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“A lovely night for a bit of brooding, isn’t it?” Jack’s voice came from somewhere in the shadows by his right. He didn't turn. “The sea, the stars… the crushing weight of one’s own poor life choices. All very atmospheric.”
James’s grip tightened on the rail. “A crew has certain expectations of its captain, Sparrow. A clear heading is one of them. Not this… aimless wandering.”
He felt Jack move closer and could sense the dismissive wave of his hand before he even saw it.
“Ah, yes. Expectations,” Jack mused, “The neat little boxes the world tries to stuff you in. I’d have thought you’d had your fill of them, former Commodore. They have a nasty habit of blowing to bits, don’t they?”
“I expected the world to make sense,” he said, not sure why he was entertaining him, but frankly he no longer knew why he did things when it came to Jack bloody Sparrow, “I expected a pirate to be a simple villain. I expected to know my enemy.” His gaze found Jack’s. “My expectations were… poorly managed.”
Jack’s smirk faltered, just for a second. But the mask was back on almost right away, just a bit off this time.
“And what is it you expect now, Jamie?” Jack’s voice came out softer than he had expected, than he was used to. It was a curious thing. “An apology? The duel I promised you? Or something else entirely?”
For a second, Jack's eyes dropped to his mouth, and James felt that unwelcome pull to lean in again. But he looked away instead, out at the black, churning water.
“I expect nothing from you,” he lied, “I have learned better."