A/N: So sorry it has taken me forever to get this chapter up, you guys! I've been trying to update this in a timely manner, but a bunch of other things have come up in my life recently. A computer malfunction, the start of the spring semester, and an internship opportunity have made me a very busy girl here lately. In fact, the only reason I have been able to update this today is because my boss had very little for me to do at my internship, so I have sneakily taken a kind of personal writing day (shh don't tell anyone). I am going to continue to try and update pretty regularly, but if I'm slow again please understand and forgive me . Also, thanks again to everyone who is reviewing! For those of you who aren't: please, please, PLEASE REVIEW! I looooooovvvve reviews! They make me smile . Now, after that longwinded author's note, on with the story!

Chapter Four

Rosalie also had trouble sleeping that night after dinner with her brother and Mr. Norrington. For hours she lay on her back watching shadows flickering in the dim candlelight on her ceiling. Phillip was cross with her for intruding on what was supposed to be a private dinner with his old friend, but it was not the first time she had incurred his anger, and she knew it would not be the last. No, she lost sleep simply because she could not stop contemplating the mystery that had presented itself in the form of a mysterious stranger. If she had been presumed dead for months only to miraculously return to her friends and family, she would relish the attention and wouldn't leave out a single heroic detail. Norrington, on the other hand, glossed over a story full of holes and seemed sullen and distant despite his general politeness. He was an enigma. She could've sworn she had seen him trying to hide a smile at Phillip's bewilderment when she barged in at dinner, but for the rest of the evening he gulped down his soup and stared at nothing in particular with sad, empty eyes.

She rolled onto her stomach, fervently praying the view of the back wall would prove more stimulating than that of the ceiling. It did not. She sighed and began to trace her fingertips along the fine etches in the wooden paneling, watching how the colors faded from light to dark mahogany in some places. "Oh, bloody…!" She trailed off and brought her stinging fingertip to her lips to soothe her pain. A splinter had lodged itself in her forefinger. "I hate this ship," she grumbled as she squeezed and squinted down at the tiny wound.

She hopped out of her bed and stumbled as she tried to catch her balance. She spent most of the day trying to get used to walking while the ship rocked beneath her. Phillip had told her she would grow accustomed to the motion after a few days. Well, Phillip had lied. Every time she got out of bed she had to work to right herself. Sometimes she saw the sailors look at her with raised eyebrows or snicker behind their hands. For the most part, Rosalie tried to ignore them, but a few mornings ago, after another nearly sleepless night, one unfortunate young deckhand had laughed a little too loudly. She had thrown her hat and called him a "bloody twit." After that, Rosalie suspected her brother might've had a talk with his crew because the men were more careful with their whispers. He had also had a talk with her about controlling her temper.

Rosalie typically followed the conventions of social order, but a woman could only stand so much ridicule before she just had to throw something. Likewise, she could only stand so much boredom before she had to take a walk. Phillip had expressly forbid her to go above decks when he or his second in command could not be readily available to come to her aid should any of the men act less than gentlemanly. He would almost certainly have an apoplectic fit if he knew she was planning to go for a walk at night without a chaperone. But what big brother didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

She skipped over to the chair that she had tossed her dross over after dinner and quickly slipped it back on. She glanced in the mirror and saw that her strawberry blonde hair was in quite a state of disarray. She hoped to avoid running into anyone on deck, but just in case, she smoothed her unkempt locks back into a messy bun. Satisfied, she grabbed her candle and quietly slipped out of the room. She tiptoed carefully and peered around every corner as she made her way to the main deck. She knew if she ran into her brother or one of his lieutenants she would be sent back to her room before she could get a breath of fresh air.

Rosalie breathed a sigh of relief when she caught sight of the stars and a small square of starlit sky. At this hour of night she would easily be able to steal a few moments of just watching the waves undisturbed. Hopefully after that she would be able to go back to her bed and sleep. But as her barefoot touched the first step leading up to the deck, a shadow fell over her upturned face, blocking her view of the stars.

"Elizabeth?" slurred a voice from the top of the steps.

"Mr. Norrington?" Rosalie asked, tentatively taking a step up.

"Oh," he mumbled, "Never mind."

"Mr. Norrington," Rosalie repeated, reaching out a concerned hand. "Are you ill?"

In the darkness she saw him shakily put a head to his head. He leaned against the wall and looked as if he might stumble to his knees without the support. "Miss… Miss Gillette," he finally mumbled. His jaw worked, and she thought he was going to say something more. But he just pushed past her with a slurred: "forgive me." Then he disappeared down the dark hallway. Rosalie stood on the stairs until his heavy footsteps dwindled into silence. She had caught a whiff of what she thought was rum as he brushed by her, and she wondered whether or not her brother's trusted mentor was really the man Phillip remembered.

Her mind drifted back to the question that had plagued her most of the night. Why did James Norrington seem so different? He was unlike other men she had met, and he was certainly nothing like the man she had imagined from conversations with her brother. She pondered this as she leaned over the side of the ship and peered down into the darkness below. Phillip had mentioned Mr. Norrington frequently in his letters, both as a friend and a superior. Rosalie had gotten the impression that he was a generally good man, devoted to his duties in the navy. While she had never met him, she imagined that he was a serious and straight laced member of society, someone who played by the rules. Although he was certainly serious, from what she had seen of him, in person he didn't strike her as a typical law abiding citizen. The thought both intrigued and worried her. Aside from her refusal to marry just for the sake of being married, Rosalie followed the typical rules of society. Sometimes she didn't like it. The fact that her brother would berate her if she was caught on deck without a chaperone drove her mad. But for the most part, she knew society upheld certain rules for a reason, and that comforted her. So she was at once excited and unnerved by a man who didn't meet her expectations. A spray of sea foam caught her in the face and distracted Rosalie from her thoughts. Her reverie broken, a yawn overtook her and she realized with lazy delight that she could finally sleep.

The next morning, Rosalie awoke slowly and not at all pleasantly. She lay still under the covers, willing herself to fall back to sleep. As she did this, she could feel the ship moving. It was worse than usual, and she had to breathe deeply through her nose to try and settle her stomach. "Oh, no!" she gulped and lurched out of bed with her hand clapped over her mouth. She stumbled over to the wash basin and braced her hands against the sides. She stood perfectly still, but she could feel the ship rocking beneath her. Every toss sent her stomach tumbling inside her, and she cursed her brother for talking her into making this voyage.

She was sure it took her twice as long to get dressed. Once she fell flat on her backside while trying to lace up her dress. When she finally stumbled up to the main deck, she saw that the sky was gray, and the wind was churning up turbulent waves. It was not going to be a good day. The ship lurched suddenly, and Rosalie tripped on the top step. She was not known for her coordination. Before she moved to London, her mother made her practice walking with poise and balance. It was rare that she didn't break a vase or run into a table. So walking on deck during a storm, even a slight one, was a challenge. Still, the smell of salt on the cool blasts of wind remedied her seasickness. For the first time all morning she didn't have to think about controlling her stomach.

Rosalie strolled around the deck watching the men at work. As much as she hated the way the ship tossed and rolled, she enjoyed watching the crew. It was beautiful to see all of them working together toward a common goal: to bring the Redemption into Port Royal safely. Suddenly, a fierce wave sent her toppling into a railing.

"Woah, Rose!" Her brother had seen her latest blunder and was walking briskly toward her from where he had stood giving orders to a couple of crew members in the rigging. "Be more careful! If you do that again, you could very well go overboard. I plan to reach Port Royal within the week. I don't want to lose any more time fishing you out of the ocean."

"Very funny," Rosalie replied with an eye roll, "I can take care of myself. Thank you."

"Not likely." He furrowed his brow and looked up at the gray sky. "In fact, I want you below decks. This storm is going to break soon, and it will be far too dangerous up here. I need my men focused on keeping this ship on course and unharmed, not trying to keep you from flying overboard."

She pouted. "Phillip, I won't be able to survive trapped below decks until we reach Port Royal."

He laughed. "Hopefully, it will be a brief storm."

"I will never get on a ship again." She pointed a finger at him. "I mean it. Don't ever try and make me change my mind."

He looked at her seriously. "Just do what I say, Rose. I don't want to see you up here again." He turned without waiting for her reply.

Rosalie stuck her tongue out at his back. "Yes, Mother." Then she added, "as soon as I'm good and ready."

At that moment the heavy gray clouds began to spit sharp needles of cold rain down on the deck of the HMS Redemption. Rosalie scowled up at the sky and winced at the drops that peppered her face. She was torn between her desire to defy Phillip and her hatred of being cold, wet, and tossed about. She saw the crew men with their hardened faces and able hands, the way they acted as if the rain was not beginning to pour down on them. She crossed her arms and drew her lips into a narrow line. She would stay, at least for now.

And then she saw James Norrington.

"Batten down those hatches, men!"

He was standing not far from Phillip, shouting orders at the crew. For the first time since they had met, Rosalie could see what he must have been like as an admiral. His back was straight, and he paced around the deck with sure, confident steps. There was sternness but also an assurance in his hazel eyes, and the crew rallied behind him despite the fact he was no longer their leader. Rosalie couldn't reconcile this man with the staggering, rum soaked one she had met last night.

She was so caught up in her thoughts that another wave set her off balance, and she stumbled. She couldn't right her footing, and she knew how ridiculous she must've looked, arms flailing, mouth agape. Suddenly, she collided with something hard… and looked up into the face of Mr. Norrington. "Woah!" he said. His eyebrows were raised, and a look of surprise was registered on his face. He had grabbed her by her forearms when she crashed into his chest, and he tried to steady her.

"Oh…. Um…. Oh, my," she chattered as she pulled herself away from him. She pushed a rain slicked strand of hair out of her eye and shifted on her feet. "Oh, my goodness. I… I apologize, Mr. Norrington. I believe I finally had my sea legs, but this storm…." She trailed off uncomfortably and looked up at him again. Sodden, dark locks of hair clung to his forehead and the planes of his face. Rosalie cleared her throat and looked down.

"It's alright, Miss Gillette," he finally replied. "But you shouldn't be up here. It's not safe. Your brother…."

"Yes, yes, I know what Phillip would say," she interrupted irritably, smoothing her soaked dress and crossing her arms. "He's already said it."

The corner of Norrington's mouth turned up in a smirk. "What I was going to say was: your brother is staring at you with a look of murder in his eyes."

"Ah, I see." She cringed and glanced back at Phillip, who was indeed red-faced and glaring. When Rosalie looked back at Norrington all the humor had disappeared from his face. She noticed his eyes were slightly bloodshot.

"You must go below decks, Miss Gillette," he said firmly. "That's an order."

She stared at him hard for a moment, wondering if she could get away with ignoring him as she had her brother. The look in his eyes told her no. He seemed to discern the rebellion behind her eyes because before she had a chance to move either way, he grasped her arm, gently but firmly, and steered her in the direction of the stairs.

The remainder of their voyage lasted four days. Luckily the storm had turned out to be a brief one, and the crew and ship made it through unscathed. Now, early on the morning of the fourth day everyone man on deck was bustling, readying the ship to make port. James stood with Phillip at the helm of the ship, looking off towards the ever nearing Port Royal.

"Are you alright?" Phillip asked, turning away from the horizon to look at him.

James kept his eyes on the shore. He could make out the docks, busy with commerce. Since Phillip and the crew of the Redemption had found him adrift at sea and brought him aboard, he had been itching to make it back to Port Royal. He felt that that was where many of his answers lay. Surely someone would know what had happened to Elizabeth. Maybe she would even be there, though he doubted that. And he thought that surely when he arrived in Port Royal again he would find some clue as to what he was supposed to do with this second chance he had been given.

But as the ship drew closer to its destination, all James felt was more lost.

This was the place where he had spent years rising through the ranks of the navy, the place he had been awarded the title of commodore then admiral. Now he was planning on giving up his title again. How could he? He felt that it was what needed to be done if the mysterious Tia Dalma was to be trusted and everything she said about another war with the pirates was true. He had chosen the right side of the last war too late and had paid dearly for it. He could not make the same mistake again. But….

James' hand drew to his hip, to where only months ago he could've fingered the hilt of his finely crafted sword. It was a symbol of his station, but now that was gone too. Who am I? he thought, both desperately craving the answer and fearing it at the same time. He no longer thought the answers lay in Port Royal, but he didn't know where to go from there or even how. How on earth could he even contact Jack Sparrow or another of the pirate brethren if he wanted to? What was he supposed to do?

"Yes," James finally answered, "everything is fine. Just… odd, I guess. Coming back home."

Phillip opened his mouth to reply, but he was interrupted by the sounds of rustling fabric and someone huffing and puffing toward them. Both men turned to see Rosalie approaching them. One of her small, pale hands worked to secure a large, rather cumbersome, hat to her head. With the other, she pulled at and fidgeted with the back of her dress. It was the most intricate frock James had seen her wear during their whole trip. It reminded him slightly of the one Elizabeth had worn to the ceremony when he was awarded the rank of commodore. Miss Gillette looked just as uncomfortable.

"Blast!" she exclaimed tossing her hands in the air, then quickly reaching to recover her hat. "Blast! Blast! Blast! How on earth is one supposed to move like this? Phillip, do you have any idea how difficult it is to get something like this on without a dressing maid?"

"Rose!" A blush colored Phillip's cheeks, and he gestured wordlessly towards James.

"Oh!" she gasped when she saw that she and Phillip were not alone. Then she giggled somewhat nervously. "I apologize for my impropriety, Mr. Norrington. But come now, you can't always expect a girl to act on ceremony with her brother." She tugged emphatically at her dress again. "Especially not when wear one of these accursed…!"

"That's enough, Rose!"

Rosalie rolled her eyes at him and then looked again to James. "He can be such a prig."

At this point, Phillip began to splutter, searching for words with which to berate his sister. He was so worked up that James couldn't resist laughing out loud. It felt nice. James supposed he could have never been described as a carefree man. Even as a child, he was mindful of others' needs and his individual duties. But there was a time before his life began to fall apart when he laughed frequently and smiled more often than that. He had always been stern when it came to responsibilities, but he enjoyed a joke among friends as often as anyone else might. Laughing with Miss Gillette made him feel like a part of something positive again, if only for a brief moment.

He cleared his throat and smiled again. "I'm sorry, Phillip," he said, "but I must agree that Miss Gillette has a point."

Phillip began to scowl at him, but he looked from James to his sister and realized that he was outnumbered. He sighed and shook his head. "What was I thinking trying to uphold society's rules of propriety?" he muttered.

"Hang propriety," Rosalie said. "It's why I have to dress up like this to meet Mother. I don't want to hear her talk of how I should be properly dressed." She fidgeted with a bit of lace detail on the brim of her hat and bit her lip. "But do you think this will appease her, Phillip?" she asked. "You know how she is!"

"When I met your mother she seemed to be a lovely woman," James said.

"Ah." Rosalie wagged her finger. "But you see that is because you are an eligible bachelor of a fine background, not her spinster daughter. It makes all the difference. Phillip?"

"Yes, yes, Rose," Phillip said impatiently, "you look positively radiant, a regular belle of the ball. Now, if you will excuse me, we are about to make port, and I have more important things to attend to than to critique your fashion sense."

"Well, I never," Rosalie huffed, watching her brother walk away. She turned back towards James, but the easy grin he had worn only moments ago had been replaced by a more somber look of contemplation.

The words "eligible bachelor" had struck a chord with him. It was not a title he valued or wanted. It only reminded him of what he had lacked to accomplish in his life. In their younger years, most men revel in a time of "sowing wild oats," and while James had experienced some of that during his time as a young sailor, he never relished it like many of his comrades did. Some of his peers had bragged about their conquests, only half remembered young barmaids and servant girls, over drinks, but James had never been as proud of those nights. His boy's thirst for pleasures of the flesh and simply a warm female body had dissipated all too quickly, only to be replaced by a man's desires for a companion and family. He couldn't carelessly go through life bedding women whose names he wouldn't remember weeks later. Often he had wished he could. Most men like that end up marrying for convenience and continuing their escapades with little ramifications. It would have been an easier life, without the heartbreak of falling in love with someone unattainable.

"So what will you do in Port Royal, if you don't mind me asking, Mr. Norrington?" Rosalie was looking at him with a curious look in her eyes. She had avoided him since their run in on the deck during the storm, but whenever he caught her looking at him, he got the feeling she was trying to figure him out. It was like he was a puzzle that she needed to solve.

James sighed. "I honestly don't know."

"If it's not too bold of me to say," Rosalie began cautiously, "Why not keep your title and continue your position with the navy and the East India Trading Company." She continued hurriedly before he could interrupt. "My brother is a very capable man, and he deserves his position. But you are his mentor, and I know he would be glad to have your guidance again." She looked up at him expectantly.

"It's not quite that simple," he said, looking away from her searching green eyes. "I don't know that I am the right man for the title anymore. I think resignation is the best choice for me right now. I have enough that I can manage until I have re-settled into my life at Port Royal. Or wherever I go from here."

Rosalie looked unsatisfied. "I don't quite know what to make of you, Mr. Norrington."

He coughed. "I don't think I know what you mean," he said defensively.

Now, her freckled cheeks turned pink, and she turned away. "Forgive me. That was too bold. I… I simply am… intrigued…. Well, it's just that…." She stuttered nervously, growing redder by the second, and James felt sorry for embarrassing her. He also felt a fondness for her rising within him. She seemed so self-assured and outspoken to him, and honestly a little difficult. Today was not the first time during their voyage he had caught himself somewhat pitying Phillip for her antics, humorous though they may have been. But now he was reminded that she was also young and a little unsure, despite whatever act she put on. And like him, she was returning to a home where there may not be a place for her.

He opened his mouth to apologize and soothe her worries, but Gillette rushed over to them to announce that they should prepare to get off the ship as they would be making port in mere minutes. When James turned back around to where Rosalie had been standing, she was already hurrying off in the other direction.

A/N: Ok, hope you guys liked this chapter! Again, I am so sorry that it took me forever to update. I promise to try and be more consistent. Especially if you leave lots of reviews *wink, wink, nudge, nudge*