Author's Notes: Sometimes a negative can be turned into a positive.

I received a PM from user by the name of Vega Elettra. I had already recovered the story, but the message had turned the tide of my resolve. After reading that message, and having the resulting feels from it, I realized that I owe you all better than that junk I pushed out as Chapter 11 before. So thank you for that, Vega. I appreciate your reviews as well! (I did fix that little thing you pointed out, hopefully it makes sense now.)

I was ready to give up on this story, and I can't tell you now how silly that was. As one of my former employers used to say, Failure is not an option. And so I continue. I apologize for deleting the story. That will not happen again, even if it ends up with 0 followers, 0 favorites and/or no more reviews. TCW is my baby, and Jess & James are my love bunnies.

In the words of the iconic Ms. Turner, Big wheels keep on turning. (Damn it all, now I have the song in my head. Oh well.)

If you read the first version of 11, you'll notice that the first few scenes in this new version are identical. I kept them, because I wanted that transition from the end of "Twins." After Abigail agrees to their "operation," the chapter goes off in a different direction. There will not be any Duke or Duchess, though Lawrence Norrington is coming. There is another character from canon set to make an appearance, and you can tell which one by the chapter name, and...well, you'll see. I am not entirely comfortable with it, so y'all tell me what you think.

And...bring tissues. Part Three has turned into a huge angst fest, and it most likely won't let up if the current rate holds. Now that I really think about it, this is James's "Mother/Mourning" in a way.

There are a couple of moments of violence that worry me a bit looking over them, so be warned. They're not graphic, but just in case, a warning...

* The song that Suzume sings to Jessica is from an anime called Outlaw Star. The song itself is called "Tsuki no Ie." The lyrics I included were not on accident. (An anachronism, but oh well.)

** "after what happened last Christmas...": referring to circumstances around Jess's birthday, an Alternate installment that I need to finish.

*** "so we don't have to have that argument again": See "Gillette/Groves."

****"all of my breeches will have the seats cut out of them in spite": See "Boundaries."

11.0 – Dutchman

In the months that ensued since Shannon and Selene's departure, things shifted in the Norrington household. With the new additions, the Commodore decided that their current space could not accommodate everyone. Shortly after his birthday that January, he and his wife went house-hunting. With military-like precision, the duo found a slightly bedraggled house a little further out of town at a reasonable price. With Samantha's carpentry skills, Kaneshi's artistry, Will's blacksmithing and the assistance of the Gaia House children's many though small hands (under the direction of a healed Helen King), the renovation of their new house moved faster than they expected.

At sunset on a cool April evening, the Commodore stood in the front yard, watching as his wife, their friends, and family put the final touches on their new home. Will Turner chattered with Kaneshi about the hinges he was putting on the front door, his voice and face radiating an artisan's pride. Suzume discussed the flowers she had planted in the front yard with Elizabeth and Claudia. Samantha, Gretchen and Jessica oversaw the unloading of the last of their belongings by the children.

When she caught sight of him, the world paused on the weight of her gaze. He had been away for a few weeks on assignment, and he found returning to Port Royal more satisfying than before she had entered his life. Moments later, she shoved the box she had been carrying in Gretchen's arms and lifted her skirts. She moved expertly and quickly around everyone and across the yard. He braced himself for impact, but she surprised him, instead she circled him and embraced him from behind. Warmth spread as she brushed his ear with her lips in greeting.

"Coming along isn't it?" he murmured.

She chuckled. "Darling, you are the King of Understatement. We're done. It's finished."

Surprise took over James's features. "What? Honestly?"

"Take a look at the splendor, Your Majesty." She stepped to his side and put two fingers in her mouth. The whistle cleaved through all conversation and play and everyone looked at them. "Lieutenant King! Lieutenant Vargas! Front and center, please." Helen and Abigail, barely containing their excitement, came forward. They paused in front of James and Jessica and saluted crisply. Jessica and James returned the salute. James found himself very impressed with the girls' form and mildly disappointed he could not recruit them in a few years. "At ease, Lieutenants. I have a very important mission for the two of you. Would you be up for the task?"

"We serve under your command, Captain Norrington," Helen remarked. "We are ready for anything and everything you ask of us." Jessica's mouth twitched and she shared a satisfied glance with her husband, who shook his head very faintly. Of course she would milk the whole Captain Norrington thing for all it was worth.

"I expected nothing less from you two." Jessica gestured to her husband. "Would you be willing to present to the Commodore the fruits of your labor?"

Helen broke form for a split second, not able to suppress her excitement. "Would we?" Jessica tilted her head and the child cleared her throat. "I mean, yes, Captain. As you wish."

Abigail spoke then. "Would you accompany us, Commodore Norrington?"

"Of course, Lieutenants. Lead the way." He threw a look in Jessica's direction before walking off and she merely smirked. Yes, he was glad to be home.

Later on, when they were settled in their new bedroom, Jessica sighed suddenly, making James frown.

"Jess? What's wrong?"

Jessica disentangled herself from his arms and rose to a sitting position. Her long mane of dark hair framed her face and coupled with her uneasy expression made her look younger than a woman of nearly thirty. She folded her legs under her, and her knees were hidden under her long nightgown.

"I've been thinking about something," she began. "It's completely far-fetched, and I don't expect that you will consent to this, but..." She paused to exhale. James shifted into a more upright position himself. "I have been thinking a lot about the discussion we had about...children." James nodded thoughtfully, waiting for her to continue. "Over the past several months, as I have spent time with the children of Gaia House and Abigail, I have found myself coming to grips with the concept of being a mother. You know I am uncharacteristically unsettled with the idea. However, lately I have found myself…" James slowly leaned toward her, eyes filling with something bordering on hope. "…entertaining the possibility more seriously."

"You mean…?"

"Am I wanting to recruit a couple of deck hands onto our fair vessel? I…think I am ready now."

Trying mightily not to show how much this pleased him, he crossed his arms and gave her a bland look. "And allow for me to guess: our children won't call you Mother. To them you'll be Captain Norrington, I'll be the Commodore, and we'll have a house full of Lieutenants."

She hit him with a pillow as he smirked. "You may find that amusing, sir, as if I would jest, but I wouldn't have it any other way."

He placed a hand on her thigh and traced wide, idle circles on her nightgown. She raised an eyebrow at the look in his eyes, a subtle come-hither look that she found endearing. "When were you wanting to commence said…recruitment?"

She tossed the pillow aside and climbed into his lap. He found his attention wavering fractionally as her warmth radiated through the cloth of his nightshirt between them. "The part of this that I would like for you to consider is a bit…different than we originally discussed."

He inclined his head. "Different? In what way?"

"Well…" She peered at him hesitantly. "The effort wouldn't be so much physical…but legal."

As he tried to calculate her meaning, his eyes searched her face for clues. She stared at him wordlessly and then gave the slightest of nods. He leaned forward again, his hands grasping her hips, and his features slackened with astonishment.

He inquired in a grave tone, "Are you sure you want to do this?"

She answered, "Only if you are on board, Commodore." She placed her hands on his shoulders and fixed him with a penetrating stare that underscored her sincerity. "We are a team. I know sometimes it doesn't seem I understand that, but this time your approval has never been more important." Her hands slipped down and she clasped them between them, trying to assume more resolute stance. "So lay it out, darling. Pros and cons."

They'd had a similar talk about finding the new house. He had admitted to her that he appreciated the process, so she promised they would utilize it more often. "All right, Captain. Pros and cons."

The next morning, the Commodore and Captain outlined their plans with their sole Lieutenant during breakfast. Everyone else was occupied in other parts of the property, so the discussion happened in relative private. At the end of their private discussion, they had agreed there was one last person that had approve of their venture before they advanced to the next step.

After hearing the proposal, the violet-eyed Lieutenant Vargas peered at her superiors over her tea and gave a solemn nod in agreement.

The Commodore and the Captain shared a look. The Operation was a go.

Jessica invited the extended family over for a huge dinner once Helen King legally became an official part of their new household. She planned the meal meticulously, making sure to include all of Helen's favorite dishes and include any touches that would make her feel at home.

The night of the dinner arrived with clear skies and balmy breezes. Jessica was thankful for the weather conditions as she had decided to have the dinner outside in the backyard. Kaneshi and Will had rigged a canopy to go over the splendidly arranged table, and with the light from candles and lanterns, she had achieved an intimate, elegant atmosphere.

She was arranging the main course on one of the trays when she felt a kiss on her temple. Her lips curved into a smile.

"We have to be more discreet, my husband could catch us," she quipped.

"I beg your pardon," James began, not exactly catching her joke.

She laughed and turned to face him, placing her hands on his shoulders. She rose on tiptoe to place a light kiss on his lips and then pulled back to stare at him. "Darling, are you here to assist? If not, then go entertain our guests. You're distracting me."

His eyebrows rose. "And how am I a distraction, Mrs. Norrington?"

She gave a lazy shrug and placed a hand on his chest. She lifted it to trace the embroidery on his ecru-hued waistcoat. "Well, you are out of uniform this evening, and perhaps it's because I'm thinking about how satisfying it would be to—"

A cry of pain came from the doorway, and the duo turned abruptly to find Kaneshi with a hand over his eyes and reaching out frantically with the other. "My eyes! Your disgusting show of affection has burned my eyes!"

Both the Commodore and the Captain rolled theirs but disentangled themselves.

"This going outside now?" James asked in a business-like tone, gesturing toward one of the trays.

"Please," Jessica responded, and he hefted it to take away. Kaneshi, now leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest, shook his head at James as he passed. Jessica picked up the last tray and crossed the room.

"The only thing saving him from losing his manhood for pawing all over you is the fact that he seems to be an honorable man," Kaneshi informed her.

She slanted him a look as he fell into step beside her. "As much as I appreciate the protectiveness, I would appreciate it greatly if you would leave him alone in that regard. Not only can I handle myself but…" She paused to watch him interact with Helen and Abigail, a soft, adoring smile on her face. Helen had a pinched look to her features as she stated she hated wearing a dress, and James smoothly explained how this was like a game and the gown was her uniform. She seemed to like that better. "I think I might like to have that man's children someday."

Kaneshi looked distinctly green. "Please do not mention coupling in the context of you and the Commodore. I would like to retain my appetite this evening."

She gave him an impish grin, olive eyes twinkling. "So then I suppose you don't want to know what I plan to do to him tonight when everyone is asleep—"

Kaneshi cursed loudly in Japanese and strode outside shaking his head. Suzume scolded him for being disruptive as he plopped down fuming into his seat next to Gretchen. Jessica's sisters and Elizabeth laughed while Will and Governor Swann looked perplexed. James just stared at her sternly; he knew his wife had been responsible for Kaneshi's outburst. She returned the look serenely, not saying anything as she passed with the second entree tray.

The Captain and Commodore were at opposite ends of the long table. To Jessica's right were Suzume, Governor Swann, Jasper, Abigail, Kaneshi, Gretchen, and Samantha. To James's right were Gillette, Cynthia, Groves, Helen, Claudia, Elizabeth and Will. James and Jessica both passed the dishes to their right and the passing concluded when they had received the platter from the other end.

The Commodore and Captain watched the guest of honor carefully. After she had surmounted her discomfort over the foreign clothes, Helen seemed to enjoy herself a great deal. She and Abigail laughed at tales from Groves while the other adults conversed around them. Jessica noted that Claudia added a teasing comment toward the Lieutenant here and there, and when the two adults looked at one another, something hummed between them.

When James caught Jessica's eye, he raised his eyebrows in question. She raised a single eyebrow and nodded toward Groves, Helen, and Claudia. His gaze slid in their direction and he watched carefully. The ghost of a smile flirted with Claudia's lips. He recognized the look in Claudia's eyes for he couldn't see Groves's face very well. He leaned back into his chair, frowning, and looked to his wife. She raised her glass and passed him a knowing grin.

After the main course had been completed, Jessica nodded at Suzume and Cynthia, and the trio rose to gather the empty plates. In the kitchen, Cynthia separated the plates and silverware while Suzume and Jessica uncovered the cake. Suzume pressed the candles into the icing. Jessica handed Cynthia a stack of clean plates with forks and the blonde left to go pass them out.

Suzume placed the last candle and nodded approvingly. Forcing herself to inhale and exhale as excitement fluttered in her belly, Jessica grinned like a child and struck the match. She lit the candles one by one. When they were all aflame, Suzume squeezed Jessica's hand. The two women shared a look over the flickering light before Jessica picked up the cake to carry it out.

They returned to the table, walking carefully. Cynthia was lowering herself into a chair when Jessica and Suzume appeared. She grinned and nudged Gillette as if to say, Look! He gazed in the same direction and uttered a soft exclamation. As the others noticed what was happening and the chatter ceased, Jessica paused off to Helen's side. She smiled down at the young girl and placed the rectangle of cake in front of her.

A slight frown marred Helen's brow. "You baked this for me?" she asked incredulously.

Jessica knelt down next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Don't act so surprised that a girl such as yourself is worthy of such a gesture." She peered into the girl's face earnestly, moving an errant auburn curl. "I know it's not your birthday, and it's not Christmas—but this day means as much to us, even more in some aspects."

Her mouth twisted into a smirk as an idea blossomed in her head. "And it turns out that the Commodore told me earlier in the evening he wanted to say a few words."

She turned to him and raised her brows. His eyes narrowed fractionally, but he wouldn't back down from a challenge. Clearing his throat, he pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. As he smoothed out his waistcoat, Jessica peered across the table at Abigail and gestured for her to come over. Abigail vacated her chair and swiftly rounded the table. Jessica secured Abigail under her other arm. When she was settled, they looked to the Commodore like the rest of the guests.

"I suppose I had better keep this short, because wax has an awful aftertaste." James paused as the chuckles came and faded out. "The journey of life is adept at showing us that nothing ever goes as planned or as intended. When I came to Port Royal aboard the Dauntless thirteen years ago, I had a list of things I wanted to achieve. No, I haven't achieved everything on the list, and please do not ask me to disclose what remains.

"As I look around at the faces of those who have come here to celebrate with us this evening, I realize one thing that I have attained, whether it was by design or not, is a group of people that I consider family." He quieted then and gestured to his wife. "Most of you are here because that woman right there brought you with her, and at first I wondered why she didn't leave you at home." Gretchen snorted and that prompted laughs from everyone. "As time has passed, and some of you became less vexing"—"You're welcome," Kaneshi quipped at that moment and more laughter ensued—"I realize that she considers you an important part of her life, and in sharing you with me, she has given me the means to build something of my own." He looked to the girls then, affection in his gaze. "Abigail, Helen—do not believe that you exist within this house solely because of the Captain's influence and affection. In truth, I regard you both very highly, and I believe you both deserve a loving home. Not to mention, I am eager to witness you grow up into the fine women I know you will be."

Cynthia sniffled loudly then, and Gillette wordlessly handed over his handkerchief. She blew her nose noisily, and Claudia and Elizabeth had to fight the tears from bubbling up.

"And to that end, it's probably a good time to blow out the candles before they completely melt," James said, feeling a mite awkward with all of the emotions he had stirred up.

"That was definitely short, Commodore," Samantha teased. "At this rate I might as well chew on a candle."

"Oh hardee-har-har," James countered sardonically.

Jessica nudged the girls closer to the cake. "All right, Lieutenants. On the count of three. One—"

"Can I make a wish?" Helen interrupted.

Something about that statement made tears spring to Jessica's eyes. She squeezed the young girl's shoulder. "Of course, you can." Helen smiled at her, her expression pure and devoid of insouciance. Jessica looked back to the cake. "Here we go… Everyone on the count of three—"

They all joined in the count, jubilant voices raised in unison.

One—

Two—

Miles and miles away, on a ship with a crew pressed into unearthly servitude, a dark-haired woman struck a match for the third time to light her lantern.

The air was damp and she feared the fire would die again. She slid her tongue between her teeth and kept her hand steady. The tiny flame flickered to life, and she carefully applied it to the wick inside the glass. She held her breath. Moments later, a tiny globe of golden light filled the dreary space.

Satisfied, she closed the glass door to protect the flame and lifted the lantern, handle-first. She glanced around the cramped room, eyes sweeping over the hundreds of books stacked up against the wall she had been given during her stay and over the small table and chair she had, and wondered where her timepiece had gone. The dull gleam of the circular metal showed upon a nail above her tiny bed. Crossing the wood to retrieve it, she checked the tiny watch she was bestowed nearly a decade ago.

It was 11:56. Nearly midnight. In four minutes, she would be freed from these confines to make her rounds.

She went to the stack of books and chose the one she had begun reading the evening before. Her worn shoes made little sound over the swish of her second-hand rust-colored gown. She wrapped herself in a dark cloak on her way upward, attempting to ward off the clammy chill that had settled into her bones. She ignored the skeletons in the walls, the grime that covered every surface of the ship, no matter how hard they scrubbed.

Thirty-three years of drab, damp, and dirty became the norm after a while.

She reached the upper deck on the stroke of midnight as if like magic, and the breeze fluttered a few tendrils of curly dark hair that had gotten loose from her sedate bun. The clink-clank of the chain links binding her to the vessel hitting the wood heralded her approach.

A group of crewmen surrounded a makeshift table, in the midst of a rowdy game of Liar's Dice. They paused in their argument and greeted her as she passed. She greeted them back with an undertone of affectionate censure, much as a mother would. Their unnatural forms, much like the décor, no longer shocked or repulsed her.

"Good evening, ma'am." The rough voice of Jimmy Legs from the wheel had her turning. The bo'sun frightened her a great deal when she had first come aboard; his form was absolutely terrifying, but after being exposed to the sight for such a long time, she found it only mildly off-putting. The more she learned about these men and their curse, she more she was inclined to treat them like they were human.

"Good evening, Jimmy," she returned. "Uneventful night so far?"

"Quiet as the depths," Jimmy responded. That meant they hadn't come across any other ships that evening. She was secretly thankful; coming across vessels containing men close to death inspired thoughts of the little boy who had grown up without her to command a ship of his own. She feared the day she would discover his face among them.

She turned away and nearly ran into Maccus, the ship's first mate. He was one of the few among the crew of the vessel that she was sure loathed her presence. Time had taught her not to mind.

"The Captain requests your presence in his quarters," Maccus told her with a sneer.

Oh did he? she mused, but outwardly she merely gave a responding nod. As she picked up her skirts and began to turn, Peabody, a recent addition to the crew, lumbered up with a hopeful expression.

"Will you continue with the book if you have time?" he inquired.

She had been reading a group of them Gulliver's Travels for the past several nights. She opened her mouth to respond, but Maccus glared at Peabody and he scampered away. Tight-lipped, she laid a fulminating glare upon Maccus, shaking her head as she walked away.

The Captain's quarters were located almost directly above her head. Some nights, before she was able to roam free, she could hear Davy Jones playing heart-wrenching ballads on the gargantuan pipe organ. It was covered in coral as if the sea rose up and sought to claim the instrument, but gravity was being stubborn about allowing Her to possess it. She suddenly realized that the entire ship was similar in that matter—of the sea but reluctant to be consumed by Her.

He was playing again at this moment, and for a beat, she permitted herself to be sorry for him. For only a beat—and then she pushed open the double doors separating the Captain from his crew.

He didn't turn as she entered. She walked down the middle of the large, open room, lantern and book still in her grasp. She watched his form undulate on the bench with the rhythm of the music, and the tentacles that dangled from the lower part of his face like a beard danced over the keys.

"Well, well, well—if it isn't the Librarian of the Underworld."

She raised an eyebrow, choosing not to respond to the scorn in that comment. "You rang, Captain Jones?"

He didn't spare her a glance. "Make yerself useful, Librarian. I'm in need of my pipe."

She didn't even question the order. She went to the small cupboard and removed a jar that contained his pipe tobacco. The creature that was Davy Jones confounded her. He had treated her mercilessly when circumstances initially landed them in each other's acquaintance, locking her away in the small room she came to make her domain. Those who had felt a bit of pity for the pale, dark-haired woman who seemed to be exempt from the curse that afflicted them had smuggled her things over the years until suddenly Captain Jones began to notice her.

Their dynamic developed into begrudging acceptance. He had witnessed her parting with her son, the most beloved person to her in the world and understood her pain. She heard, through lore and legend, that he had suffered a great tragedy as well.

Enough that he took out his own heart.

Most of this she had learned from the crewmen. Some of it she picked up from stories she had been told. The rest she had learned by observation. A creature bereft of any feeling would not be playing a tune that made the listener want to weep.

She prepared the pipe how he liked it and set it where he could retrieve it. As she turned away to replace the jar, he spoke again.

"It confounds me that yer still in my midst, Librarian." The weighty tone of his voice indicated that he did not merely mean her presence there at that moment.

"It's not as if you've made it easy for me to leave," she shot back wryly, lifting the sullied hem of her gown to reveal a pale, bruised ankle embraced by iron. His eyes flicked down toward the clinking metal before he grunted and went back to playing. The eerie chords filled the room again, and she crossed the grimy wood in her damp shoes.

"Ya must wonder how he's doing." She glared at the jar of tobacco, wondering what possessed him to antagonize her this evening. "After all, he's yer only son. I saw how much ya loved him the moment ya put his life over yours."

She whirled, green eyes filled with irritation. Not matter how much it seemed he tolerated her after all this time, he never tired of jabbing her with the idea of her only child. "Tired of my company already, Captain? If you want me to leave, just say so."

The music abruptly ended again, and in a flash he was in her midst. He was so close his tentacles brushed her arm.

"Would ya like me to release ya from our bargain, hmm?" His gaze was penetrating but she forced herself not to waver underneath it. "The choice to set ya free is no possession of mine." His cold claw took her hand and opened her palm. Her skin was so translucent the veins underneath showed like hundreds of tiny rivers on a map. She tried not to be horrified; the longer she remained aboard, the paler and more ethereal she became. "It's here, in ya palm, waiting to be taken." He leaned in closer. "Do ya want to be free?"

She was not dense; if she said yes, she would depart this Earth for good—and her son would take her place. The past thirty years would have been for nothing. She preferred being propelled by a purpose. The ultimate purpose. To give life to another.

The image of a six-year-old face filled with anguish and terror surfaced in her mind's eye, but she banished it quickly. What I wouldn't give to see him again—

He hissed her name, rolling the Rs as if savoring the texture of them on his tongue, and snapped her from her reverie. She slipped her hand from his grasp and reached for the pipe to hand him.

"I am a woman of my word, Captain Jones." She lifted her chin, a silent gesture of challenge. "Our bargain, as it did yesterday and will tomorrow, still stands." You won't rid of me that easily."

He placed the pipe in his mouth and bit down on it, his teeth making an audible click. A moment later, he blew a cloud of smoke into her face. She choked on the acrid smoke.

"We shall see," he declared, and then stomped away.

Once the guests had finished with cake, Governor Swann excused himself to return home and James walked him to the door. Filled with sugar, Abigail and Helen experienced a rush of energy. Luckily Gretchen, Samantha and Kaneshi were spry enough to take them on. Jessica moved to clear the plates but Cynthia insisted she and Gillette would take care of them. Jasper was already cleaning the kitchen. Suzume was telling a story to Groves, Claudia, Elizabeth and Will that included elaborate gestures and funny voices. Jessica chuckled at the loud laughter coming from Elizabeth; she'd had a mite too much wine that evening.

She felt arms encircle her waist and she exhaled.

"This was a good idea," she said aloud.

"How'd you know it was me?"

She shifted to look at him. "James. Really? Like I wouldn't know the feel of my husband." He flushed a bit. He was so adorable. She liked making him blush. Certain thoughts in mind, she turned her body until they were facing one another. "And speaking of…" She rose on tiptoe to brush his lips with hers. The contact was so slight, she heard his breath catch. "I would like to demonstrate my knowledge of your dimensions sometime soon."

He flushed even more intensely. "I hope you mean after everyone leaves, Captain."

She shrugged. "Or now, if you'd like. I don't think they'd miss us if we made it quick."

"Jessica Catherine—" He was mortified, especially with Gillette and Groves nearby. He had just gotten everyone to stop looking at him strangely after what happened last Christmas—or rather, what everyone thought happened but had judged correctly because they had unknowingly confirmed it.

She raised a hand in submission. "Okay you win. When the guests are gone, and not a moment before."

Over her shoulder, James noticed Groves glance in their direction and smoothly assumed a more sedate position. She frowned as he stopped at her side and placed his hands behind his back. She put her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow at him.

"You do realize when you act like that, it makes them more suspicious," she informed him.

"Well pardon me for trying to maintain some level of decorum." Suddenly she relaxed her features into a half-smile, her eyes dancing with some parts mirth, and some parts another emotion he couldn't discern. She stared at him for a long time, and the longer she was silent, the more confused he became. He gave her a questioning look, and she leaned in to whisper his ear.

A moment later, his eyes went huge.

"Truly?" His voice was soft, disbelieving.

"Would I lie, Commodore?" she countered calmly.

Turning away from his wife, he abruptly bellowed that it has been wonderful but now all of you need to go home.

Jessica hastily broke in with thanks, and the duo exchanged farewells with their guests. When Kaneshi passed by with a horrified expression, Jessica had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing.

The girls had been tucked into their beds, the dishes washed and put away, and the scene outside tidied except for the tables they had pushed together to accommodate everyone and the canopy; Kaneshi and Jessica would take that down in the morning after breakfast.

Suzume had long retired to her cottage at the edge of the yard, and Kaneshi had ascended to his attic domain. Jasper and Jessica had put the dirty tablecloth and the napkins away to be washed while James had read to Helen and Abigail. All the while, Jessica's admission floated around in both their minds.

She finished first. She went to peek in on Abigail and Helen and found him there, sitting in a chair between the two beds, back to the door. Both girls were sleeping. She placed a hand gently on his shoulder, startling him a bit, and she stepped past him to place a kiss on their foreheads. When she straightened, she turned to James and held out her hand to him. He raised his eyes to her hand before he slipped his around it and allowed her to pull him out of the chair. She drifted out. After a minute, he followed.

When he had settled their bedroom door into the frame, he found her waiting for him. He partially undressed and joined her in their bed. She rose to meet him as he leaned down to kiss her. The meeting of their lips was tentative, fraught with nerves.

When they were both slightly breathless, he pulled away slightly. The open hope in his eyes clogged her throat. It hurt to breathe. Are you sure?

A mere nod. All she could manage.

He pulled her into his embrace and shifted her under him. Through the thin cloth of his shirt, she felt the thud of his heart. She exhaled to slow her own. I'm sorry if this is not the best—

He silenced her with a chaste kiss on her lower abdomen, below her belly button, where he hoped with all his heart a miracle would take place that night. If you are ready, that is all that matters.

He lifted the shirt over his head and melded his body with hers. There were no more words.

They were awoken three hours later by the sound of pounding on the front door.

"What—?" she mumbled sleepily.

"Stay here." More alert than she was, he had disentangled himself from her and threw on something to look presentable. He disappeared, and in the cold the absence of him left, she began to awaken and dress herself. She went out into the hallway and paused at the railing. She listened to the terse exchange her husband had with his Lieutenants, who appeared as startled from their sleep as he did.

To her right, the girls' door creaked open. She turned abruptly toward the sound and found Abigail looking at her apprehensively.

In a swirl of bedgown, Jessica went to Abigail and eased the door open as Abigail stepped back. Jessica closed the door behind her so that their focus would not be on whatever was going on downstairs. She scooped up Abigail and went to Helen's bed. Helen had her knees to her chest and was visibly shaken. She came quietly when Jessica held out her free arm to her.

They sat like that for several minutes. She heard the door open and close downstairs, and a few moments later, her husband's footfalls as he ascended the staircase. When the door opened, she shifted toward it, thinking it was the Commodore. Instead, Kaneshi tiptoed into the room.

"Are they okay?" he asked in Japanese. She nodded. "What's going on?"

Before she could answer, the Commodore, fully dressed, appeared in the doorway. His expression was grim. She couldn't suppress the urge to see him off. She excused herself, and Kaneshi picked up the duties of comforter smoothly as the situation allowed in her absence.

She followed him downstairs, outside, and on the path to the horses that were waiting to take them to Fort Charles. He felt rather than saw or heard her approach. He motioned for Gillette and Groves go ahead. The Lieutenants mounted their horses and departed without any question or hesitation.

They stood in the moonlight, staring at each other. Heedless of watching eyes on their silhouettes, James slid a hand upward to cup the nape of her neck. Grasping her firmly, he brought her forward and pressed his lips to hers. His other hand ended up around her waist. Her hands inched up his back, under the blue brocade, relishing the feel of him. The meeting of their lips shot warmth and regret through both of them. She broke away, intending to say something light, but the words never came.

"You know what to do," she whispered against his lips.

"No question of that, Captain." He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead and then strode away. He mounted the horse and gave her an unwavering nod, which she returned. She watched his back disappear into the night, willing him to return.

She had been scribbling, waiting for midnight to come, when the Dutchman rocked violently and she ended up on the floor, dazed.

It was a seemingly unremarkable evening. She had not seen Captain Jones since their exchange two weeks previous but didn't find that out of the ordinary. He was adept at avoiding her for long periods of time. Not to mention, Jimmy had let it slip that they were making more trips to the mortal world. Their supernatural business was no worry of hers. At least that was what she told herself.

She feared the day she spied her son's face among the seamen they retrieved on the brink of death.

She shook the shock away and shifted to retrieve her papers when another powerful thud had her sliding into a stack of books so hard that they fell on top of her. She pushed them off with a soft curse and rose to her feet. She crossed the tiny room in a few strides and peered out of the porthole, wondering what was going on.

Through the muddy glass, she could see very little. She pulled up the sleeve of her dress to wipe at it and succeeding in making things marginally clearer.

On the other side of the porthole, she spotted three other ships. From her vantage point, their flags were large enough to be distinguishable; there were two Spanish ships against one English. The English ship barely held its own in the onslaught.

Watching grimly, she sent up a quick prayer that some of these men were able to see home again.

It had been a twist of fate that landed him within her sight. She'd had the thought that she did not want to watch what happened next. It had triggered all sorts of memories, including her last moments in the living world. For a split second, she thought it had been her husband. The profile of the man appeared awfully familiar, and the only possibility her bewildered brain produced had been her husband.

But wait, this man was too young to be her husband…

Her breath fled her and tears sprang to her eyes when she figured it out.

She said her son's name aloud and pressed her palm to the dirty glass. His faraway figure moved between her middle finger and her index finger as he fought against a Spanish navy man. Please don't end up here. Fight hard, sweetheart. Your immortal soul depends upon it.

As if Fate sought to torment her, her greatest fear come to life. She sucked in an involuntary breath and let out one anguished syllable: No!

Before her movements had registered, she was banging on the door, clawing at it, willing it to give way and set her free. Her flesh broke under the strain but she ignored the pain. She didn't notice the clock ticking away, reminding her that Midnight had not yet arrived. She only had a solitary thought.

Please don't let him die.

The shot was one of his last, but it felt good to best the man who possibly sent him to death. He felt his legs give out beneath him and when he collapsed to the wood, his bones knocked together in a painful jolt. The adrenaline was fading, leaving agony in its wake. He clutched his wound and felt the warmth of his own blood. This wasn't the first time. But would it be the last?

The world spun, rendering the running, battling figures askew in his vision. He heard someone call his name. A female voice. His brow furrowed. Jess? No, this sounded nothing like his wife. He blinked the sweat from his eyes and looked around. His eye latched on a form in a pale hue standing a distance away.

Her skin appeared as unlined as it had the day…he had last seen her. Her dark hair seemed dark as midnight next to her unnaturally pale skin. The green of her eyes was so intense they nearly glowed. The hue of the blood on her hands also seemed extremely vivid in contrast. Her lips moved but the merciless fingers of unconsciousness threatened to take him, and he lost his hearing for a split second.

He felt a sudden, painful awareness as her voice and recognition hit him at the same time.

Mother?

On the upper deck of the Dutchman, Jones whirled at the sound of the Librarian's voice. He had sent the crew to start rounding up the nearly-dead; with the sheer volume of prone bodies, he had wondered if he had been too late. Now, to make matters worse, she had found her way up here, yelling her head off. Jones's eyes narrowed and his mouth set into a hard line. "Couldn't stay where ya belonged, could ya?"

The Librarian ignored the terrified men being shown onto the ship and focused on Jones. "Leave him alone, Captain," she ordered, her voice carrying over the shouts and the clash of metal. "We have a bargain. You keep me here. He goes free. There is no expiration on that."

His footfalls shook the vessel as he crossed the wood on his peg leg but she clenched her fists at her sides, letting the pain drive away any fear or unwavering. The blood pooled in her palm and dripped from her knuckles, staining her pale dress.

"And what good does this bargain bring for me, hmm?" Jones demanded. "Yeh've been nothing but a thorn in my side for over thirty years."

She regarded him with a glare. "Then it stands to reason you would have gotten rid of me already instead of having to deal with me for so long."

"What's thirty years against eternity?" Jones shot back. "No use in fighting fate, Librarian. He's mine. As it stands, he's been mine all his life." With that, he turned away from her and headed for the Dauntless.

"James, no!" she shrieked.

Her anguished scream broke through the haze of pain and the loss of blood a moment before he found himself staring into the steely blue of Jones's eyes. "Do ya fear death, James Norrington?"

He gritted his teeth against the wave of cold. His mind's eye conjured an image of his wife nodding at him before he left. You know what to do. "That's...a silly question. I fear my wife more. And if I don't come home alive, you'll have to square it with her."

Aboard the Dutchman, the Librarian swiped an abandoned musket and swung it upward. She pointed it in the direction of Jones's back and pulled the trigger before anyone could stop her.

The shot didn't hurt him, but it was enough to shift his attention. Maccus knocked the weapon out of her hand and took her in a vise-grip as Jones appeared, incensed. He stalked toward her as the blast-fractured skin began to knit together before her eyes.

"What'd'ya think yer doing?" he snapped. "Ya can't stop this."

"You can't have him!" she yelled. "You will not take him if I can do anything about it."

He bellowed in anger, shaking the ship. She let out a small gasp of surprise as she followed Jones's gaze and found the spot Commodore Norrington had occupied empty, save for a blood stain. He got away. The surprise morphed into relief. It didn't matter to her what happened next; her son was safe.

Predictably, Jones did not agree. He whirled toward her and lashed out with the vehemence and speed of a viper.

Pain bloomed on her cheek an instant before the darkness swallowed her whole.

Close to dawn, aboard the HMS Providence, Victor Flynn closed the door to the lieutenant's quarters behind him and stood in place for several moments trying to gather his thoughts before addressing the two men who waited in his midst.

It had been a taxing few hours; the remaining crew members of the Dauntless were forced to abandon the vessel and seek passage aboard the HMS Providence. Once they were on the ship, Flynn worked to stabilize the Commodore, and the Providence's naval physician had to offer his assistance. They could tell the ordeal had taken its toll on Flynn by the weary set of his shoulders. However, their concern remained with the man whose blood Flynn had on his sleeve.

"Is he alive?" Gillette asked.

Flynn inhaled deeply. "He asked...he asked..." The doctor shook his head. "I guess he was so close to death that he was hallucinating..."

Gillette shook his head sharply. "No need to emphasize that. I take it by your reply Commodore Norrington remains in the land of the living."

"Barely," Flynn confirmed. "What he needs right now is rest. He's lost a lot of blood, and I fear infection." He forced himself to breathe out. "I think when we reach land, we should send word to his wife."

Groves paled. Gillette remarked, "Perhaps we should revisit that when we do reach land. I don't know about you, Doctor, but I hesitate to worry Mrs. Norrington if there is no reason." They could read between the lines of what he was saying: please don't bring that woman here if you don't have to.

Before Flynn could continue this debate with Gillette, Groves finally spoke. "What did he ask?" he wanted to know.

Flynn faltered noticeably, and several seconds passed before he was able to speak.

When he told them, the two shared a look of utter disbelief before Gillette dropped to the nearest seat and put his head in his hands.

He invaded her dreams without invitation, much like many of the images that assaulted her brain on a periodic basis. The stench of rotting fish clogged her lungs and she couldn't breathe. His voice, a sinister hiss, danced across her skin. She felt the shudder begin at the core of her until her whole body rocked with revulsion and fear.

You don't...evade...

You can't...run...

She awoke with a start, gasping for air. The balmy May breeze fluttered the drapes hanging in front of the open window, and the candle that Jasper left burning for her sputtered out. She raised a small, trembling hand to her cheek where the phantom touch of a slimy, scaly weight still lingered.

She looked across the floor at her auburn-haired roommate, who had not stirred a centimeter. Frightened and wanting comfort, she threw the covers from her legs and scampered out of the dark bedroom.

Her steps were light but quick. She sucked in a breath and held it, trying her best not to make a sound and wake anyone else. She also wanted to calm her thudding heart from leaping out of her chest. She reached the railing and paused at a strange sound. She knelt on the ground in an attempt to hide and peered through the bars at the foyer below. She spied the shadow of her uncle limping into his study and frowned.

The Commodore had left abruptly on an assignment four weeks ago after Helen's welcoming dinner, and her aunt had informed them he would be away for at least eight weeks. Abigail had caught the level of urgency that the matter was enough that the Commodore had to leave quickly.

But why was he home now?

She ran down the stairs as quickly as her small legs would allow, not caring if she made any noise.

He sat behind his desk, head in his hands. She could see the dull gleam of his brown hair in the near dark, and the white of his wig glowed from beside his left elbow. She blinked in confusion, for she rarely saw him without it.

"Uncle James?"

He looked up, startled at the sound of her voice, even as tiny as it was. She remained in place, absorbing his exhausted, pale visage and the fatigued set of his shoulders. She was shrewd enough to tell something was wrong.

The unspoken question hovered in the air, but he merely dropped his eyes and said nothing.

And then a sleepy, lower-pitched female voice came from above her head. "Abigail Josephine, why are you down here? You should be—" The sentence ended abruptly on a choked gasp.

James rose slowly from behind his desk as Abigail whirled to find her aunt, clad in the Commodore's night shirt with a head of mussed dark hair, standing in the doorway. As James rounded the desk, and they spied the state of his blood-stained waistcoat, more color was leached from her moonlit skin.

"James, what happened to you?" Jessica demanded in a hushed tone. She hefted Abigail onto her hip as he came closer. His green eyes were dull with exhaustion and grief as he neared. She reached out to touch the tears in his waistcoat with trembling fingertips. Tears sprang to her eyes when she met his. "Who did this?"

Before he could respond, Abigail, her violet-eyed stare vacant, suddenly uttered a phrase that had them both looking at her in horrified disbelief.

No one escapes the Dutchman.

With Helen's bolstering presence, Abigail eventually went back to sleep, speaking no more cryptic statements. Assured that her niece would rest peacefully now, Jessica closed the window and brought the blanket up to their chins. She placed light kisses on their foreheads before leaving the room.

A bad feeling began in the pit of her stomach as she settled the door in the frame. That sense of foreboding increased as she walked down the hall toward her bedroom. Placing a hand on the knob, she inhaled deeply to steel herself. When she was sure she was strong enough, she opened the door.

When she had left to put Abigail to bed, her husband had still been in the torn waistcoat. She had poured him a brandy and ordered him to finish it before she returned. Shock had not released him and she needed him calm and rational. She had not given him much room to argue.

She peered at him now, leaned against the headboard and nursing the glass she had poured him. He wore his spare nightshirt. By the amount remaining in the glass, she estimated he'd consumed half of it. Small victory, she mused and lowered herself next to him. She itched to embrace him, but he was not ready yet. If she touched him, he would break. They both would.

She exhaled, trying to give herself a moment to figure out where to begin. "There is something I need to tell you…" His eyebrows furrowed faintly. "…about Abigail." He said nothing, silently willing her to continue. "And when I finish telling you this, you will tell me what happened." Pain flickered in his eyes and she firmed her resolve before it could slip. "Understood?"

He gave the barest of nods. She didn't press him for more.

"James, I am not sure if you have noticed, but Abigail is…not exactly an ordinary child," she explained. His head tilted very, very faintly as if to ask, How? "She…possesses what I suspect is a touch of clairvoyance." When he began to look overly dubious, she prompted, "Remember the fire at Gaia House? She woke us up and we arrived not long after it truly began to spread, if you recall. At first I thought maybe she had sensed something because of Shannon but…" She shook her head, incredulous. "It sounds absolutely preposterous but—"

"There are plenty of things I am willing to consider now," James suddenly remarked in a quiet voice.

"So then," Jessica resumed firmly, "you grasp how this appears to me. Abigail, who has been reasonably fine up until this point, has a horrifying dream and suddenly you're home weeks before you're supposed to be, appearing that something has shaken you to your very core." She felt it, saw it, when the jolt of pain went through him. His eyes were vacant much as Abigail's had been some time before. He was adrift on a memory. She watched carefully for any sign she needed to pull him out.

Silence fell between them, its weight oppressive. She heard his soft, sharp breaths as he fought against the rising tide of emotion. Instinctively, she reached out. The first cracks manifested upon his face and a tear ran down his cheek.

"She sacrificed herself for me," James said so quietly that Jessica wasn't sure he had spoken until she spotted his lips move. "I should have been the one. He wishes I was."

She sacrificed herself for me. I should have been the one. He wishes I was. The simple statements carried so much grief and self-loathing that Jessica succumbed to the pull and allowed herself to touch him. First, she plucked the brandy out of his trembling hand, and after hastily putting it aside, she took him into her arms.

True to her prediction, they did both break.

By the time Jessica resurfaced at dawn, she had a horrible headache and a low-grade urge to maim.

James Norrington was a man who prided himself on a handful of aspects of his personality. Among those aspects were his poise and professionalism, and his innate ability to compartmentalize when necessary. She understood the effect her love had on him, and as a substance changes properties after coming in contact with something else, the alchemy of who he was had changed. She admired him for many reasons and, much as she hated to admit it, sometimes sought refuge in his steadfast, unbendable nature.

So seeing him so broken, so utterly divested of his defenses, made her want to take up arms and raze the Earth until he was restored to his former self. When he wept in her arms, she wept with him, wishing she could fight this demon in his stead.

As the circumstances stood at this moment, she had no idea what this demon even was. The sense of powerlessness enraged her. She needed to do something. However, without facts, she had no perception of where to begin.

She left James briefly to visit Suzume in her cottage at the edge of the property. Still clad in his night shirt, she ignored her obvious state of undress and padded across the grass in the wooden geta she kept at the door leading to the backyard. The sun had not completely rose, and the world was bathed in a grayish-blue light.

Before she could announce herself, a panel slid open, and Suzume appeared, clad in a black yukata and bearing a shocked expression.

"Mako-chan, daijobu ka?" she asked. Are you all right?

Wordlessly, Jessica shook her head. Suzume ushered her into the space and slid the panel closed.

Suzume asked no questions. After the panel shut them away from the outside world, Jessica's knees buckled and she all but collapsed to the floor. Suzume lowered herself beside Jessica and allowed her to rest her head in her lap. She sang a lulling song in Japanese as Jessica cried softly. The tears came steadily, hinting at a deep concern. Suzume also guessed she was too exhausted to expound any energy on fierce sobbing.

watashi itsuka
kono te no hira de
anata no koto
subete kara mamoritai

Suzume caressed her hair kept her own questions and concerns at bay. She gave the woman she considered a daughter what she needed, knowing that whatever was amiss would reveal itself in due time.

Sometime later, Jessica emerged, her headache calmer but she still felt the strain of fatigue behind her eyes. She reentered the house, removing the geta and placing them in their designated spot. She heard Jasper moving around in the kitchen and headed toward the sound in barefeet.

Jasper took one look at her, noting her swollen eyes and blotchy skin, and his face fell in alarm. "Dear lord," he managed. "Milady—"

"The Commodore is here," she informed him, her voice rough. "He…" She pressed her lips together until the urge to sob passed. She sacrificed herself for me. "Please make sure he is not bothered. I…have an errand to run. I hope to return before he awakens."

"What happened?"

She sucked in a breath. "That's what I am hoping to find out." She placed a hand on the older man's shoulder. "As soon as I have the details, I will explain further, Jasper. But for right now…"

Jasper gave her a nod. "No explanation necessary, Mrs. Norrington. I will take care of him."

She squeezed his shoulder, gratitude mingling with the grief on her face. With that, she released her hold and walked away. Jasper watched her retreating back, worry gnawing a hole in his belly.

When she arrived at Fort Charles, the somberness was palpable and alarming.

She ventured to her husband's office, not wanting to get in the way, and waited. She guessed from the obviously thinned ranks that something tragic had occurred, but the event of the Commodore's wife visiting would make it to certain ears and she would be receiving a visit from—

She had paced the same steps in and out at least a hundred times and named all the constellations in alphabetical order up to Orion when the door opened abruptly.

She turned slowly after the door settled in the frame. She found herself face-to-face with a bruised and battered Gillette and Groves. She could discern from the set of their shoulders that neither had slept since they had returned to Port Royal. The three of them merely stared at one another for several moments, unsure where to begin.

"How many?" Jessica inquired, voice still rough from no use and bouts of crying.

"Too many," Gillette responded simply.

"The Dauntless?"

"At the bottom of the sea," Groves answered.

She closed her eyes and folded her lips together to keep from trembling. Suddenly her husband's grief began to make a little more sense. She shuddered out a curse on a windy breath, remembering how hard it had been to lose the Diamond and knowing how much the Dauntless had meant to him. She forced her eyes open and took a step closer to the Lieutenants.

"The Commodore returned in a state I have never seen him before, ever. Now you two know him better than anyone, possibly even me." Gillette blinked in surprise at the admission. "I understand how sensitive this predicament is for you. You have lost comrades, you have endured a hellacious journey and the Dauntless is gone." The men shared a glance. "There is more to this than you're telling me."

Gillette dropped his gaze and stared at the floor, jaw clenching and unclenching. Groves turned away for a moment as if to collect himself.

"How bad?" she asked in a near whisper.

Gillette spoke, and Groves finally, slowly turned around. "I can't think of much else that would be worse, in his case." He raised his eyes to hers. "Except for something happening to you." She waited for him to continue. "A hundred miles off the coast of Saint Lucia, we were attacked by a couple of Spanish ships. We were fighting them off when...we saw the Flying Dutchman."

Cold washed over her, stiffening her spine, slackening her features. She could only claim catching a glimpse of the fabled Flying Dutchman once her entire life—and it was merely a glimpse. For them to have seen it unequivocally told her how dire things had been.

"They were close to taking him, Captain," Groves revealed quietly. "We are not sure what happened exactly, but...a woman intervened on his behalf and stopped Davy Jones and his crew."

"He also knew her, and she him," Gillette added. "He said he hadn't seen her in thirty-three years."

A woman he hasn't seen in thirty-three years? Jessica's mouth parted to ask whom it was that intervened, but then his words came back to her, unbidden. She sacrificed herself for me. She. Herself. James Norrington had not felt strongly for another woman other than his wife, Elizabeth Swann, his grandmother and…

"His mother," she realized aloud. She sank down to the settee when her legs could no longer support her. Tears obstructed her vision as the realization became clearer. "Anne Norrington is trapped aboard the Dutchman."

The three of them existed in silence for a few minutes after that revelation. Suddenly, Gillette advised, "He didn't tell us what exactly transpired that…landed her there. He shut it down and shoved it into a corner and barely spoke on the way back here."

"Obviously it happened when he was a child," Groves said. "Because that's when she…"

Meanwhile, Jessica sifted through her memories, trying to recall if James had explained how his mother had died, but she found that, like she had, he had hoarded the information of his mother's demise close to him. He wishes I was. She had a hunch that Admiral Norrington had something to do with that tendency. Or possibly blamed his son for his mother's end.

No one escapes the Dutchman.

She rose abruptly, fragments of perceptions knitting together into a larger conclusion. "You have to tell me everything you remember. And I mean everything. Your approximate location, what you did up until you were attacked—and leave nothing out."

Due to a visit from Suzume's talents, James was ensconced in a dreamless slumber for over a full day.

He awoke at that dark period between night and day. His gritty eyes adjusted quickly in the lack of light, and he could see the outline of his wife sleeping on her side next to him. His hand slid across the cool sheets to touch her. He felt the ends of her dark mane…and the unmistakable fabric of a man's vest.

He sat up sharply, his other hand grasping for…well, he hadn't been sure what. But his muddled brain had somehow known without telling him what to look for; his fingers gripped a match and he struck it against the bedside table, bringing light into the space.

What he saw nearly pushed all of the sleepiness from his head.

Jessica was still fully clothed, even in her knee-high boots. Her threads of choice were the aforementioned vest in dark red, high-waisted trousers in light brown, and an old tunic of his. She slept with her hands under her cheek but he could spy the ink on her fingertips. As if she had been writing. A lot.

He lit the candle so he could see the room better and blew out the match. Stomach filled with dread, he slowly rose, careful not to push himself too hard. He spied nothing amiss within their bedroom, so he shuffled toward the door.

The door opened soundlessly and he sent a silent thank you to Jasper for keeping the hinges oiled. His feet hit the cold wooden floor and he fought off the chill that threatened to travel up his body. He shined his candle into a room that they had not assigned any use. It had become a depository for random objects that didn't fit anywhere else, but he found the room a little more orderly than he remembered.

Curious, he crossed the threshold and entered the room.

The first thing he noticed that some of the chairs from the dining room had been brought in. The crates filled with their belongings had been pushed to the wall to leave the open space. The chairs had been turned to face the wall opposite the door. One of them had a stack of books upon the seat. He read the titles and shook his head. These had come from his study downstairs. He pressed his lips together in disapproval and continued his examination of the room.

When he spied what had been fixed to the wall, the cold he had been fighting off crept up his body and goosebumps broke out on his skin.

Maps. He reached out and fingered the edge of the heavy paper. These are mine as well. That meant that his wife had been extremely active while he had been unconscious. And she had obviously paid a visit to his office at Fort Charles.

She knows. He lifted his hand to a piece of paper that had been pinned to the map, off the coast of Saint Lucia. Where he had nearly died. Sighting, was written in Jessica's hand on the scrap, and several others on the map. The pins were connected with thread. Someone with a skillful hand had tried to plot the phases of the moon with relation to the sightings of the Dutchman. Full moon, he mused. Now that he thought about it, that final skirmish aboard the Dauntless...the moon was indeed in its full phase.

We're a day shy of 28 days since... That meant it would happen again soon.

And the Captain was clearly planning to orchestrate a meeting with the supernatural ship. No wonder she had been fully clothed.

James, no!

Anger and determination rippling through him and he tore the maps from the wall so hard he was surprised they did not rip in half. Pins tinkled to the floor and he ignored them.

He could not allow that to happen.

"He did what?!"

There were few women in the world that inspired fear within the heart of Edmund Jasper. Until this moment, he had thought he had left those fearsome women behind. Now he had to add Jessica Catherine Thomas Norrington to the list.

They were gathered in the dining room. Jasper had just informed the Captain that the Commodore had left the house very early that morning and was, most likely as they spoke, setting off to revisit his mission. Abigail perched in her chair nervously, while Helen watched the outburst with a smidgen of fascination. Suzume and Kaneshi shared a look, wondering if they were going to have to dig a hole in the backyard to bury the Commodore in.

"I'm sorry, milady," Jasper said. "If I had known—"

Jessica sucked in a breath to give herself time to control her emotions and then forced it out slowly. "I am hardly leaving you to blame, Jasper. You cannot control the Commodore." Some of the fury left her face, thoughtfulness replacing it. "You can only challenge him." Kaneshi quirked an eyebrow at the about-face. "Lieutenants, with me."

The HMS Interceptor and the dock beside buzzed with movement. As soon as the Commodore had arrived early that morning, his only focus was to get the Interceptor ready to set sail. Accepting the orders given, his crew immersed themselves in the work without wallowing in melancholy. Instead, the men allowed it to fuel them even though only three of them knew what exactly the mission was.

Commodore Norrington possessed his maps with Jessica's additions and walked aboard with them under his arm. At the thought of the Captain, he felt a pang for leaving her behind without warning, but he knew if he had told her his intentions, she would insist on coming along.

Beside him when the Interceptor sailed away from Port Royal, Gillette witnessed his small sigh of relief.

"How bad do you think it'll be, sir?" he asked. When Norrington frowned a bit, he added, "Will she really be that upset?"

"Oh I imagine when I return—that is, if she allows me back into the house—all of my breeches will have the seats cut out of them in spite." Gillette raised an eyebrow. "But at least she'll be alive."

"I...wouldn't be so sure of that, sir."

Norrington peered at him in bewilderment. Gillette, expression full of chagrin, nodded over Norrington's shoulder. Frowning, Norrington turned and looked in the direction that Gillette had nodded. Gillette watched his face change, expression going from shocked, then slightly scared, and finally to anger.

As Norrington stalked away, Gillette shook his head in consternation at the possible altercation that was to come.

Meanwhile, on the deck below, Lieutenant Groves spotted a familiar mane of dark hair amidst the powdered wigs and tricorn hats. Wondering how he missed this stowaway, he walked up to the woman speaking with two officers.

"The Commodore told us you would be staying home," Groves informed the woman in his midst.

Jessica turned away from Murtogg and Mullroy and regarded him with her arms over her chest. "The Commodore hoped I would stay at home." When Groves looked utterly flabbergasted, she gave him a consolatory pat on the shoulder. "Don't sweat it, mate. If he yells, I will handle him."

"And if I refuse to be handled?"

At the sound of the familiar baritone voice from behind her, Jessica cast her eyes to the sky in exasperation before turning around. Groves cleared his throat and tried to find the fine line between not trying to look and outright eavesdropping.

"You are quite confident in your abilities, Mrs. Norrington," the Commodore remarked in a cool tone.

She cocked an insolent eyebrow at him. "And so are you," she shot back. When irritation flashed in his eyes, she addressed their spectators. "If you would excuse us, I need to speak with the Commodore in private."

When they got to the captain's quarters, Jessica settled the door in the frame. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of slamming it. She gave a short puff of breath and she spoke hurriedly before he could even form words.

"You will not talk me out of this, James Norrington," she told him bluntly. "Nor will you turn this vessel around or find some other crew to take me back to Port Royal."

Feeling close to his breaking point, he stepped into her path. She looked at him with surprise. "Stop," he commanded simply. "You have done enough." Indignation spread throughout her features. "The last thing you will do right now is put yourself in a position where you could land in trouble or worse." She began to protest but he cut her off. "No. I refuse to allow you to be in any danger." He spun away toward the door as her eyes filled. "This mission is mine to execute and I hardly need your assistance which is why I left in the manner I did."

"I am not some hapless female, Commodore." The shakiness of her voice took the sting out of the bitterness in her tone.

He paused with his hand on the doorknob, willing himself not to turn. He knew that if he turned he would see her tears, and he hated seeing her cry. "No, you are the eventual mother of my children and I would like to keep it that way." He squared his shoulders and turned the knob before she could respond.

He heard the sword sliding against the sheath as it came free an instant before he felt the point of it at the side of his neck. "And I can't do a damn thing without the eventual father of mine. So before you tread down that path, Commodore, remember this flows both ways. As much as you would like to protect me—"

"I can't lose you, too," James interrupted through gritted teeth as he turned back toward her. "What do I have to tell you to make you understand?"

His words knocked the wind from her like a blow to the midsection. Jessica slid the sword back into its sheath in a smooth move that was some parts the Captain, some parts the Commodore, and stepped up to him as he turned until they were toe to toe.

"And I hardly intend to let you," she said in a subdued tone. When she saw his jaw relax fractionally, she added with an insouciant tilt of her head, "Do you think you can get rid of me that easily, Commodore Norrington? We've slain dragons, pirate captains, avaricious little men, and personal demons together. I don't think Davy Jones will present much of a problem for us."

The moments eked by, and the more of them that piled up, the more that she became sure she had won. Dropping his eyes to a spot in the vicinity of her belly button, he raised a shaking hand. She watched with bewilderment as he placed his palm flat along her lower abdomen. Conflicting emotions lingered in those olive depths before he pushed them aside. When his eyes raised to hers, he matched her resolve. The gesture and his expression had her doubly confused.

"Promise me. If things start to take a turn for the worst, you will find a way to get to safety," he said.

Oh no. He can't make me— "I won't leave you, James—" she attempted.

"Promise me," he ordered fiercely. "I will not take anything less than your agreement." She opened her mouth to argue but he blurted, "This isn't about just you anymore, Captain."

She faltered, and took half a step backward. His palm slipped from her abdomen and his blank face slipped into place. Her mind raced, attempting to discern his meaning. Abigail and Helen, she realized inwardly. They were still young, and neither needed to lose her. She gazed at her husband's back as he walked away. However, she felt they couldn't stand to lose him either.

He thought of them, too, but he was also considering one other thing.

"We're in accord," she murmured.

She surfaced from the darkness with a jolt. As she raised herself to a sitting position, she felt the weight of iron around her neck coupled with the throbbing of her left cheekbone. Frantically she brought her hands up above her shoulders. Her fingertips discovered the cold metal attached to chains running down her back and she gasped in horror.

"Yeh've no one to blame but yerself, Librarian." She looked up sharply at the voice. She realized she was in Jones's domain. She spied the pipe organ behind him as he stalked toward her. "My rules were clear, were they not? Y'er never to meddle in my affairs. Ya can read yer bloody fairy tales to the crew, baby their hurts and listen to their insipid stories of lives they will never return to—but y'ell never, ever fancy yerself an arbiter of my fate."

"So this was your plan all along." This was not a question. It spilled over her lips with bitter certainty. "You only kept me while he grew up, became a Captain." Bitter tears pooled in her eyes. "You were never going to leave him alone."

"And what sort of bargain didja expect me to keep, Librarian?"

Anne rose abruptly without realizing the move was ill-advised. As soon as she stood on her feet, she was yanked unceremoniously across the wood. She realized belatedly that the shackle on her ankle had been removed.

"Whether or not you agree, you have some degree of honor, Captain Jones," she said in a tone raspy from the strain to her neck. "Otherwise you would have taken my son and raised him here thirty-three years ago to replace you." Something unidentifiable flickered in Jones's pale eyes. "I am attempting to appeal—"

He tightened the chain around his hand and the shackle pressed against her throat hard enough to make it momentarily hard for her to breathe. "Don't bother," he told her. He released the chain and she stumbled back onto her heels, gasping. "If ya haven't already heard...my heart is long gone."

They avoided one another for several hours but oddly kept each other within seeing distance. It was into the evening when she approached him, both frustrated at him for keeping his distance and at herself for having to break the ice.

"You took my maps," she remarked idly.

He kept his gaze ahead of him. "They were necessary. The idea was that I would take care of this, Mrs. Norrington. So yes, I needed them."

"And what would you have had Gillette and Groves tell me if you didn't come back, hmm?" Guilt flickered in those green depths. "If you'd ended up dead?" She swallowed hard, and her voice possessed a slight tremor. "Do you know how much it would have killed me not to say goodbye?"

"This is not the best place for you, Jessica," Norrington told her.

"You still don't get it," she said quietly, shaking her head in disappointment.

"No," he disagreed. "I understand you clearly." He slowly raised a hand to her face and turned her toward him. "You scare me sometimes, Jess. I have no doubt whatsoever of your strength or the fervor of your love for me. In a situation like this, I..." He blinked rapidly and avoided looking at her. "I...don't want to give you the opportunity to sacrifice yourself for me. Not like..."

He couldn't form the words aloud, but she knew whom he meant. His mother, she thought. He was trying to keep her from turning out like his mother. Stranded on a ghost ship without a way out because she had been trying to give him the chance to live.

She thumbed away the pair of tears that had spilled onto his cheeks before anyone could see him. She knew he had his pride. She examined his face, a question on her lips. It tumbled out before she could stop it.

"What was she like?"

He turned back toward the rail, lost in thought. She brushed his hand with hers and much to her surprise he linked his fingers with hers. When he spoke, his voice was soft.

"She was not a woman of many frills. She existed primly, without adornment." His throat moved as he swallowed once, hard. "She carried me like I was the most precious thing she owned." He looked ahead, watching the horizon as they cut a wide swath through the sea. "Her marriage to my father was arranged by their families. She was the only daughter from a wealthy family, and her brothers were already married. My father's father had died not long after he was born, leaving my grandmother to rear him."

"Are you in contact with your uncles?" Jessica inquired.

Norrington shook his head. "They both passed away before I reached adolescence. My mother was nearly two decades younger than her brothers and she didn't have much of a relationship with either of them. I admit I haven't taken the time to find their progeny."

She stared at the side of his face, head at a slight incline. "Would you like to do it now?" He peered at her sharply as if the idea was radical, absurd. She stared back expectantly.

"Sir!" The call from the crow's nest diverted their attention from the past. "There's a ship out there!"

"Is it the Dutchman?" Norrington asked.

"No!" the officer called back. "It looks like...a regular ship, but abandoned, sir!"

The Commodore and Captain shared a look, remembering a similar situation when they were searching for Claudia and Elizabeth, except this time, at least the ship was intact. "I know what you're going to say, Captain," Norrington told her in a begrudging tone.

"Good," Jessica said. "Then we don't have to have that argument again. So why don't you just agree with me and save us some time?"

After a windy sigh, he bellowed the order for two long longboats to go inspect the ship and bring back any survivors. When Jessica headed toward the longboats as if that was where she belonged, Norrington reached out and grabbed her by the shoulder. When she fumed at him, he gave a decisive shake of his head and pointed to the empty spot next to him.

She occupied the spot, but her expression spoke volumes of her unwillingness.

"You say you worry about me, Captain, and alternatively I worry about you. So perhaps it would be safer if we waited here together."

She crossed her arms over her chest and said nothing. They waited for nearly an hour before the longboats returned.

"We found two survivors," Gillette told him as soon as he placed his feet on the wood. "They're bringing the first up now." He turned to watch the progress and couldn't mask the unease he felt. Eyes narrowing a touch, the Commodore tilted his head very slightly and waited until Gillette looked at him again.

"Is there anything else I need to know, Lieutenant?" Norrington wanted to know.

When Gillette didn't respond, instead looking at the Commodore with a meaningful look in his eyes, Jessica cocked an eyebrow and looked back and forth in between them. Norrington walked toward the starboard side of the ship, At that moment, Murtogg and Mullroy helped a slightly shorter young man dressed in a battered midshipman's uniform. At the sight of their commanding officer, Murtogg and Mullroy snapped into ramrod straight stances.

"Report," Norrington commanded.

"This is Midshipman Griffin from the Regnant, sir," Murtogg responded.

Norrington laid a look of concern upon the trembling young man. "Midshipman Griffin, what was the business of the Regnant out here?"

Griffin had no time to answer; a deep, booming voice from behind Murtogg and Mullroy answered the question for him. "Their business, sir, was me."

Everyone stilled as a tall man appeared. He was dressed in a dark blue hue embroidered with gold thread. His powdered wig sat on his head fixed and unruffled by the journey. His cane tapped out an irregular beat to his steps as he neared and finally stopped. Within his lined face, his gray eyes contained a gleam of anticipation. Norrington froze at the sight of him.

"Well, good evening, Commodore," the older man said. "We meet again after far too many years."

Jessica picked up the vibes immediately and looked to her husband with wide eyes, awaiting his reaction. She felt the overwhelming urge to take his hand in a show of support, but she was wary of calling attention to herself without being able to identify why. Behind her and to her alternate side, Groves and the men who had assisted Griffin onto the Interceptor kept their eyes on the older man. For that humming moment before Norrington's response met their ears, the older man maintained his focus on the officer in his midst.

"Father," Norrington said, the one word fraught with years of neglect, insecurity, and bitterness.

The Dutchman Playlist
"Pretty Please (Love Me)" - Estelle
"Take Me Home" - Spice Girls
"Ah" - Superfly
"Tsuki no Ie" - Arai Akino
"Say (All I Need)" - One Republic
"Oh Father" - Madonna

*Someday, I want to
protect you from everything,
cradled in the palm of my hands.

The translation and transliteration of these lyrics are not mine.