Jack freezes at the door, stopped from his way to gather food and possibly talk to Gibbs if he can't avoid it.

Look at the compass himself? Don't open it, his mind hysterically thinks for a second, jarring him even more. He reassures himself that he does know what he wants. He wants... He wants... Out of the Caribbean. He wants to know whether he can trust Norrington. He wants Norrington himself. Jack looks up at him as the man approaches, compass held out to him. Looking as if he has no intention of moving away anytime soon.

Jack suddenly feels trapped in his own plan.

"I know what I want," he says, but it sounds feeble to his own ears. But he does know. He knows what the compass will show him, if anything, if he opens it. "I know what I want," he repeats, stronger this time as he locks his gaze to Norrington's.

Slipping his fingers around the compass, Jack takes it. Plans to just place it back on his own belt when a thought strikes him. "Why do you care what I want though? What could it matter to you to know if this points me anywhere? As proof that it works?"

Jack holds the compass aloft, not moving to tie it back in it's place, and stares questioningly at Norrington.