Author's Note: Multiple chapters uploaded within a week- I believe that's a record! This chapter took some time to draft out in my notebook. Characterization was especially important and thus tricky in this chapter; any critique and opinion offered concerning it is greatly valued.

The plot is progressing... And I promise, readers- dear William is far from forgotten. He will be appearing relatively soon. I was pondering his re-entrance into the narrative all day at work today.

As always, you have my appreciation for reading!

At the end of a long, quiet day, Elizabeth and James found themselves sitting together on the balcony of their home. They looked out at the moonlight-flooded landscape of Jamaica, beyond the candle-lit town, over the dark, forested mountains in the distance. The sea glittered, its gentle waves of the calm night rolling up on the beaches, and rocking the ships at port.

Elizabeth relaxed, breathing softly and focusing on nothing but the view. James watched the same, but his thoughts wandered. A clement wind stirred him from his placid state, and looked to his wife.

"Elizabeth," he started. She blinked out of her reverie and faced him, smiling pleasantly.

"Yes James?"

He sat up in his chair. "Mr. Staunton's commentary several nights ago has brought to light that I myself of not know your entire account of what happened aboard the Black Pearl."

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting my virtue is tainted?" She asked this as a jest, but the Commodore began to apologize.

"No, Commodore, it was only a quip." She couldn't help but laugh a bit

"Yes. Begging your pardon." He cleared his throat and turned himself to face Elizabeth more directly. "I'm asking you, might you tell me what happened from your honest perspective?"

"Of course," she said, nodding. She looked down and played with a loose thread in her dress. "It's always difficult, a full re-telling, because it seems too much like a ghost story.

"I completely empathize. My soldiers and fellow officers avoid its mention like the plague. It is addressed the same way Lieutenant Gillette and I composed its report."

"And how was that?"

"We spared no detail, save all those that related to the supernatural."

Elizabeth broke the loose thread from the embroidery at her waist. She looked uncomfortable, but then began to tell her whole story. From the kidnapping, to where their paths joined when she had been rescued from the desert island with Jack Sparrow, to the final battle in the cave on Isla de Muerta. She told him of Will Turner, and all of his gallant efforts to save her that justified his illegal actions. But she did not tell Norrington of the emotional pull she had towards Will, that only intensified over the course of the journey. Her dear childhood friend. Her rescuer.

But James Norrington was also her rescuer. In turn, he told Elizabeth his side of the story. From the night at the battlements at Fort Charles, finding her marooned, but miraculously unharmed, to the last battle of the Dauntless and Black Pearl. He told her of the navigational plight, the frustration and anxiety experienced trying to find and bring her home, and the sorrow of loosing his men in battle against a new, demonic kind of enemy. He was still consumed by complete incredulity at the realization of such an existence.

The moon had traveled a considerable distance in the heavens, and cast new shadows on Elizabeth's face. "You doubt what your very eyes have seen?" she asked.

Norrington turned his hat over in his hands. "No, I do not, but I want to. It all goes against what I've believed to be truth all these years. Ghosts and curses and undead men hardly worked themselves into my logic and strategy when I encountered them. I conducted myself to the best of my ability, and did what I could." He paused, looking eastward. "It is strange what the heart will push out of the mind when it holds so strong an idea."

These words resounded in Elizabeth's brain. The mind pushes the heart around as well, she thought. She kept the conversation- "Did you ever believe in ghosts and curses?"

James laughed softly. "I think I did. When I was very young, and my older brother would try and scare me. Tell me of dead persons who wandered the moor."

"Do you believe in spirits?"

He nodded this time, his green eyes- silver in the night- softening with sincerity. "I believe in spirits, in souls. I believe in God, and God's creation. The land, the sea, and the wind. And I prayed near every moment that you would be kept safe where I could not protect you."

"I am sorry my circumstance made you suffer so," Elizabeth replied, that familiar weight setting onto her heart again.

"It's nothing you should apologize for." He paused, and then spoke quietly. "When we found you on that forsaken piece of land, my prayers had been granted. I don't believe I have ever felt such a relief. Seeing you well was all the reward I asked for in return of my efforts."

Elizabeth bit her lip and followed his gaze to the faraway bluffs, and the wispy clouds behind them. She rose to retire then, her skirts rustling about. She first stepped close to Norrington; he looked up at her. Then taking his face in her hands, Elizabeth bent and placed a kiss on his cheek. James's eyes closed as he took in every detail of sensation.

"Thank you, James. For doing so much for me," she whispered, her breath touching his ear. Then she left, going into the house.

When James opened his eyes again, it was to see the stars, hanging high in the vaulted ceiling of heaven. And he felt contentment, for to hear those words of gratitude spoken so, fulfilled a wish- just to know his undertakings fueled by love, did not go without sweet acknowledgement.

It seemed to be that when the sun went down, Elizabeth was filled with a greater courage that she could not muster in the harsh, direct attention of day. As the moon revealed the true nature of Barbossa and his men, for Elizabeth is evoked the most honest of thoughts, no matter how bold. For it had been at night when she had to face the vicious specters, and she made herself face them bravely. And the bravery was mounting again, as she began to take initiative in her married life, and not let it carry on like a humid Caribbean day.

But she was not without apprehension as she stood outside Commodore Norrington's bedroom, looking down at the dim light of a candle leaking onto the hallway floor from beneath the door, touching the toes of her slippers. Inhaling, she tried to still her heartbeat. Elizabeth rapped her knuckles gently on the door.

"Yes?" came James's voice.

Elizabeth turned the knob and swung the door open. She stepped in.

"Elizabeth," James said, surprised. He was sitting up in bed, with a book on his lap. He straightened up at her entrance.

The woman took a moment to observe the man. Uniformless, wigless, his brown hair fell into his face. It was unarming; the gold brocade, the iron façade of the Naval commander was gone- and sitting before Elizabeth in his own bed clothes was James Norrington, just a man. Her husband.

"Is everything alright Elizabeth?" He began to rise out of bed. She stopped him with a raised hand.

"No, you don't have to get up. Everything's fine." She fidgeted and clasped her hands.

"Do you need something?"

"No. James-" she began. "Might we-" she paused again, making herself meet his gaze- "try sharing a bed?"

James blinked, mute.

"Just to sleep beside one another," Elizabeth added.

James swallowed and found his tongue again. "May I ask why you have this request?"

"I would like to see how it feels- to be close with one's husband." She nearly stammered, reminiscent of Norrington's manner and elocution when he proposed to Elizabeth.

"Forgive my boldness."

"My dear, your boldness is a facet of your character that has always been particularly striking. You apologize too much," he said, smiling.

The next moment he looked very young and cautious. He moved over to the right side of the bed, and placed his second pillow on the left. Elizabeth approached the bed with as much apprehension as she harbored when walking the plank. She reminded herself that this was her idea. An attempt to aid in the construction of the bridge between them.

She took of the light robe that she wore over her night shift and placed it on the arm of the chair by the window. James closed his book and placed it on the nightstand and held the cover up as Elizabeth slipped in between the sheets.

"Are you comfortable?" James asked, looking her in the eyes. The simple question was heavily weighted in their circumstance.

Elizabeth fluffed her pillow and placed her head upon it, her dark curls spreading over it. "Yes," she replied.

"Shall I put out the light?"

She nodded.

James turned and blew out the candle standing beside the book, sending the room into darkness. But their eyes adjusted, and soon the room was filled by the moon and starlight alone- and it was a far more beautiful light.

James laid down himself, his head on the pillow. He turned to see Elizabeth, lying on her side, facing him. He mirrored her, and they spent a long moment looking at one another. Elizabeth's hand rested on the mattress between them, and James went with an impulse and took it within his own. She did not retract, but squeezed it with a tender pressure.

"Goodnight, James," she said.

James's lips parted with a joyful smile. "Goodnight, Elizabeth."