Good man or not, James could not wait to kill Jack Sparrow.
His blatant passes at Elizabeth were insufferable, orchestrated right in front of him no doubt with the intention of twisting the knife. In this floating world called The Black Pearl, Jack was Captain, King, and God, and James was just a lowly swab.
To her credit, Elizabeth was very good at side-stepping Jack's overtures, turning him down every time without losing her composure. She parried and riposted with expert aplomb, perhaps even enjoying their repartee a bit too much. Jack teased her, "What kind of ship would you like, love?"
Love.
It set James' teeth on edge.
There was something sly in Jack's voice as he engaged Elizabeth to speak of her hopes. Something James' didn't like.
He did not trust Jack Sparrow to keep his word.
No, not one jot.
It got even worse when they reached their destination of the Isle las Cruces. James tagged along with the spade, and narrowly resisted beating Jack with it when the pirate told Lizzy, "Don't fraternize with the help, love," referring to James, of course.
This chest they sought was an intriguing thing, and James had managed to piece together the scuttlebutt from the speculating crew and Elizabeth's own gleanings from their oddball Captain.
It was not the strange compass Beckett wanted so much as what lay within this chest.
The heart of the ocean, as it were.
The heart of Davy Jones.
As soon as the disgusting organ was extricated from the ground the fish people of the Dutchman were upon them. A mad scramble ensued. To everyone's surprise, the Whelp drew his sword upon Jack, spouting some drivel about freeing his father.
Unable to resist opportunity, so did James, a plan formulating in his quick mind.
That heart represented untold value, and the former Commodore intended to have it.
Elizabeth protested, to no avail. Her objections were soon placed on the back burner as she herself became engaged with fighting the fish-men of Jones' crew. She fought and fled in equal measure, until she found herself clashing swords in the jungle with a pair of two-legged sea creatures. She fought bravely but they were bigger, meaner, supernatural, and more experienced. One knocked her to the ground with a snarl. It raised its sword, its shark-toothed maw gaping in what might have been a smile, and she felt certain this was it for Elizabeth Swann.
Out of nowhere a blur dressed in dark clothing slammed into the shark-man, knocking him to the ground. Swords clashed, and Elizabeth sat transfixed, watching the fight play out before her eyes.
James.
He was magnificent, truly, years of Naval training honing him into a lethal adversary. His blade flashed in the sun, wielded with expert assurance. Elizabeth was so transfixed by the sight that she was a bit slow on the draw when James grabbed her arm, pulling her up.
"Come on!" he urged, and she found her feet, sprinting deeper into the jungle with him.
When they felt their lungs might burst they paused in the trees, peering behind them for sign of pursuit. Elizabeth leaned upon him, grateful, invigorated, and frankly, terrified.
"What is that?" Elizabeth rasped, feeling something strange and lumpy within James' coat. She felt it move, a distinct thump thump, and immediately she knew.
"That is our future," said James, breathing heavily from their sprint. "The world at our feet. Anything we could possibly want."
He did not expect such an expression of dismay when he broke this news.
"No, James! That heart is Jack's life. We cannot take it!"
Immediately the former Commodore's expression darkened. "How is it that Jack Sparrow's life always seems to take precedent over my own? Our own, Elizabeth?"
Elizabeth, however, just shook her head, her lips quivering. "You're going to give it to Beckett. That wicked man. How can you even contemplate it?"
James could not disguise the hurt in his expression. "I am going to trade it to Beckett for everything I have lost, and more. With this I shall build a real life for us! We shall have everything we should have had from the start. Can't you see?"
She, however, could only look to the ground, and James could feel his heart of glass teetering on the edge of a very high precipice. Somehow his voice came even as he explained, "We can't put our faith in Jack Sparrow, Elizabeth. He has no intention of getting us a ship. Not once he has what he wants."
James refrained to mention that Elizabeth seemed to be one of the things the pirate captain wanted, which certainly left no room for James in the deal. And damn it all, he would not allow himself to be left behind this time.
"He will help us," she insisted, though her vehemence had grown weaker.
"He won't," James insisted again. "Trust me on that. Please, Elizabeth, come with me. We can finally go home."
Home.
Such a small word to inspire such immense longing in a man's heart. James wanted Port Royal, Civilization, and his place within it. But Elizabeth was less than enchanted by the idea, and looked away, back toward the sea. Her jaw had that stubborn set to it, a look James knew all too well.
"I can't," she said quietly. "I can't go back to that prison."
"Prison? Beckett wouldn't dare. Not if…you were my wife." There was such hope in that last sentence, and it broke Elizabeth's heart. A tear began to form in the corner of her eye, but she would not allow it to fall, clenching her teeth against the tide of sorrow that pulled at her.
"I don't mean gaol, James. I mean…society. I mean being trussed up in corsets and locked up in the house unable to go out in the sun because it might cause a freckle. I mean…" Suddenly her voice gained vehemence, timid no longer. "I mean tea and balls and saying silly things I don't mean to people I don't like, all the long day, and constantly worrying about what those insipid ninnies might say or think about me when it has no true bearing at all. I mean sitting at the window and watching the sea for the rest of my days, waiting for you to come back to me, and not allowed to have any adventure or any freedom of my own!"
James listened to her tirade with wide green eyes, stunned. He may have been less surprised had she slapped him. "I do not wish to imprison you, Elizabeth. Only…provide a good life for you. The life you deserve."
"I never wanted that life, James. I love you, but I will not go back there. I will not let you bind me again in that gilded cage. Out here we are free, James. Please, stay with me."
James suddenly felt dizzy with the pain that squeezed his heart, and he could do nothing but look down. "This feckless life filled with uncertainty is not freedom, Elizabeth. It is novel for you now, but believe me when I say you will tire of it in a year or two."
"Tire of having our own ship and the liberty to sail that our Letters would afford us?"
His voice gained an edge again, and he spat, "You have no idea how dangerous life at sea truly is, Elizabeth. It's not just sailing about pretty as you please wherever you wish with the sun on your face and the wind in your hair, and occasionally a ship will turn over and let you empty their hold if you ask nicely. It is explosions and gunfire and swordfights and bad food, disease and doldrums and storms." His expression grew even more haunted at the mention of the last. "There are more ways to die at sea than there are to live, sweetheart. I've already lost eight hundred men and I can't risk losing you too. Let me take you home. Please. Let's just go home."
"Port Royal is not home anymore!" she answered heatedly. "You are my home! And I'm not stupid. I know life at sea is dangerous but I don't care. It's what I want. It's what we planned!" She resisted the urge to stomp her foot like a tempestuous toddler, willing him to see what he asked was impossible for her to accept.
But James could only shake his head, chuckling bitterly. He could feel that chasm opening within his heart once more, a black hole where his hopes for he and Elizabeth had dwelled. You are my home. Did he dare believe it? He wasn't sure he was that brave anymore. If she truly meant that, then wouldn't she come with him, wherever he decided they should go?
"It's what we planned for lack of a plan. Then I myself am not enough, it seems. You want the life of a pirate, and love me only so far as I can give it to you."
"That's not fair." Must she make a sacrifice of herself for their love? How could he ask this of her? Did he know her at all?
"That is the truth, I think. You have pluck, my girl, but you cannot captain a ship. Even if you had the knowledge, good luck getting a crew of able bodied seamen to follow you. You need me for that, don't you?"
Elizabeth could not stop the tears now, and silently they rolled down her cheeks, making tracks in the dirt upon her face. Despite it all, she was still so beautiful James thought his heart might explode. "You are the one who is doing this," she ground out, her throat tight. "If we part ways now, James Norrington, you are the one to blame this time. And I think once you have back your big hat and gold braid you will regret it. It will all be an empty prize, and a cold bedfellow. You will become Beckett's lap dog. It will not be the same as it was before. There is no honor in serving a man like that. He wants to devour the world, and will not settle until he has had it all."
James frowned, heartbreak and anger making a heady potion within him, volatile as saltpeter and sulfur. And just what did this slip of a girl, barely twenty and two, know of what a man needs to look himself in the mirror every day? There was always a Lord Beckett waiting to use the Royal Navy for economic gain. That was the way the world worked. The way England's economy worked. They were not a nation of missionaries—they conquered lands for gold and spoils, and they were damn good at it too.
Somehow, even as he felt his heart breaking, the most excruciating pain in his chest, in his soul, James straightened, looking down his nose at Elizabeth. "Very well, Miss Swann. If you are not coming with me, I would suggest you not follow."
"James…" she rasped. "Please…"
But he strode around her, unable to look at her, fearing he would turn into a pillar of salt.
So this was goodbye.
It felt like standing on the receiving end of a firing squad.
Indeed, at meeting this wretched feeling again he would have welcomed a swift death.
"James!"
He did not turn.
She rushed ahead of him, and the unmistakable sound of singing steel met his ears. James looked upon Elizabeth with her sword drawn, a determined set to her jaw. "I can't let you take the heart," she said quietly.
Without passion, he answered, "We both know you cannot stop me."
He made to continue walking, and she extended the sword towards him, even as her lips quivered. James sighed, and in the blink of an eye drew his own sword and with a clever twist disarmed her, sending her blade spinning to the ground five feet away. Before she could react he hauled her against him, taking her mouth in a brutal and punishing kiss. Mercilessly he claimed her with lips and tongue, bending her neck back in his passion, his arm like a band of steel about her waist.
One last kiss he told himself. The last time he would ever allow himself to feel anything.
Because after this, James intended to lock his heart away forever.Davy Jones had the right idea.
Elizabeth melted against him, everything forgotten but him. She could have tried to slip her hand in his jacket for the heart. She could have tried a number of things. But all she could bring herself to do was slide her hands around the back of his neck, holding him to her. She did not want it to stop, because once it did she knew it would all be over. They would be over. And she'd rather enjoyed this second chance of theirs.
In the end it was James who drew away, roughly holding her at arm's length. It seemed cruel, but he knew if he did not take his leave of her now, he never would. She would destroy him even further, and he would let her, smiling all the way. She was his ruin, through and through.
"Goodbye, Elizabeth."
This time she did not follow, falling down to her knees on the leaf-strewn ground as she watched his long-legged form stride away, and wept.