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Captain Jack gazed over Black Pearl's stern at the vessel's wake foaming into the dark distance. All he could see of the trail of swirls was the few feet illuminated by Pearl's stern lanterns and, farther away, vague phosphorescent patterns in the moonlight, but he knew it stretched all the way to Jamaica. All the way to James.
He leaned against the taffrail as he stared, slouching from weariness. Gibbs had the wheel; Pearl was in good hands and there was really no reason for him to stay on deck. He should go below and try to sleep. Instead, Jack slumped further, appreciating the small twinge of soreness from the bout earlier in the powder magazine, and listened to the gurgle of water rushing past the rudder. He thought of how the commodore would have arched an eyebrow at him for his lack of naval posture. But then James wasn't here anymore, now was he.
Better start getting used to that enormous absence, he supposed. Jack contemplated his cabin, which he'd been avoiding like the plague since Port Royal had dropped away behind them much earlier in the day. James, he knew, had permeated that space. He would never be able to look around it without seeing James at the table studying his charts, or standing naked in the moonlight that streamed through the gallery glass, or sprawled across his cot. With a resigned sigh, the captain heaved himself upright and turned to make his way from the quarterdeck to the dreaded cabin. "Can't avoid it forever, mate," he told himself.
Jack entered the cabin and decided not to strike a flame. There was enough dim light from the waning moon and the lanterns on deck, and besides, he didn't really want to look around anyway. He tossed his battered hat onto the table and sat to remove his boots. The last time these boots came off, his brain supplied unhelpfully, was in the powder magazine; aye, there were still fine grains of powder between his toes. Jack scrubbed a hand across his face, rubbing his eyes and further smearing the kohl there.
"This way lies madness," he said aloud to his cabin, which seemed indifferent to the news. He stood and, as he turned warily toward the empty cot, a glint in a dark corner at deck level caught his eye. Jack cocked his head and looked closer but it was gone. Then Pearl heeled to starboard and he saw it again, a tiny flash of gold in the moonlight. Gold - the perfect thing to distract a melancholy pirate.
Jack padded across the deck and squatted to retrieve the object. His fingers closed on a round shape and, holding it to the moonlight, he saw a button. Brass, not gold, and he was momentarily disappointed. He turned it over. A brass Royal Navy button. Smallish - undoubtedly from the cuff of James's much-abused uniform coat.
Captain Sparrow sat on his cot and considered Commodore Norrington's button, now lying in his hand. The significance of this small thing hit him: this was a piece of James. He had thought the only piece of James he had was his sword, but the long-coveted Turner blade was a souvenir of Will and Elizabeth as well. This, now; this was completely James.
Heart pounding, Jack closed his fist around the button and cast his eyes about the gloom of the cabin, wondering where to stow so precious a treasure. It was such a tiny thing and he couldn't bear to lose it. His sea chest? No, it would certainly get lost among the clothes and detritus of his life. The box containing the coin needed to purchase victuals, shot, and powder? It locked and, as captain, he carried the key - the button wouldn't be lost. But the brass bauble already was so much more precious to him than mere gold or silver, pirate though he was. Furthermore, it seemed a desecration to put the Navy button there with the spoils of his profession; James would be appalled. No, that would never do.
The answer hit Jack with the suddenness of a summer squall as thoughts of James whirled in his mind. No, he realized, not thoughts anymore. "Memories now, mate," he said softly to himself, smiling a bit, as he began to weave the button into a lock of hair.