The long voyage, its tedium broken only by the dubious blessing of violent encounter, was enough to drive any man to drink. Norrington admired the sailor's work ethic even as he saw him wilt within the constraints of pressed service, so he took Able Seaman Gibbs aside for a word now and then. The other officers never saw anything amiss, and when they put into port, it was under Norrington's eye that Gibbs slipped quietly down the side of the Dauntless. Before he hoisted himself overboard he pressed a small leather packet into the lieutenant's hand; then, with a "Thankee, sir" and nary a splash, he disappeared into the deep waters of the harbor.

Norrington made sure he was safely away from the ship before unfastening the worn ties. Bits of color fluttered to the deck. Catching one, he saw that it was a long, neat strip of ribbon, pink with a wide white band. He stooped to gather the rest, counting fifteen. A few were narrow and dark blue, perfectly suited to tie back his queue. The rest were cheerful and bright, the sort of token a man might give to a lover.

"For whom were you originally meant, I wonder?" he murmured, stroking a green velvet ribbon with white flowers embroidered down its length, the most elaborately decorated of the lot. "And who shall wear you now?"

He had no sweetheart of his own, and he doubted he'd find one sooner than it would take for Mullins or Ornby to discover the ribbons among his things. So he left all but the practical navy strips in Miss Swann's empty cabin. The next morning he was a bit insulted to see her leaning over the railing and flinging them out, watching as the wind twirled them about until they dropped into the white froth of the Dauntless' wake. But quite soon, he forgot about the incident entirely.

It was ten years before the ribbons were again brought to his memory. Elizabeth wore the green one around her neck on their wedding day. It was creased with wear, and several respectable ladies tutted because it matched neither the solemnity of the day nor any of the colors in the chapel. But its stitchery was as pristine as Elizabeth's silk dress, and it looked as lovely to his eyes as she did. After the ceremony, when there was a lull in the exchange of pleasantries with the guests, she pulled it free and tucked it into his coat, her gloved palm lingering against his breast.

"I believe this is yours, Commodore?"

Norrington folded her hand in his own, meeting her dancing eyes with just the hint of a smile. "Actually, it belongs to my wife." My wife, he thought in wonder, not for the first time that day and probably not for the last. "But I will keep it safe for her."

A slight bounce on her heels was the only indication of her desire to throw her arms around him. She restrained herself to squeezing his hand. "See that you do."


2.
The long voyage, its tedium broken only by the dubious blessing of violent encounter, was enough to drive any man to drink. Norrington admired the sailor's work ethic even as he saw him wilt within the constraints of pressed service, so he took Able Seaman Gibbs aside for a word now and then. The other officers never saw anything amiss, and when they put into port, it was under Norrington's eye that Gibbs slipped quietly down the side of the Dauntless. Before he hoisted himself overboard he pressed a small leather packet into the lieutenant's hand; then, with a "Thankee, sir" and nary a splash, he disappeared into the deep waters of the harbor.

Norrington made sure he was safely away from the ship before unfastening the worn ties. Bits of color fluttered to the deck. Catching one, he saw that it was a long, neat strip of ribbon, pink with a wide white band. He stooped to gather the rest, counting fifteen. A few were narrow and dark blue, perfectly suited to tie back his queue. The rest were cheerful and bright, the sort of token a man might give to a lover.

"For whom were you originally meant, I wonder?" he murmured, stroking a green velvet ribbon with white flowers embroidered down its length, the most elaborately decorated of the lot. "And who shall wear you now?"

A cough from behind him made him straighten hastily. Will Turner stepped back, thin arms snugged around himself, a contrite expression on his face.

"I'm sorry, sir. I did not mean to disturb you."

"There is no harm done, William," said Norrington as kindly as he knew how, ashamed of having frightened the boy. "Can you not sleep?"

Will shook his head. His brown eyes were haunted, aged beyond his years, and Norrington's throat tightened.

"Here," he said awkwardly, sticking out his hand. "They were gifts," he explained at the boy's puzzled look, "and I've no use for them. Would you like to choose one?"

His lips thinned, Will nodded slowly. He reached out, drawing his hand back once as if he were afraid Norrington might change his mind. Finally he tugged on the flower-sprigged green ribbon.

"These look like lilies," he said, running his thumb along the velvet edge. "My mother—" Abruptly the light in his face faded. His fist closed convulsively around the ribbon before he gentled his hold, cradling it against his chest with both hands. "Thank you, sir."

"You're quite welcome. Now, you'd best get back to bed."

Over the years, he gave the rest of the ribbons away—blue silk sent to his sister in London, the pink and white for a pretty maid at a Port Negril tavern, gray taffeta passed on to Gillette on the eve of his engagement. Most of them remained in Port Royal, so he caught glimpses of them now and then. He did not learn what happened to the first until much later, when he was surprised to discover it beneath Will Turner's pillow.

"I told you I chose it because it was embroidered with my mother's favorite flower, and that is true," Will whispered, tucked up against him in the narrow cot. "But eventually I came to treasure it because it came from you, and because the color was like your eyes."

Norrington took the ribbon from him and placed it back under their heads, then drew him closer.


3.
The long voyage, its tedium broken only by the dubious blessing of violent encounter, was enough to drive any man to drink. Norrington admired the sailor's work ethic even as he saw him wilt within the constraints of pressed service, so he took Able Seaman Gibbs aside for a word now and then. The other officers never saw anything amiss, and when they put into port, it was under Norrington's eye that Gibbs slipped quietly down the side of the Dauntless. Before he hoisted himself overboard he pressed a small leather packet into the lieutenant's hand; then, with a "Thankee, sir" and nary a splash, he disappeared into the deep waters of the harbor.

Norrington made sure he was safely away from the ship before unfastening the worn ties. Bits of color fluttered to the deck. Catching one, he saw that it was a long, neat strip of ribbon, pink with a wide white band. He stooped to gather the rest, counting fifteen. A few were narrow and dark blue, perfectly suited to tie back his queue. The rest were cheerful and bright, the sort of token a man might give to a lover.

"For whom were you originally meant, I wonder?" he murmured, stroking a green velvet ribbon with white flowers embroidered down its length, the most elaborately decorated of the lot. "And who shall wear you now?"

He had no sweetheart of his own, and he doubted he'd find one sooner than it would take for Mullins or Ornby to discover the ribbons among his things. So he left all but the practical navy strips in Miss Swann's empty cabin. The next morning he was a bit insulted to see her leaning over the railing and flinging them out, watching as the wind twirled them about until they dropped into the white froth of the Dauntless' wake. Her father came up to scold her for wasting pretty things, and he bade her tie the green one around her bonnet.

Nearly fifteen years later, a report made its way to his desk from across the bay. Five pirates had been hanged in Kingston; hardly a remarkable occurrence, but one of them had been a woman, and that always sparked public curiosity. Tall, slim, brown hair bleached by the sun and worn to her shoulders in sailor's fashion. The prosecutor had estimated her age to be between twenty-two and twenty-eight, and her origin was obviously English. But that was about all they knew, for she had refused to relinquish further information about herself or her crewmates.

She called herself Bess, and she died with a ragged green ribbon tied about her wrist.


4.
The long voyage, its tedium broken only by the dubious blessing of violent encounter, was enough to drive any man to drink. Norrington admired the sailor's work ethic even as he saw him wilt within the constraints of pressed service, so he took Able Seaman Gibbs aside for a word now and then. The other officers never saw anything amiss, and when they put into port, it was under Norrington's eye that Gibbs slipped quietly down the side of the Dauntless. Before he hoisted himself overboard he pressed a small leather packet into the lieutenant's hand; then, with a "Thankee, sir" and nary a splash, he disappeared into the deep waters of the harbor.

Norrington made sure he was safely away from the ship before unfastening the worn ties. Bits of color fluttered to the deck. Catching one, he saw that it was a long, neat strip of ribbon, pink with a wide white band. He stooped to gather the rest, counting fifteen. A few were narrow and dark blue, perfectly suited to tie back his queue. The rest were cheerful and bright, the sort of token a man might give to a lover.

"For whom were you originally meant, I wonder?" he murmured, stroking a green velvet ribbon with white flowers embroidered down its length, the most elaborately decorated of the lot. "And who shall wear you now?"

He had no sweetheart of his own, and he doubted he'd find one sooner than it would take for Mullins or Ornby to discover the ribbons among his things. So he left all but the practical navy strips in Miss Swann's empty cabin. The next morning he was a bit insulted to see her leaning over the railing and flinging them out, watching as the wind twirled them about until they dropped into the white froth of the Dauntless' wake.

In the days following Jack Sparrow's rescue and escape, he thought of the lost ribbons every time he met Elizabeth or her fiancé on the streets. One day, less than a week before the wedding, she came to see him at the fort. It was hardly proper for her to shoo his lieutenant out of the office, but he would not have expected anything else.

"I came to return this," she said after making her polite greeting. She drew the green velvet ribbon from her pocket. It was as crisp and beautiful as the day he had anonymously—or so he had thought—given it to her. "I only regret that I did not save the others as well. I suppose I—I never understood their true value."

He looked coolly upon her crooked smile, her anxious eyes, and quite suddenly the last traces of bitterness left him. Reaching out to touch her for the first time since she had given him her word, he closed her fingers over the ribbon.

"It was a gift," he said softly.

Elizabeth, being Elizabeth, persisted. "But if you would like it back—"

"I would like you to keep it. In fact—" He pulled a long, deep breath into his lungs and held it for a beat before letting it go. "It would please me very much to see you wear it on Sunday."

She bit her lip and looked at him as though she had not seen him nearly every day since she was eight years old. "Of course I will, James. Have you any preference as to how?"

"In your hair," he replied immediately, thinking of how it had shone when he'd taken her from the island, remembering her scent. Even now, leavening some fancy French cologne, there was sunlight and salt air. It was a comfort to know that she carried it with her always. Even to a future with another man.

She did wear the green ribbon braided into her upswept golden hair, and Norrington smiled to himself when Turner's breath caught at the sight of her.


5.
The long voyage, its tedium broken only by the dubious blessing of violent encounter, was enough to drive any man to drink. Norrington admired the sailor's work ethic even as he saw him wilt within the constraints of pressed service, so he took Able Seaman Gibbs aside for a word now and then. The other officers never saw anything amiss, and when they put into port, it was under Norrington's eye that Gibbs slipped quietly down the side of the Dauntless. Before he hoisted himself overboard he pressed a small leather packet into the lieutenant's hand; then, with a "Thankee, sir" and nary a splash, he disappeared into the deep waters of the harbor.

Norrington made sure he was safely away from the ship before unfastening the worn ties. Bits of color fluttered to the deck. Catching one, he saw that it was a long, neat strip of ribbon, pink with a wide white band. He stooped to gather the rest, counting fifteen. A few were narrow and dark blue, perfectly suited to tie back his queue. The rest were cheerful and bright, the sort of token a man might give to a lover.

"For whom were you originally meant, I wonder?" he murmured, stroking a green velvet ribbon with white flowers embroidered down its length, the most elaborately decorated of the lot. "And who shall wear you now?"

The only person in his life who might be called a sweetheart had been left behind in England, and ribbons were not suitable for a man anyway. So he left all but the practical navy strips in Miss Swann's cabin. The next morning he was a bit insulted to see her leaning over the railing and flinging them out, watching as the wind twirled them about until they dropped into the white froth of the Dauntless' wake.

When he saw the green ribbon again, twisted into a pirate's hair, he feared for an fleeting instant some curse had enabled the blasted man to dive far enough to retrieve fallen trinkets. But there was no water damage, and that was a ridiculous thought even in regards to Jack Sparrow.

"Where did you get this, Jack?" he demanded, holding onto the braid with one hand and stilling Jack's attempts at caress with the other.

Jack winced. "No need t' pull me hair out, mate! If you must know, I snatched it from a lady's dressing table. Pretty lass. Married to a blacksmith, y'know."

Swallowing hard, Norrington forced back the undercurrents stirred by this stolen vanity of Jack's. He relaxed his grip, but tar-stained fingers caught his hand before he could pull away.

"It was yours once, wasn't it?" Under Jack's keen, dark gaze, he could only nod and close his eyes.

Jack made a decisive noise, then pressed an oddly tender kiss to the bridge of Norrington's nose. Norrington's eyes flew open in shock, to the sight of Jack drawing a dirk from his boot. "Reckon you oughta have it back at last, then," he said, holding the be-ribboned lock out and lifting the blade to the roots.

"No, don't," Norrington protested. Jack's eyebrows rose, but he paused. Feeling his cheeks color, Norrington looked down at the dirty floorboards beneath their feet. "Keep it," he said, his voice harsher than he'd intended. "There isn't much I can give you, I know, and it's hardly—"

"It's accepted graciously and with much affection," Jack assured him, lifting his chin. He studied Norrington's face for a moment, before his eyes sparked and he raised the dirk again. "Now you must allow me t' give you a token in return."

Norrington said, "Oh, that's not necessary," but Jack was already slicing off a smaller braid near his left ear. Norrington stared at him. Jack had not, by his own admission, cut any part of his hair in six years.

"Stop gawping at me, it'll grow back," Jack muttered, scowling. Norrington allowed himself a tiny smile before fixing his face into a serious expression. He took the braid, which was capped by an uneven bit of stone with a hole drilled through it, smoky green and glinting dully in the candlelight. It was cool to the touch.

Jack leaned against him, chin on his shoulder, holding up his hand to admire the gift.

"To call you back to me," said Norrington quietly. Somehow, in that context, Jack ending up with the ribbon made sense. And if anything should happen—well, they'd each have something the other held dear.

Arms sliding around him, Jack replied, "A pretty thought, Jamie, but I need no bit o' shine for that."

And the cloud of impending melancholy lifted from Norrington's mind—at least for a time, and that was truly all he'd ever asked.