Author's Note: So this chapter's going to be mostly from Jack's POV. And he's finally going to have a conversation with Norrington! Enjoy!

Isla Cruces. The chest was on Isla Cruces.

Somehow, it didn't surprise Jack that his continuous run of bad luck was taking the Pearl to the plague island. Jack didn't consider himself a superstition person – certainly, he didn't dance around when the Black Spot appeared on his palm – but something about the island made him nervous.

When he considered it further, Jack supposed it made sense for Davy Jones to bury the chest there. Legend told of plague, brought on by the Church of England, wiping out the population. The priest who buried all of his flock went mad and hanged himself. Since then, nobody had gone near the small island.

"So I'll have to take my chances with the ghosts or become a ghost myself," Jack murmured to himself as he stared at the map on the table in his cabin.

He glanced over at Elizabeth's sleeping form and frowned thoughtfully. There was something in her eyes that he had noticed earlier that night. It was as if a light had gone out, and he shuddered to think at what could have caused it. The whelp had said she was in prison…could that have caused it? Jack had been in prison several times, had seen what could happen to women in those cells: the torture, the r… He shook his head to stop that train of thought. She's the governor's daughter, you idiot, Jack scolded himself, There's no way she would have suffered anything more than sitting in a jail cell. The girl's just missing the whelp. Jack nodded his head in agreement with his thoughts, Yes, that's it.

Feeling better now that he knew what was wrong with her, Jack quietly made his way out of the cabin, and on to the main deck. He sauntered to the port-side rail and gazed out over the ocean. The glow of the moon gave the ocean an otherworldly feel. The water looked to be a very dark blue, almost black. Jack breathed in the salt air, the tar from the ship, and the faint smell of rum: the scent of freedom. This time of night was when Jack truly felt at peace.

That peace was shattered very quickly. "So where are we going?" The former Commodore stepped up next to Jack.

Jack looked at him quizzically, "Shouldn't you be abed?"

"I wanted to talk with you, Captain Sparrow," Norrington said wryly. At Jack's baffled look, he continued, "I have not been the lowest ranking person aboard a ship. Always have I been an officer, never a deckhand." He paused, looking down uncomfortably.

Jack wasn't sure if there would ever be a time when he would see the former Commodore look so ill-at-ease. "Mr. Norrington," the man grimaced at the title, but kept silent, "All you have to do is follow the orders of myself and Mr. Gibbs. Simple as that."

"Yes, I know that." Norrington said impatiently. "It's that I have to follow your orders." Ah. "I at least remember Mr. Gibbs from his Navy days, but from what little I know of you, I can't imagine you doing anything competently in your life. Let alone captaining a ship properly."

"So it's just a matter of my qualifications, is that it?" Jack asked testily. "Is my not being named a Captain good enough for you?"

"You were mutinied upon, Captain Sparrow," Norrington pointed out, "It's hardly a mark in your favor."

"I was mutinied upon because Barbossa was a greedy bastard, and thought he knew better than me." Jack said with some asperity. "Not because I was a poor Captain."

"Humor me, please." That last word sounded like it hurt the former Commodore to say, and Jack relished in it for a moment.

Jack leaned his hip against the railing and crossed his arms as he looked at Norrington. "Why should I tell you, a man who has made the last year incredibly difficult, something very few people know?"

There was no good reason for Jack to tell him anything, and both Jack and Norrington knew it. Jack smirked at the other man, and looked out over the ocean. "Truth is, Mr. Norrington, that we are rather a lot alike." Norrington looked rather displeased to be told this, and Jack continued, "We're both men of the sea. And we have a similar background."

Norrington snorted, "I rather doubt that."

"No?" Jack turned to face him with a sly grin. "While you are correct in thinking that I am not a military man, I was not, however, always a pirate." Jack's eyes lost focus for a moment, then cleared. "I was quite proud, at the age of eighteen, the served with the East India Trading Company." Norrington jerked back in surprise, and Jack grinned knowingly, "I know. Who would've thought it, eh?" He continued on, "I served faithfully for five years. Earned captaincy of the Wicked Wench when I saved her and her cargo from pirates." Jack stroked the railing of the Black Pearl with pride.

Norrington noticed the gesture, and put two and two together. "This is the Wicked Wench? But she was destroyed –" He cut himself off as he remembered what had happened.

Jack glared across the water, "She was destroyed when I "lost" most of the cargo she was forced to carry." He saw Norrington's questioning look and answered, "Slaves. A hold full of people packed in so tightly they were all but sitting on each other." Jack's hands started shaking in anger at the memory, and he was pleased to see that Norrington looked disgusted as well. "I was able to drop most of them off with a friend of mine. I was on my way to meet another person whom I hoped could take the rest when I was found out."

Norrington was finding it hard to reconcile the man he had met and chased after with the man in front of him. This Jack Sparrow was serious and sober. "The drunken behavior is just an act, isn't it?" He asked.

Jack looked at him in surprise, "No it's not. I'm always drunk. It's the sobriety that's an act." He waved a hand in dismissal when James – when the bloody hell had he started thinking of Norrington by his first name? – looked like he was going to interrupt. "You wanted to hear my story, so no interruptions."

Jack stared out across the sea again, and visibly gathered himself. "Beckett, the head of the West Africa division where I had sailed from, caught up to me. He knew what I had done, knew how much I loved the Wicked Wench, and declared that I had to be punished for losing his property." Jack growled the last word in anger. A pain-filled look entered his eyes, and James was astonished to watch them mist over. "Beckett ordered the ship destroyed. He had her set on fire, with the remaining African tribesmen, women, and children locked in the hold." Jack bowed his head in anger and grief. "And, to top it all off, he made me watch."

If you had asked James a year ago what he thought was the making of Captain Jack Sparrow, he would have said luck and a lot of rum. This story gave him a different answer.

"How did you get the Wicked Wench back?" He asked quietly.

Jack grinned ruefully, "I sold my soul to Davy Jones to have him bring her back. I renamed her the Black Pearl and never looked back. Until now."

Norrington was quiet for a long time. Jack was thinking about getting a bottle of rum before he went to sleep when Norrington finally spoke up.

"This doesn't change what I think of you, Captain Sparrow," he began. "I still do not like you, and I rather doubt that will change. But," here he gave Jack a nod of respect, "it has made me accept you as a captain."

Jack grinned, "I suppose that's the best I'll get out of you." He hesitated for a moment, and pressed on with his thought, "You know, there's another way in which we are alike."

James raised an eyebrow, "Do tell."

Jack smirked, "We both value our titles. You've flinched every time I've called you Mr. Norrington, instead of Commodore. Now you know how I felt every time you called me Mr. Sparrow." He looked back out at the moon and whispered, almost to himself, "It's not what we are."

Norrington opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by a scream from Jack's cabin.

"Elizabeth!" Jack whispered hoarsely. He ran for his cabin with Norrington following close behind. The arrived at the door to Jack's cabin at the same time as Gibbs, who had run up from below.

As Jack fumbled with the keys in his pocket, Elizabeth's cries could be heard getting louder. "No!" She screamed in fear and pain. Jack finally got the right key in the lock as the sound of flesh hitting flesh was heard inside, and a gruff male voice said, "Shut up, you wench!"

Norrington and Gibbs froze in horror, but a wave of calm, cold anger swept over Jack. He knew that whomever was in his cabin with Elizabeth was going to die a slow, very painful death. Jack turned the key and opened the door.

Jack didn't notice much about his upturned cabin as he walked through the door. His gaze swept the room before narrowing on the two figures on the floor. Jack immediately focused on Elizabeth's eyes, which were a combination of terror and relief. The man above her had one hand at her throat, and the other was frozen above his head in preparation to strike her again. Jack didn't know him, but it didn't matter; he would die all the same.

He wasn't sure what his face looked like as he stalked towards the man, but the man's face showed terror, and was frozen in fear. Jack grabbed the man by his filthy coat, and hauled him off Elizabeth's prone form. He spun the man around towards the door where James and Gibbs stood still, and began punching the man with cold efficiency. Carefully placed punches were delivered to the man's ribs, kidneys, liver, and face. Jack didn't care about his bleeding knuckles, or Gibbs telling him to let the man go before he killed him. All he cared about was inflicting as much pain as possible.

Arms wrapped themselves around his waist, and he felt the warmth of Elizabeth's hands against his stomach. Jack stopped beating the man immediately. Jack's hands were still shaking with rage, and his breathing was ragged. Jack was sure Gibbs was saying something as he dragged the bloody and unconscious man out of his cabin, but he couldn't hear anything over the roar in his ears.

The arms around his waist left, and Jack felt cold from the loss. He turned around to see her leaning against the wall of his cabin. Her eyes were wide and quickly filling with tears. Bugger!

Jack knelt down in front of her as she began hyperventilating and crying. He took her face in his hands, vaguely aware of Norrington kneeling down beside him. "Breath, Elizabeth," Jack told her as he stared into her panicked eyes. "Elizabeth, look at me." Her eyes stared past him, unseeing. "Look at me!" Jack barked.

Startled, Elizabeth's eyes focused on his. Her breathing was still erratic, but she was focused on him. Good. "Jack…" she gasped.

"Listen to me, Elizabeth." Unconsciously, Jack's thumbs began stroking her cheekbones. "I want you to take as big a breath as you can, then hold it. Savvy?"

She nodded her understanding, unable to form words.

"Good. Do it now. Deep breath," Jack breathed deeply with her, "and hold it. That's good," he praised as she held her breath for a few seconds, and then released it, gasping for air. "Now, do it again, darling, that's it." She held her breath for longer this time, before needing to breathe again. Her breathing was calmer than it was before. "One more time, Lizzie. Breath in," Jack watched her go through the steps again, his thumbs still stroking her cheeks. "Good girl." Elizabeth was breathing normally now.

"He… he…" Elizabeth stammered.

"I know," Jack cut her off. "But you held him off until I could get here. You're safe." But a haunted look in her eyes worried him. He realized that his hands were still on her face, and pulled them back quickly. Jack stood up and offered a hand to Elizabeth. She smiled faintly, and grabbed his hand to pull herself up. She hissed lightly in pain from the action, and Jack frowned at her in concern. Elizabeth saw his look and tried so smile it away, but he knew better than that.

"Did he hurt you?"

She shook her head. A faint look of shame crossed her face, but was gone before Jack could decipher its meaning. "No," she said quietly, "It's an older injury. It's fine."

Jack rolled his eyes, "Let's see it then." Her left hand twitched towards her right, and she stopped herself from making any other movement, but Jack saw the motion and grabbed her right hand.

Elizabeth tried to pull her hand back, "Jack, let go. It's fine."

He turned her hand over to look at the back of her hand and palm, nothing. Then he noticed a bandage on her forearm, it looked recent. Jack glanced up at Elizabeth's face, and saw panic and shame there. He thought about leaving it, but Jack remembered the lack of spark in her eyes, and the haunted look from a few moments ago, and pressed on.

Norrington looked like he was going to protest Jack's disregard for Elizabeth's wishes, but one sharp look from Jack made him subside. He watched in silence as Jack pushed back Elizabeth's shirtsleeve to reveal the top of the bandage.

"James," Elizabeth said before Jack could remove the bandage. "Could you leave Jack and I alone, please."

"Elizabeth, I don't –" James started to say before Elizabeth interrupted him with, "Please." Her pleading eyes made him give a nod of his head and turn to leave the room.

Once the door was shut, Elizabeth turned to Jack and nodded her head for him to continue. He slowly unwrapped the bandage, dread filling his stomach at what he would find there. Before Jack had unwrapped half the bandage, Elizabeth stopped his hand with hers, and looked up at him.

"Please don't hate me," she whispered pleadingly.

Confused, and more than a little scared, Jack pulled back a section of bandage to reveal a partially-healed "P" branded into her skin.