fun being stuck on a boat all day with a bunch of smelly men and Old Norrie. (Old Norrie?! thought James in indignation, thinking to himself that Gillette must have been at least a decade older than himself and was therefore quite a hypocrite.) The food aboard this ship is terrible, and I can't sleep because my bunk must be harder than even the commodore's bloody stubborn head. My wig is itchy and I really don't like it. I think I'm going to get a rash on the back of my neck from all the powder, which, by the way, makes me sneeze. I don't see why I have to wear a wig – it makes me look rather dreadful. Completely ruins all my good looks. (James snorted, marveling at Gillette's ego.) It makes Norrie look rather dreadful too, but he's important so I think he's supposed to look that way. Very important and emotionless and boring. Rather like a talking statue who likes to boss me around. Doesn't matter much that I don't like him – as long as I get promoted, he can act how he wants…

'Thank you kindly, Gillette, glad to see you liked me just as much as I liked you,' snapped James to no one, shutting the diary on his finger in irritation and cursing loudly. As he sat on the edge of the bunk sucking petulantly on his finger, he couldn't help but wonder if all the men had thought he was as boring and emotionless as Gillette apparently had. He rather hoped not. And then he wondered if that was how Elizabeth had always viewed him. Worried, James glanced down at Gillette's diary, and had a sudden idea.

Almost exactly three months after the first meeting, James found himself again falling through darkness, his heart beating in anticipation at the thought of finally getting to see Elizabeth again. When the shadows around him cleared, he was surprised to find himself dressed in a deep green jacket with gold brocade standing by a door in a hallway at Governor Swann's house. It was dark outside, and peals of laughter and music from inside the room he was adjacent to made it clear to James that it was the night of a grand ball. He wondered vaguely if it was improper that he was wearing neither a wig nor a hat, when a rustle of taffeta made him turn around.

'James?' said Elizabeth. She was dressed in an exquisite dress made of cream-colored brocade with rich gold embroidery on it, and her hair was swept elegantly on top of her head. James gaped for a second.

'Elizabeth,' he said, offering her his arm with a shy smile. 'You look stunning tonight.'

She smiled up at him and took his arm. 'You look quite fine yourself, James. That jacket really accents your eyes nicely… the green matches almost perfectly.'

He hoped she didn't notice him blushing.

They entered the ballroom together, where the quartet had just struck up a sparkling waltz. James bowed, Elizabeth curtseyed, and the dance began.

'I notice you're not being a pirate today – what is this sudden change of heart all about?' James teased.

Elizabeth shrugged. 'One gets tired of being dirty and windswept all the time, I suppose. I may not miss the rules and manners, but it's hard not to miss the nice clothes and fancy dresses…' She grinned mischievously. 'And, of course, the lovely thing about dreams is that you can manage to look lovely and slim without wearing a corset.'

James glanced at her waist, and then looked away, embarrassed. True enough, Elizabeth had never looked more slender and willowy, and James was glad that this time he would not have to worry about her suddenly fainting due to the inability to breathe. The music stopped, and a slow sarabande began.

'Erm, so, how are you?' he asked, swirling her in place and wishing that he had something more interesting to say.

Elizabeth sighed. 'Lovely,' she replied unconvincingly. 'Being pregnant is excruciatingly dull, since you really can't do anything. And now I'm stuck on a remote little island where all the people in the local town look down on me for not having a husband around…' Elizabeth bit her lower lip, a scowl spreading across her face. 'Oh, James, it's so lonely not having anyone around who will even attempt to understand you!'

The dance ended, amidst much polite applause. James, noticing that Elizabeth was close to tears already, carefully led her out onto a nearby balcony where they stood watching the stars twinkle over the bay. Elizabeth wiped a tear away from her eye delicately with one finger. A warm burst of wind startled a loose strand of her hair, leaving it to bob next to her cheek; James pulled it back behind her ear without thinking.

'When I was a girl, I used to stand on this balcony all the time at night, watching the stars and the ships like this until Father came and scolded me,' murmured Elizabeth, as if in a trance. Blinking, she turned to James, who had just realized how improper it was for him to have touched her hair without permission and was on the verge of stammering out an apology.

'James, I never got a chance to apologize to you,' she said. 'I know you never would have conspired to have my father killed. You are far too good of a man for that, and I never should have doubted you for a second.'

James stared out over the bay. Far too good of a man. Was he really? He, James, who had deceived and endangered the only woman he had ever loved for the sake of honor and glory? He, who had lost said honor by sympathizing with people he never should have pitied in the first place, who had done nothing over the course of the last year of his life but switch sides and double-deal to try to maintain his bloody honor at all costs? James shook his head angrily. No, he was not that good of a man.

'It's I who should be the one to apologize,' he said stiffly. 'I should never have taken the heart from Will. His intentions were far more pure than mine, and he deserved it more than I did.' He deserves you more than I do. That was what James was truly thinking, hating every fiber in his body for having to acknowledge the truth. He could not bring himself to meet Elizabeth's gaze.

'Oh, James…' Elizabeth whispered. James felt her take his arm, but still did not return her stare.

'And he forgave me.' James felt Elizabeth's breath catch in her throat. 'On the way to the Locker. He could have just left me there, in my little boat, to drift about for eternity, but he's too good of a man. He even invited me aboard before it was my time to make the voyage.' James did not want to have to see the look of love in her eyes at the thought of Will, but he knew he would have to be leaving soon. He turned to her, pulling a small leather book out of his coat pocket. 'I may not be as good of a man as your husband, but I want you to at least understand why I've done the things I've done. And, as my time here is limited, I thought this might be the best way.' He pressed the book into her hand. 'Be safe,' he whispered, before hurrying back out into the hallway and down the stairs, leaving Elizabeth on the balcony, alone with the night, and her thoughts, and the book.