A/N: I made the mistake of rewatching the original trilogy this weekend and boy howdy did my crush on the Commodore come roaring back. I have a part 2 planned for this, so stay tuned! Feedback is always very much appreciated. Enjoy!

James sat at his desk, his rigid posture rocking in undulation with the ocean. She was in unique form that evening. Not too raucous for even the greenest of the men aboard, not stormy, but certainly not as placid as she had been for them thus far.

She was restless, he could sense it. For so was he.

Holed up in his makeshift study and huddled within a pocket of amber candlelight, he immersed himself in the monotony of busy work, as the night sky swathed the horizon in a starless veil of black, the ocean below turned to ink.

The Interceptor was steadily making its way back to Port Royal from England. The nearer back he drew, the more anxious he was to break land. With three days left at sea, give or take, the more his need to occupy his mind grew, as it had been plagued by a certain passenger's presence aboard his ship.

He was sent by Governor Swann to England to escort his guest back to Port Royal. The circumstances somewhat of a mystery and the details murky and vague, all James knew was that the individual in question was left in his charge, and it was of some importance to the Governor that it be done swiftly and of course, safely. James considered it an honor, though it was little more than a glorified errand.

At times he wondered if it wasn't the Governor's solution to distract from the fact that he had yet to apprehend Captain Jack Sparrow. To afford him with excuses and to keep him busy in the wake of his ongoing failure. The thought made him grimace.

In any event, the escort detail sent him back out to the sea, refreshingly away from Sparrows trail, and away from Elizabeth, who in no uncertain terms scorned his affections. Though he had his ship, his crew and his title, when he was unable to obtain her, it made him realize that was truly all he had, and therefore all the more precious. The revelation saw him with a renewed eagerness for work, jumping at any and every opportunity to set sail. To distance himself from Port Royal. Away from his shortcomings. Away from his lonely home, and similarly empty bed.

Now, not even The Interceptor granted him his much sought after solace.

All because of her.

Before arriving in London to collect the Governors new ward, James would have sworn before his God and the sea that the only woman possible for him was Elizabeth. Her disinterest in him was all the proof he needed that he was destined to live a solitary life. The role of Commodore suited him well, he didn't require a marriage to a fine woman, regardless of how much he craved it.

And then, as if to mock him, he laid his eyes on Joanna Francis.

A petite, young woman, and an American of all things. She was opposite from Elizabeth in almost every way physically.

Her skin golden honey as if kissed by the sun, and her brunette hair as dark as coffee, it matched the shimmering brown eyes that seemed to look into him, rather than simply at him. James stood a whole head and shoulders above her. He was a tall, large man by common standards, but the way he towered over the tiny nymph of a thing was almost obscene.

Where Elizabeth was tall and lean, her build ever delicate, Joanna's was curvaceous by comparison, but not by much, just as thin and dainty, with teacup breasts and slim hips. Still full enough to bare children, however, an observation he ruefully couldn't help but make. Her silhouette was like that of a real life doll.

Like the call of the sirens song, she lured him in commanding and ruthless with her mystique and exoticism. She felt forbidden to him in a way he couldn't place. The lust she roused deep within him, the intrigue with which she ensnared him, James was certain she'd actually bewitched him, had he believed in such things.

She stirred fantasy within him once more. A sensation that was foreign and long-since dormant, he hadn't experienced such things since he fooled himself into thinking that he might yet make Elizabeth his.

While he maintained his staunch professionalism in Joanna's presence, he could feel himself slipping further and further into the treacherous depths of longing. The all too familiar burning ache returned.

Any sailor worth their salt knew well to heed the dangers of delirium from being stranded at sea, yet few seemed to speak on the loneliness and neglect of a man by his lonesome for just as long. A fate in which the experienced Commodore had yet to truly brave, one he was consigned to against his will.

If he had to guess, he placed her at about Elizabeth's age, which made her demeanor all the more unnerving. Whether or not she knew it, and regardless of the fact that he abstained from giving in to these newfound desires, James Norrington was utterly at her mercy.

Yet the way she sized him up, the way her eyes dragged up and down his figure with the coy suggestiveness of a lover, he suspected she did know.

This dance the two of them were locked in made the journey far more arduous. Like the specter of a lady lost at sea, her visage haunted him from the moment he awoke with the dawn, until he finally allowed his eyes to shut, many long hours after dusk.

Despite how her lingering gazes and shy smiles made him feel, she was nothing if not polite. Cordial, respectful, demure, everything a young woman of her surmised status should be. And yet, every so often, beneath her hooded gaze, or simmering just under the surface of a sly remark he suspected she didn't think he heard (or worse, knew only he heard) James detected an untamed facet that threatened to break through her perfectly tempered facade.

Not unlike a wild filly, she required a skilled master with a firm hand to break her, and reign her in. At times, James could have sworn she was waiting for him to do just that. Either that, or he was beginning to fall prey to his own hopeful delusions.

He had been out at sea for too long.

More unfortunate for him still, in the wake of his burgeoning feelings for her, he spent a significant amount of time with her, as the Commodore of the ship obligated that he entertain the Governors guest on his behalf. As much as James was able, that is.

Most nights they dined together, and he tried to learn as much about her as he could, but she was not so easily read. He gleaned bits and pieces, the trivialities she allowed herself to reveal. For instance, she was a true mutt, having learned her lineage was composed, predominately, of both Italian and Irish descent. A startlingly perplexing mix. Yet these tidbits she drip-fed only bred more questions. More insatiability. And that was all she ever granted him. Either deftly changing the subject, or dodging his questions altogether - no matter how pointed they were - every night he was left knowing no more about her than the previous one.

As easily as he could have spent all of his time trying to crack the enigma that she was, he was never wanting for distraction, his title burdened with a litany of responsibilities. When not in his company, the only other man to catch her ear was Mr. Dalton, the boatswain, having become friendly with one another shortly after they began the journey back to Port Royal.

Other than conversing with the two men, she mainly kept to his quarters. The only lodging suitable for her onboard, he gladly turned it over for her comfort and privacy, something she was ever gracious to receive.

He at times bunked with his men, not that they had any objections, if anything it only earned more of their respect, if that were possible. He never considered himself as superior to the men under him. Other nights saw him falling asleep at his desk in his study. He was certainly not a young man anymore, but either accommodation suited him just fine, his stiff back after a night spent slumped at his desk be damned.

With the lateness of the hour sagging his broad shoulders and pulling at his tired, glaucous green eyes, he suspected that evening for him would be the latter.

The ship was quiet, not even the raucous laughter of the men seeped beneath the bottom crack of his door.

The ocean continued to rock, the wood of the ship swelled and creaked in response. A few rogue droplets of rain then pelted the glass of the window pane behind him. It would have been an otherwise peaceful night, had he not been cursed by the very concept of Joanna.

Then, as if manifested by his very thoughts, he was alerted to the sound of heavy footsteps advancing towards him from outside his study. Followed by a knock.

"Miss Joanna has called for you, sir." He heard through the door.

James sighed, sending his eyes upward. Raising from his desk, with tired, booted feet he trudged to the door and opened it hesitantly. The young lackey straightened upon now being face to face with his Commodore.

His Commodore, who was currently out of uniform and looking more than a touch weary. James' chocolate mane shaggy and just brushing the tops of his shoulders, a hint of stubble lined his strong jaw. Stripped down to no more than his shirt and breeches, he found his state hardly appropriate to be in her company.

"At ease," his voice gruff from having gone the last few hours without speaking, his tone was soft. "What is Miss Francis requesting?"

"You, sir."

James expelled a deep, heavy breath. He didn't answer, unable to fathom anything that was worth uttering. He then tossed his chin, silently dismissing him. As he watched the young man's retreating back, he stood still in the doorway for a beat. Stalling.

Summoned by the lady herself at an ungodly hour. Why am I not the least bit surprised.

-

It didn't take James long to arrive at his quarters. Giving a cursory rap of his knuckles, he waited for an invitation that didn't come. Clearing his throat, he knocked once more.

"Miss Francis? It's Commodore Norrington. You sent for me?"

No answer.

James frowned, his heart-rate spiking erratically. He was a calm, even-keeled man. Generally. However her lingering unresponsiveness conjured the worst possible cases. Pausing for a moment with his large palm wrapped around the knob, it twisted beneath the weight of his hand, as if she left it unlocked just for him.

Drawing strength from another deep breath that flared his nostrils, he shook his head at himself as he pushed the door open, and stepped inside. Trepidation stiffening his movements, he shut it behind him in haste. As if somehow concerned about his image and propriety's sake, should he be seen entering quarters this late into the evening the whole crew knew was occupied by their female guest.

Who, to his watchful eye, was no where to be seen.

His brows pulled forward in alarm. "Miss Francis?" He moved further inside, towards the dead center of the room as he looked all around him, tossing his chin over his shoulder to see if she wasn't in one of the far corners behind him. He called aloud once more, forgetting himself. "Joanna?"

Only then did he hear from behind the closed door to his left, the soft croon of her voice. It could have just been a cruel trick of his imagination, but it sounded headier than usual. Cracking beneath the weight of her words as if trepidatious herself, she beckoned. "I'm in here."

James clenched his jaw, his rigid form now frozen in place. On the other side of the door from him, the one that concealed her, just so happened to be where his washtub was.

She wouldn't-no, she couldn't possibly be...

James walked up to the door before halting. His hands hung like dead weight at his sides, as he gave a hardened glare at the door knob he refused to grab ahold of.

"Is something the matter? Are you well?" He fought to maintain his professionalism, his proper cadence. He prayed fiercely to his God, if he was listening, to take mercy on him and the weaknesses she exploited.

"I am well, thank you." He heard her respond with a breathy titter, followed by a beat of silence before she spoke up once more. "I beg your pardon for being so forward, Commodore, but if you'd be so kind as to indulge a lady's request, I do believe I just invited you to come in."

All of the air in his lungs left him at once, deflated with defeat. "As you wish." He spoke quietly to himself, just above a whisper, his voice was hoarse with unease. Mustering the courage needed for an unknown adversary, James opened the door and let himself in.

When his eyes fell to her, he could have whimpered like sick dog, very much feeling like when. His suspicious regrettably confirmed.

Almighty God in Heaven you must have forsaken me long ago, this woman is trying to kill me.

Joanna's eyes met his immediately, laying sprawled in his washtub, her expression sultry. A cloud of foam coated the steaming waters surface, teasing him further still with the parts of her still hidden from him. The lighting was dim, a few candles scattered around her illuminated the sharp lines of her cut jaw and cheekbones, and the suggestive sparkle in her eye.

He could see nothing from the clavicle down, but still, James fought his gaze from drifting so much as an inch below her chin.

Her lengthy waves of rich chocolate hair were spooled and pinned in a lose bun atop her head, errant strands whisping down her forehead and clinging to her damp, slender neck. Delicate, gold earrings in the shape of tear-drops, the very ones he saw her wearing when they first met at port and every day since, dangled from her earlobes.

Her feline eyes pierced straight through him, commanding him to halt in place with no more than a coy arch of her sharp brow. Her eyes were the warmest and richest brown he had ever seen; when out on deck, the tawny richness was brought to the surface and glimmered in brilliance at the suns behest. But now, in the glow of the moon and alight by no more than a few flickering candles, her orbs were as dark and bewitching as midnight.

It was then he spotted the half empty goblet of red wine at her side, and things clicked into place. A young woman such as herself inviting a man, of his rank and position no less, into the room as she bathed was bold, even for her.

"I don't suppose you fetched me to refill your wine?"

To his biting sarcasm, she smiled. She had learned that even though his delivery was always quite serious, he wielded his dry wit with the same practiced ease as his small sword. The full pout of her lips curved deliciously. "Thank you for the offer, but no, of that I'm quite capable." She then looked him up and down, her smile deepening as she simpered. "My my, I've never seen you so... informal before, Commodore. You're even more fetching outside of your uniform as you are in it."

He swallowed, hard, and prayed the dimmed lighting concealed it from her sight. I could say the same about you. He ignored her schmoozing, as he did her attempts to be playful.

"Miss Francis." He regarded her with as much of his signature dry regality as he could muster. But he could feel his reserve, along with the blood in his body, flush away in a wave of heat.

She took a deep breath, the motion visible to him by the way her carefully concealed bosom heaved beneath a blanket of foam. She returned his greeting, a great deal warmer than his own. "Commodore Norrington."

The way she uttered his title, breathless and a hint teasing, almost made him groan aloud. This woman was a challenge, one he could only match for so much longer.

"You summoned me?"

"I didn't pull you away from something of great import, I hope?" The words seethed from her delicate pout, aromatic with inebriation and sinfully goading. He stiffened, the sea-green of his irises alight with intemperance. Willing himself stronger. Willing himself to keep his stare level with her own, lest he fall prey to her temptation, and allow it to dip below her glistening collar bone.

"Miss Francis," he began sternly, his verbiage more firm with her than she had yet to experience. "At the expense of sounding ill-mannered, and for the sake of your decency, I implore you to state your business with me posthaste."

Her lips lifted in an amused smile. "The sake of my decency?" She parroted, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue. Slow and not without provocation, James was sure it was deliberate. An act of defiance against his steel resolve. "If my decency is something you hold in such high regard, why do you continue to stand here, now?" He could have screamed. She continued, pressing with the threat of a smirk spilling across her wine-blushed face. "You knew where I was when I called for you, and still you came. Why?"

"It is my understanding that as your escort, you became my responsibility. The moment you were entrusted to my care, should you have any needs or grievances, my duty is to see to them." His frustration thick on the deep baritone of his voice, he didn't even try to hide it. "I am here now simply to uphold said duties."

He wasn't cross with her, so much as he was himself. As he stood there, having to endure the sight of her in such a salacious manner, his very being throbbed with agony. Everything he thought prior about her perhaps looking to him in all of his authority to break her, he then rescinded. It was she was sought to break him, and he had never endured such brutality, even in all his many years in the navy.

None of it had prepared him for the likes of her.

"Oh," She began, just above a whisper, "I see." Joanna was quiet for a moment after. Her arm then breached the surface of the water, reaching over with suds clinging to her hand, she lifted her goblet from her side and stole another lengthy sip. When she set it back in its place, she flicked her gaze back to him. The exacting fire alight in her, reflected by the light of the candle; dancing across her pupils in a wild, vibrant gleam. "I commend you on your steadfastness, Commodore, even at the.. expense of my decency."

"I can assure you, madam, I hardly expected to find you-,"

The words died on his tongue mid-tirade. She pulled another unforeseen stunt. She stood up.

Little but fierce. She stood before him, bared in all her glory. Honeyed flesh wet and glowing. Perfumed bubbles stuck to her curves and taut musculature, dripping down the length of her with the bath water that ran down her limbs, and the flattened muscle of her abdominals in rivulets.

James didn't budge, however wicked her final move was.

He wasn't one to surrender; on the battlefield or otherwise. He commanded authority and control in all situations, and held it close to the chest. He wouldn't bend the knee to her so easily. Now locked in this power struggle, his sense of dominance was reinvigorated.

Her petite hands balled into fists, she planted them on her hips.

"Commodore Norrington, make no mistake, I was not at all insinuating any nefarious intent on your behalf, I'm very well acquainted with your nobility. Which in fact brings me to my business with you. During our time together I have tired of this game we play, and so hoped that you would have taken charge of the situation by now. But seeing as though you're far more stubborn than even I, it's become clear that it is up to me to cut to the chase."

If every fiber of his being wasn't at attention to seeing her as bare as a woman could possibly be, he would have been broken by this exchange. He was almost at a loss for words, not knowing where to even begin. "What then, I ask once more, is it that you require, Miss Francis?"

"You."

James blinked. He could have cackled, mirthless and incensed, if he wasn't so dumbfounded. As if unwilling to believe his own ears, he countered. Not in question, not a request, but an exhausted demand. "I beg pardon."

Joanna persisted, her liquid courage notwithstanding. "I require you."