They didn't speak to one another in the longboat, despite being squeezed shoulder to shoulder in the aft end of the small vessel, and James supposed that their armistice was still too fragile to withstand the onslaught of another conversation. Instead they listened to Pintel and Ragetti bicker, while Jack sat silently in the prow, clutching his jar of dirt.

After the shouting match, he had been so ready to give up on her. When she had trudged up the stairs and left him to brood, he had told himself that he was finished making sacrifices in her name, that he didn't care if she and Turner were forced to run forever from the East India Trading Company. He had come to the brink, ready to submit to his own desires, claim the heart for himself, and toss the thought of Elizabeth Swann over the edge along with the tattered remnants of their relationship. Then she had sat down beside him and admitted to her sins. She had told him he was right, taken responsibility for what she had done to him, even confessed to being a fool. She had told him the truth, and in doing so had broken through the calloused shell surrounding his heart in the way that only she could manage. And when she had said that she didn't want to be at odds and she had claimed a truce, he had found it impossible to hate her.

Now, the conflict had returned with a vengeance. Every passing moment was another step closer to their goal, and he still had not yet made a decision. He supposed that the choice would come to him when the time was right.

Sand crunched against the hull as they ran aground in the shallows, and when they had dragged the longboat onto the beach, Jack grabbed a shovel and began walking.

"Guard the boat, mind the tide, don't touch my dirt," he ordered as he trudged towards the desolate cap of greenery that was Isla Cruces.

James lagged behind, intending to bring up the end of their procession so that he could mull his troubles alone, but, to his surprise, Elizabeth stayed beside him. She flipped open the compass, watched as the dial swivelled straight ahead, and then started after Jack. He met her stride, and together they crossed the vast stretch of empty shoals.

It really was a beautiful place. Much too beautiful, he thought, to serve as the resting place for the wretched heart of Davy Jones. The water here was never more than knee-deep, appearing the palest shade of blue against stark white cays, and every now and then an outcropping of vegetation would dot the landscape. The swell of the island itself was covered with lush palms and thick, tropical grass, looking entirely untouched by human hands, but as they drew closer he was surprised to see stone ruins tainting the hillside.

Elizabeth stopped ahead of him to examine the compass, the splash of her boots in the shallows stopping abruptly, and he drew up next to her as he squinted at the crumbling church tower.

"I didn't expect anybody to be here," he remarked, tightening his grip on the shovel propped against his shoulder, and Elizabeth turned to look in the same direction. After a moment she shook her head.

"There's not."

"You know this place?" he asked in fascination. Even he was unfamiliar with the area, and he had sailed these waters for years.

"Stories," she replied softly, "Isla Cruces. The church came to the island and brought salvation." There was a hint of bitter irony in her voice. "And disease. And death."

They both stared at the deserted building, and he noticed now that the ground around it was pockmarked with graves.

"They say the priest had to bury everybody one by one," she went on, as though she were telling a ghost story to a child, "He went mad and hung himself."

Somehow he thought he could relate to the unfortunate reverend. When he had first arrived in Tortuga, he had still been a relatively moral man of high standards. But the chaotic, vice-ridden atmosphere had worn him down until he had caved into his misery, and he had become indistinguishable from any other drunken vagrant walking the filthy streets.

"Better mad with the rest of the world than sane alone," he muttered sardonically, and when he looked at her he found her looking back as though he were a stranger. Granted, the James Norrington she had known would have said nothing of the sort. It seemed that they were both having difficulty adjusting to each other's newer selves.

There was the sound of sloshing steps and Jack's voice broke the moment.

"No fraternizing with the help, love," he said, shooting Elizabeth a half-grin as she turned around. He stepped aside and swept out an arm, and she glared at him before stomping off in the direction of the ruins. He continued to hold the pose as he looked back at the former commodore.

"Oh after you, sir," insisted James as he mockingly deferred to the pirate, motioning him along, but to his chagrin Sparrow offered up his own shovel. His jaw clenched and he reached out, but when he took hold of the handle he jerked it towards him and Jack came stumbling forward, narrowing the gap between them.

"Mark my words, Sparrow," he hissed in a low voice, meeting the man's kohl-rimmed eyes, "If any harm comes to her, I'll have your head."

Jack let go of the shovel with a flourish and swayed to one side. "I'm afraid the last time you tried that it didn't work out very well for you at all, now did it, then?" he asked, tilting his head and smirking. It wasn't difficult to determine that he was referencing the botched execution a year ago. James felt his hatred flare, and he channeled it into a vicious scowl.

"Oh I think you'll find I'm a bit more direct about things now," he threatened.

"And that may certainly be true," Sparrow replied reasonably, before his expression grew dangerous, "But know this, mate. You come between a pirate and his prize, then you best be willing to suffer the consequences, savvy?"

They glared at one another before Jack turned and began to splash away after Elizabeth.

"I have no doubt that you would try to kill me, Sparrow," called James in a nonchalant tone as he followed the other man, a shovel in each hand, "You were, after all, planning on handing me over to Davy Jones, which is very nearly the same thing."

Jack's step faltered, but the next instant he was swaggering along as confidently as ever.

"A task that wouldn't be terribly difficult to achieve, I'm afraid, given your present condition," he commented, looking back over his shoulder, "Ay, former commodore?"

James snorted. "I believe you, of all people, should know that drunkenness does not always constitute incompetence," he drawled, "I'm still quite capable with a sword, I can assure you."

Jack was preparing his retort when Elizabeth interrupted.

"I think I've found it!" she shouted, and they both snapped in her direction. She was walking half-circles on a sandy knoll and watching the compass.

Sparrow practically took off sprinting while James followed at a considerably more leisurely pace, and by the time he set foot on land the pirate was pacing impatiently. Jack stopped moving just long enough to wave his hands at the ground and whistle as though he were commanding a dog to perform, but James ignored him and looked to Elizabeth with raised brows.

"There," she explained, pointing at a flat spot.

He turned to Sparrow and thrust a shovel towards him, smirking. Jack's lip twitched in distaste.

"That's what you're here for, mate," he grunted.

"I'm sorry, I assumed you wouldn't want the fate of your eternal soul hinging entirely upon the capabilities of someone in my condition," James shot back with a wicked smile.

For a moment Jack look truly conflicted, a pained expression creasing his features, before he gingerly took the shovel as if it were a disgusting thing.

Together they broke ground and began to dig.

When James heard the thud and felt his spade hit something solid, shock bolted through him. He and Sparrow exchanged glances and Elizabeth joined them, looking equally surprised, before they all three plunged into the hole, brushing away sand to reveal an ancient and weathered wooden trunk. Together, they lifted it out, and Jack broke through the lock with the blade of his shovel before kneeling and lifting the lid. Inside was a layer of parchment and carefully folded letters sealed with red wax, and Elizabeth took one, sitting down next to Jack.

James dropped to his knees beside the chest, staring at the contents. He knew that since he had boarded the Pearl, he had treated the idea of Davy Jones's heart as an actuality, but now he realized that some fundamental part of him hadn't truly believed it to be real. Now it couldn't be denied.

He scanned over the letters, seeing that many were marked 'David' in a woman's hand. Of course he had heard those stories too, just as every sailor had. They all knew the tale of how the dreaded captain had fallen so deeply in love with a woman that he had sacrificed his own happiness for her sake, only for her to shun him for another.

The painful familiarity of it all struck him like lightning, and he felt his own heart ache.

Sparrow brushed away the parchment to reveal a smaller chest, ornate and intricately sealed, and he carefully removed it. Collectively the trio leaned in, and they all heard the beating.

James sat back on his knees. "You actually were telling the truth," he breathed, glancing at Jack in wonderment before gaping at the chest again, and he knew that he was really looking at the mausoleum of an entire romance.

"I do that quite a lot, yet people are always surprised," replied Sparrow, his eyes widening as he smiled wryly.

"And with good reason!"

It was absolutely the last voice that James expected to hear in that moment. In fact, he might have been less surprised had Gillette walked onto the beach in full uniform and saluted him.

"Will!" cried Elizabeth as she jumped to her feet, running to throw herself onto the sopping wet figure of William Turner, "You're alright, thank God! I came to find you!" And she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him.

The jealous thing within James roared to life again, and he looked away to stare at the sand.

"How did you get here?" demanded Jack, sounding nearly as irate and shocked as James felt.

The two lovers broke apart and Turner glared at Sparrow. "Sea turtles, mate," he replied, "A pair of them, strapped to my feet."

"Not so easy, is it?"

"But I do owe you thanks, Jack," added the blacksmith.

"You do?"

Turner plunged on, unable to hide the disgust in his voice. "After you tricked me onto that ship to square your debt with Jones."

James lifted his head at the words, and Elizabeth, despite still clinging onto Will, met his eyes. For a moment he thought that she looked grateful.

"I was reunited with my father."

"Oh!" exclaimed Jack, and he paused, "Well... you're welcome, then."

Will pulled away from Elizabeth and walked to the smaller chest, drawing a dagger from within his jacket with one hand and holding a key with the other, dropping to his knees.

"Oi! What are you doing?" Sparrow pressed, squinting.

"I'm going to kill Jones."

Something inside James froze, and he watched as Jack drew his sword and pointed it at Turner.

"Can't let you do that, William," he explained, and James, for once, agreed with Sparrow, "'Cause if Jones is dead, who's to call his terrible beastie off the hunt, eh?"

Turner looked up at the pirate, and there was a long silence before he slowly stood and backed away from the chest.

"Now, if you please, the key."

For a moment it looked like Turner was going to comply, but then he suddenly took hold of his fiance's sword and crossed it with Jack's, Elizabeth stumbling backwards in surprise.

"I keep the promises I make, Jack," sneered William, "I intend to free my father. I hope you're here to see it."

It was James's dislike of Turner that tipped the balance. Seeing him with Elizabeth again had brought dulled hatred roiling to the surface, and he remembered why imagining Turner aboard the Dutchman had pleased him. Suddenly the thought of the blacksmith getting his way yet again, regardless of consequences, became too much to bear, and he decided that he simply couldn't let that happen. In an instant, his cutlass was in his hand.

"I can't let you do that either," he smirked, thinking that it felt truly wonderful to finally threaten the insufferable boy, "So sorry."

"I knew you'd warm up to me eventually," began Jack, stepping forward, but James turned the weapon on him and he halted, lifting his blade to point at Turner. In response, Turner aimed at the former commodore.

"Lord Beckett desires the contents of that chest," said James slowly, trying not to think about Elizabeth, who was gaping at the three of them, "I deliver it, I get my life back."

So that was it, then. He had made his choice. With Turner in the picture again, his relationship with Elizabeth would die once more. There was nothing for him here. If he were to ever be whole again, he had to move on, and the only way to move on was to claim the heart.

Jack grinned. "Ah, the dark side of ambition."

"Oh I prefer to think of it as the promise of redemption," James replied, his lips twisting into a savage half-smile.

He made the first move, drawing back and aiming a blow at Turner, though he knew the blacksmith would parry it. Turner moved aside, meeting blades with Jack before ducking beneath James's sword, leaving the former commodore and the pirate to cross weapons.

William took off along the beach and the other two followed suit, while Elizabeth shouted at them as if they had gone mad.

James's longer stride carried him quickly to Turner and with a furious yell he swung at him, steel meeting steel, and they traded blows until Jack caught up with them. They both rounded to assault him and they all three locked swords.

"We can not let him get the chest, mate, trust me on this one!" Jack insisted, looking at William, and James squinted at him.

"You can mistrust me less than you can mistrust him, trust me!"

There was a pause and Jack frowned at his own words. Turner only stared back.

"He just wants the Letters for himself," James bit out through clenched teeth, looking to Turner and trying to pull his weapon away from the other two, but it remained firmly wedged in place.

"Pot, kettle, black!" smirked Sparrow, and with a furious snarl James reached up and shoved, slashing at Jack, who stumbled backwards. But the pirate knocked aside the blade and ducked, leaving the former commodore to cross Turner instead, and James saw Sparrow snatch the key out of Turner's grasp before starting across the sandbar.

The blacksmith tried to follow but James fought him back, and they dueled until James saw the opening and took it, landing a solid kick into Turner's chest and sending the lad sprawling. Somewhere in the background, he could hear Elizabeth shouting, and he saw her run to her fiance's aid.

They could rot together for all he cared.

He turned and sprinted after Sparrow, knowing the blacksmith wouldn't be far behind, while Elizabeth yelled at his back.

It was hardly a wonder that, in the midst of the chaos, none of them noticed the crew of the Flying Dutchman emerging from the shallows.

It wasn't until the axe hit the tree that anyone realized Jones's crew had arrived.

She was sitting on the sand and resignedly watching the fight, ignored by the three currently most important men in her life, when she noticed the perpetual troublemakers Pintel and Ragetti making off with the chest. She didn't even try to alert the others, since every single attempt she had made thus far to get their attention had gone entirely unnoticed as they circled around each other, trading blows.

She had understood why Will had drawn on Jack, but James plunging into the conflict had come as a surprise. Of course, then it had made sense. Turning the heart over to Beckett was the only foreseeable way of regaining anything remotely similar to his previous life, and she couldn't blame him for wanting that. She had seen firsthand the miserable existence he currently led.

She chased after Pintel and Ragetti, forgetting that she had no sword, and when she caught up with them in the grove of palms she thought that they were going to finish the job they had failed at a year ago in Port Royal, before she had demanded parley. But instead the three of them watched in fascination as the water wheel rolled by with Will and James atop it, dueling like madmen, while Jack followed.

And then the axe had hit the tree, and they had turned collectively to see an entire hoard of fish-men racing towards them.

They fought Jones's crew through the jungle, tossing their two swords between them until Pintel disarmed one of the fish-men and took his weapon. Somewhere along the way they lost the chest, but that had become the least of their concerns.

When they broke out of the palms and back onto the beach they weren't far from where the longboat was mired, and the three of them sprinted in the direction of it with the cursed crew in hot pursuit. They were not yet halfway there when Jones's men caught up to them.

Elizabeth held them off as they pressed in from all around and she struggled to keep her back to Pintel and Ragetti, as their teamwork was the only thing keeping the three of them alive. She thanked God that Will had possessed the foresight to teach her swordsmanship, and she knew he had been right to insist that she practice. Certain movements were second nature to her now, and instinctively she parried a blow and kicked away her opponent's blade.

But they were fighting a losing battle, and the only respite came when the water wheel suddenly reappeared, this time rolling at full speed, and she could have sworn she saw someone inside it. Both sides of the conflict stopped entirely to stare as it passed by, and it came to a halt in the shoals yards away before toppling onto its side.

She was still squinting at the motionless wheel when the fish-man in front of her struck, and she was far from prepared. She felt the bite of a blade as it grazed her shoulder and she squealed, hacking aimlessly at her attacker. Behind her, Pintel and Ragetti were dealing with their own troubles and were no help at all when her sword was knocked out of her hands, splashing into the shallow water that now boiled with the movement of a dozen boots.

She watched, open-mouthed, as her weapon sailed through the air and then disappeared, and when she turned back around she came face to face with a shark-like grin and a cutlass. And the cutlass lifted up and then came down in slow motion, and she realized with horror that there was absolutely nothing she could do to stop it.

When he felt the jolt of the wheel hitting the ground, he assumed that it was safe to let go, gingerly releasing the vice grip he'd had on the wooden spars and falling into knee-deep water. It seemed like they had been stuck in this spinning deathtrap for an eternity, and he collapsed in the shallows while his vision continued to whirl. He thought that he might be sick again, but after last night and this morning he wasn't sure how there was anything left in him to throw up.

It wasn't until he heard splashing that he moved, and he looked over to see Turner attempting to scramble out of the wheel. Of course, Jack had made off with the key just before leaving them to careen over the side of a hill, and Turner was still hellbent on stabbing the heart.

James wasn't about to let that happen.

He felt around in the water until his hand closed around the handle of his cutlass, and then together he and Turner clambered over the side. When he tipped over the edge he lost his balance and went sprawling into the shallows, gasping as salt water stung his eyes, but he rolled over onto all fours and forced himself to his feet again.

Immediately, he locked on to the longboat in the distance and saw the chest quite clearly sitting inside it, completely unguarded as Sparrow sparred with one of Jones's crew. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to walk over and claim it, and he had taken his first step towards it when he heard the scream.

It was a woman's voice, and he knew of only one woman on this entire miserable island.

He spun around in time to watch as Elizabeth's sword flew from her grasp. The whole scene seemed to play out at half-speed, and he realized with a shot of adrenaline that Pintel and Ragetti were far too occupied to even notice what had happened, while Turner, who was barely managing to crawl, would be of no immediate use to anyone.

Suddenly, despite his deliberating, despite all of the time that he had spent weighing the importance of his own future against the fate of the woman he loved, his mind suddenly went clear and the entire universe focused on Elizabeth Swann. Whatever selfish concerns he might have had before inexplicably vanished, and he took off at a sprint towards the raging battle.

He had made the impossible decision, and he hadn't thought twice about it.