James Norrington sat in the gloomy captain's quarters of the Flying Dutchman. The ship lurched horrifically and James clutched the sides of the chair he was sat in. He ignored the rocking of the boat, too invested in his own problems. Elizabeth was in the brig. He wanted to go help her, but he knew that he needed to think this through. His eyes flickered across the soldiers keeping watch over the chest – they were, predictably, asleep against the walls. Elizabeth had told him that it was time to choose a side, and although he still considered himself part of the Navy, he knew that wasn't a side in its own right anymore. Not now, now that Beckett had twisted and distorted the service that James loved, to meet his own ends – the ends of the East India Company. He sighed again. So it came down to a straight choice: Beckett or Elizabeth. It seemed an obvious choice at first, but choosing Elizabeth meant abandoning his men and having to ingratiate himself with Sparrow. He shuddered at the thought. Looking up again, a third choice came to him. If he couldn't side with the Navy, which no longer existed, then he could create his own side. He rose from the throne like chair and walked, uncertainly, towards the chest. Checking the men were still asleep, he opened the lock, as quietly as he could – Mercer foolishly having left the key in the room with him. The heart lay there, much as it had those few weeks ago, but it seemed a sorrier sight somehow, barnacles falling off and oozing more than he remembered. He reached out a hand, but thought better of it – why risk Jones realizing something was wrong? James pulled his sword slowly from its scabbard, listening to the low whistle as it came free. Here he paused. Did he really want to do this? Before Swann had set sail for England he had told him that he had discovered what happens to he who stabs the heart. Did he want to spend his eternal life as the Captain of the Flying Dutchman? He faltered and lowered his sword. Before he could sheathe the sword again, Elizabeth's face came to his mind and strengthened his resolve, and before he could agonise about it any more, he plunged the sword tip into the heart.

Elizabeth sat with her head resting on a wooden pillar behind her. She was disturbed by Bootstrap Bill's words. Who would Will choose? Before losing the heart of Davy Jones she would have been confident that Will's love for her would win out, but now? Now she wasn't so sure. Their relationship had grown awkward recently; they either ignored each other, or tried too hard. She remembered Singapore, when they had reunited after the battle and after not knowing how to act for a moment he had put his arm around her waist and dragged her off – but it didn't seem like a genuine act of protectiveness, but rather what he perceived to be the right thing to do in that situation.

Then there was Jack. Since they had brought him back he had barely said two words to her, that wasn't an insult. She couldn't tell if he was punishing her or simply trying to move on. Elizabeth let out a wry laugh, earning her a dubious look from one of Sao Feng's men, less than a year ago she had had a wealthy suitor, an infatuated blacksmith and a flirty pirate – now what did she have?

With that, her thoughts rounded onto her first fiancé, and current captor. She couldn't blame him for keeping her locked up – she was a pirate, she thought with some smug satisfaction, but to say that her father had returned to England? That was a foolish lie to tell her – she knew Beckett had mercy for no man. Even so, there was the smallest of doubts in her mind, which told her that maybe he was telling the truth, for when had he ever lied to her? She realised, bitterly, that he was the only man not to have lied to her at some point. Before she could dwell on other men there was a loud screech from above. Elizabeth jumped to her feet, covering her ears from the frightful noise. Despite not being able to hear it, she could feel the sound ringing through her bones. It stopped. Cautiously she took her hands from her ears and looked around. Her men were fine. But what of Bootstrap? She moved over to the wall and found the man lying on the floor; she moved to help him up but was shocked by what she saw. Before her eyes the man stood up slowly, barnacles and starfish and all falling away, and the shreds of clothes he still had, melted like wax into cloth blue, white and gold. She gasped sharply. Bill Turner stood before her, not only a man resurrected but a man transformed. She knew these clothes, and looking outside to the guards she saw them, too, looking at their garb in wonderment. They were Navy uniforms.

AN: I know this is massively AU, it is intended to be! Please R&R but no flames please, or comments about how this couldn't happen! Otherwise thanks for reading, the next chapter will be up tomorrow.