James listens to Sparrow tiredly, and shakes his head. What he says makes sense, in a way, but it's the sort of sense that only works for men like Sparrow. When James had been courting Elizabeth, for example- if he had gone up to her and caught her up in his arms and kissed her until she was breathless- there would have been consequences for both of them, none of them pleasant. And yet that was what James had longed to do every time he had seen her. A moment's pleasure and a lifetime's guilt. That was what selfishness meant for James.

'I'm afraid, Sparrow, that such a philosophy works only if you believe yourself to be outside the constraints of society, as you clearly do. A Commodore cannot do what he pleases and damn the consequences, no-matter whether he would or no.'

He looks at Sparrow, seeing perhaps the faintest glimmer of understanding there. 'Surely, Sparrow, you have known something for which you have forsaken your own whims. It's not-' he breaks off, unsure how precisely to articulate what he's trying to say, 'A man is not selfless because he is afraid of what will happen if he is not,' though he often is, of course- not that he'd say that to Sparrow. 'He is selfless because he cares for other people. He serves other people. That is what I do; it is my duty to serve.'

A sigh fights its way up out of his chest as he looks at Sparrow, and suddenly he remembers. 'Are you ever going to tell me why you want me as first mate aboard your ship, Sparrow, or am I simply to languish in your cabin for an indeterminate length of time?'

It's a ploy to get Sparrow off this topic, he will admit. But surely he cannot be blamed; this is not the sort of thing he wants to discuss with anyway, much less Jack bloody Sparrow. It's personal, and it's painful. Besides, he really does want to know.