Jack stood at the rail, absently tapping at the wood, and thought about luck. He'd never been a stranger to her not inconsiderable charms, however not even he could quite believe the chain of events that had led him here. Yet here he was, back on his Pearl and still smiling when he thought of the look on Barbossa's face.

However luck could be as fickle as she was generous, and after their madcap dash from the Black Islands they'd become becalmed. The longer they'd drifted under the Caribbean sun, the more nervous the crew had become. More than once Gibbs had come to report the latest tale whispered below decks, stories of lost souls and restless spirits. Mere superstitious nonsense fueled by rum and boredom of course; except that Jack couldn't shake the idea that something was wrong, something he couldn't fathom and he didn't much like it. He'd spent hours drifting about the Pearl, stroking, listening, thrilling at the feel of her under his touch, but had seen nothing out of the ordinary.

Until the hold. Barbossa had been busy; it was more than two thirds-filled with barrels and heavy chests, the spoils of least half a dozen raids but again, apart from the furthest lamp burning low, nothing seemed out of place. It was only when he'd turned to go that he'd been startled by a soft noise from the gathering shadows. Pistol drawn, he'd offered up a silent word to any deities that might care to listen, and stepped forward... into silence. Somewhat at a loss he'd stood for a long moment, before laughing softly at himself for having his fool-head turned by his crew's fancies. This time he'd actually reached the ladder before the soft sigh sounded again. Shivering in the now noticeably colder air he'd watched as the furthest lamp winked out, even as the next lamp and then the next began to burn low; the shadows shifting as whatever was extinguishing the light moved steadily closer. Fine, maybe a touch of the supernatural after all. In that terrible biting coldness Jack knew that his time was up, but he wouldn't go easily. As the last of the light faded he'd closed his eyes, blindly aiming the pistol, but this time the velvet darkness seemed empty.

He had no idea how much time had passed, but by the time the air had warmed he felt more or less himself again. He'd slowly climbed back up on deck to a freshening breeze and the long-awaited flap of the sails. However he couldn't share in his crews' high spirits. In that cold darkness something had whispered directly in his ear. One word only, so faint he could barely hear, but unmistakable nonetheless. Whatever was in the hold, it had known his name.

***

It had taken a day's hard sailing, but as dusk fell they'd glided into the secluded cove. After everything they'd been through a bit of shore-leave in a hospitable port was exactly what was needed, especially as the shipboard strangeness no longer appeared to be confined to the hold. In fact it seemed to have increased apace. Along with the mysterious cold spots and malfunctioning lanterns, their ghostly stowaway had added petty pilfering to his repertoire; small items had started disappearing, only to reappear in the oddest of places. Still nothing remotely ethereal or eldritch had actually been seen, but Jack was determined to get to the bottom of the puzzle.

Which was why he was currently leaning at the rail, fretting about luck, and watching the greater part of his crew rowing to shore. He knew he wouldn't be disturbed; the deck was deserted apart from Cotton (who'd once again drawn the short-straw of watch) at the wheel. The others who remained on-board were below deck, well out of their captain's sight, no doubt soothing their frayed nerves with their rum rations.

Suddenly the silence was broken by the parrot's squawk. "Step lively, boys! Officer on deck, officer on deck!"

Jack frowned up at the bird circling over him, and as he turned to follow its flight it was to find Norrington standing beside him. On the whole he thought he'd taken his sudden materialisation rather well, all things considered—once he'd swallowed his heart down from his throat and remembered to breathe again.

He was looking much improved from the last time Jack had seen him; he was paler than he remembered but at least now he was clean. The gold brocade fairly gleamed in the moonlight, and Jack was more than relieved to see he remained whole. He really didn't think he could deal with more walking skeletons, not that he was sure dead former-pirate-hunters-cum-pirate-crew-cum-admirals were much better.

By now the parrot had perched on the rail, still making its unholy racket, but Norrington continued to watch the departing longboats with a strange intensity. Just as Jack began to wonder if he could even hear the bird, he slowly turned his head to glare at it. It gave an alarmed squawk and darted back to the relative safety of Cotton's shoulder. Silence regained, Norrington returned to watching the boats disappearing into the night.

"Mr Cotton!" Jack bellowed, until the unhappy face appeared above him. The sailor didn't seem particularly surprised that Norrington was there; in fact he didn't even look at him.

"Anything..." Jack waved his hands in an all encompassing gesture that appeared to take in himself, Norrington, the ship, the surrounding ocean and quite probably the island "... strange to report?"

An emphatic headshake. Well, that was interesting...

"Very good. As you were, Mr Cotton."

Jack shivered, suddenly cold, as Norrington continued both watching the boats and studiously ignoring him. He cleared his throat meaningfully, which made absolutely no impact on the ignoring.

"Former commodore."

When the other man still didn't turn, Jack slowly reached out a finger to nervously poke him in the arm. Given recent events it was probably wise to check that unexpected apparitions were real, and this particular one felt reassuringly solid. Norrington at last deigned to look at him, giving him a slightly more neutral version of the glare he'd given the parrot. Jack felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle, but stood his ground gesturing towards the main cabin, "If you please..."

As he followed across the deck, the parrot took to the wing again, "Devil'll take ye, abandon all hope."

Jack nodded gloomily to himself. It was the first sensible thing anyone had said since this whole sorry mess began.

***

Once the door was closed Jack headed straight to his desk. As he sat casually reaching for the ubiquitous bottle of rum with one hand, the other groped for the pistol he kept for these sorts of eventualities. Well, maybe not exactly these eventualities, but armed with spirit and weapon he at least felt a little more able to cope with his unwanted visitor. Norrington, for his part, stood silent and watchful in the shadows cast by the room's single lamp, arms folded insolently.

The continued silence was beginning to grate on Jack's nerves, and he wished he'd thought to light the other lamps; he was suddenly very bothered by the fact he couldn't see Norrington's eyes. He took another long swallow of rum, and pushed the lamp a little further across the desk in a vain attempt to dispel the shadows. "Come now, I know you can speak."

"And what would you have me say?" The words were softly spoken, but Jack could hear the amusement underlying the supercilious tone.

"Why are you here?"

Norrington finally stepped further into the light. Jack was unsurprised to see that despite everything that may have passed that damned superior smirk hadn't changed one jot. He nodded towards the hand Jack had kept hidden, "That is not necessary."

A moment's thought and then Jack placed the pistol on the desk, still close to hand but offering at least an illusion of trust.

"Where else was I to go? There's nothing for me in Port Royal anymore." A brief flash of a much more unpleasant smile, "I should have liked to have seen Beckett again, but I suppose it's rather too late for that now. So here I am."

Jack shifted uncomfortably. "But you..." Words failed him and he contented himself with gesturing vaguely, "...fell behind," he finished weakly.

"Apparently, I caught up."

"But..."

Norrington sighed, "I'm still on the roster, Sparrow."

Jack brightened considerably, "Ah well, we can soon remedy that, mate." He disappeared under the desk and began pawing through the various papers and charts piled there.

"I think that's another thing it's rather too late for."

The lamp guttered. With the memory of what happened in the hold still so fresh Jack jumped, banging his head. However when he'd gathered himself enough to cautiously peer over the desk, he found Norrington exactly where he left him. He shook his head slightly and changed tack, "You're making the crew nervous."

"I fail to see how. Your crew go to magnificent lengths to ignore me."

Jack frowned at him and tried again. "It's your own fault. They're nervous around you. You need to make more of an effort to reassure them..."

"I don't want to reassure them, Sparrow. It is neither my duty nor my inclination to play nursemaid to your overly sensitive men..."

"But you... you're..."

Norrington watched him squirm for longer than was possibly necessary before seeming to take pity on him, "Dead? Yes, I know."

Jack at last edged out from behind the desk, intrigued, "What's it like?"

"What? Feeling your life draining away or being dead?" The temperature of the cabin seemed to drop a little, though Norrington's voice remained calm. "Cold. Both feel cold, Sparrow. Cold and petty and lonely and unfair and desperate." He paused for a moment, as if in thought, "Being dead is darker."

Remembering his stint in the Locker Jack could understand how some circumstances were best not dwelling upon. So he swayed forward to fix Norrington with a slow, golden-edged grin and tapped him on the chest. "You have to be here for a reason. Portents of the future? Unfinished business?" A little more hopefully, "Passing on the location of forgotten treasures? Isn't that how it usually works?"

"I wouldn't know," Norrington replied mildly "I've never done this before."

Jack's clever rejoinder died in his throat as a thought struck him. He shrank back to the desk, "Is this...? Am I to die then?" he whispered.

Norrington nodded gravely, "Yes. At least I would suppose so. It's generally customary." He gave another of his long-suffering sighs, "I'm dead Sparrow, not a fortune teller..."

Jack glared at him and snatched the pistol up again.

"... although I'm sure you'll live to a ripe old age, doubtless just to spite me."

Appeased slightly, the pistol was waved for him to continue.

"Captain Turner sent me. He knows he is in your debt and so, in appreciation of everything you've done for him, he sends you a gift."

Jack waited, but Norrington had apparently finished. A long moment passed before Jack shook his head in horror, "What? No. No. No."

Norrington rolled his eyes, "Not me Sparrow. A safe passage to what you seek. Only a handful, a very small handful, of men have successfully made that voyage. You'll be sailing through dangerous waters; I can chart your course."

Jack made a great show of appearing unimpressed. "Why you?"

"The Captain should have liked to pilot you himself, but due to... other pressing duties, passes on his apologies."

"Aye, I suppose he'd be busy. How's he doing?" Jack asked, with only half an ear on the answer, already weighing up the proposal.

"As best he can with what he's been left with." He raised a hand preempting the next question, "Eliz... Mrs Turner is fine. Truth be told, she's... blossoming." Jack tilted his head at the cryptic statement, idly wondering if, when, Norrington had seen her since the marriage.

Pleasantries over, Jack edged closer. "What sort of dangerous waters?"

Norrington stepped forward himself, closing the distance between them significantly. "Unnaturally dangerous."

Jack, already knowing what his answer will be, treated him to a grin. "Let me think it over, mate."