After AWE. Beckett doesn't die.

...

"Ah, Lord Beckett, have you had the pleasure of being introduced to my niece?"

Beckett rolled his eyes but turned to face the owner of the voice. He smiled politely. "Unfortunately not, Admiral."

The Admiral grinned. "Annabelle?" A young, petite, dark haired lady to his left looked up from her conversation and pursed her lips. "A moment, my dear."

She stepped towards him, a bemused look on her face, and she curtsied. "Uncle."

"This is Lord Beckett; the head of the East India company," the Admiral nodded to Beckett and smiled when his niece curtsied stiffly again, offering her hand for Beckett to kiss. "Lord Beckett, my niece; Annabelle Bonnette."

"Lady Annabelle," Beckett greeted, not giving her his full attention. He lowered his lips to her hand and looked up when she gasped. Their eyes met and his mouth fell open, her jaw clenching.

Her gaze darkened and she withdrew her hand. "Excuse me, uncle, I need some air." Beckett's eyes widened in recognition at her speech; it was the perfect English of the upper class, and yet there was a forbodingly familiar twist around her words, as if the English was practiced and polished by means of elocution, merely cloaking her natural Irish tongue. He followed her retreat with a heated gaze. She was either exceedingly brave or stupidly naive to have come to such an event, knowing that he would be there.

The Admiral raised an eyebrow. "Of course."

Beckett watched her exit the room, his disbelief evident on his face. "Forgive me, Admiral. Your niece," he said quietly, turning to the older man, "I... I seem to know her from somewhere."

"I doubt that, your Grace," the Admiral replied with a smile, "Annabelle is recently travelled from Ireland to join my wife's household."

"Ireland, you say?" Beckett murmured, "Interesting."

Lowering his voice, the Admiral leaned forwards a little. "She is of a marriageable age, your Grace, if it is not too bold to say."

Beckett waved off his latter statement. "Marriageable age?"

"Nineteen next week," the Admiral supplied, "I could arrange..."

But Beckett was already gone, stalking through the crowded ballroom and after the young woman who had recently departed.

He found her outside sitting on a bench, and she stood up warily, her dark eyes trained on his face.

"You have no cannons here, Beckett," she murmured, relaxing when he held his hands up in defeat, "And I daresay your army is enjoying the party far too much to bother about one woman."

"One woman?" Beckett hissed, his calm facade evaporating as he took in her appearance. She was wearing a red silk dress with a low, square cut neckline, the bodice clinging to her frame until it belled out at her hips, the sleeves tight on her arms, ruffled black lace flaring out at the elbows. Her tanned skin gleamed in the moonlight, her dark hair cascading down her back in controlled curls. She was small and slender, her breasts offered up to the eyes by the cut of her dress, her eyes almost black in the night. He approached her and gripped her upper arms, slamming her into a wall. "One woman? Have you any idea of the damage that you have done to my fleet?"

He was not an overly tall man, but he towered over Annabelle. Even in her heeled shoes, her forehead only grazed his nose. She was dwarfed by him, and though he did not cut the most imposing figure, she could feel his muscles - tensed and hard - beneath his attire.

She smiled predatorily, not at all fazed by his anger. "I have a vague recollection, my Lord."

"A vague recollection?" Beckett spat, "You destroyed seven of my ships!"

"Only seven? Pity," she murmured, smirking up at him. "I would have hoped for more." She trailed a hand down her body, her fingertips searching for the small blade she kept concealed, and Beckett grunted as steel was suddenly biting into his skin.

"Temper, temper," he chided with a smirk, nonplussed by her casual assault on his person.

"My ship is being repaired as we speak. Perhaps next time I will aim for more destruction." The Irish in her voice was not so easily hidden in her barely controlled anger, and Beckett's ardor flared at having riled her so effortlessly. Then, glaring at him, "You murdered my first mate, Beckett."

"He chose his own fate," Beckett said huskily, his body now all too aware that he was pressed against a beautiful young woman. He reached up to trail a finger down her cheek, not failing to notice how she blushed at the touch. "Your uncle speaks of marriage."

"I am already married," Anna whispered, swallowing thickly as Beckett's hand stilled and tightened on her neck, her grip on the dagger faltering slightly, "Since James died, I have married my profession."

"Your profession is piracy," he hissed, holding up her face to lean her head against the wall, their lips touching as he spoke. "And you are too young to be so assured of your future. Piracy is dangerous, Anna. You could easily be killed."

She bit her lip and looked up at him, relishing in the fury and lust that rested in his gaze. "That is true, your Grace."

Beckett exhaled slowly and released her arms, angry at himself for momentarily losing his temper. "Forgive my anger, my Lady," he said, his ire glowing in his eyes, "I forgot myself."

She quirked her lips and slipped out from under his arms. "You are forgiven, my Lord."

"You are not," Beckett replied, spinning around to face her. "You, Anne Bonney, are a pirate, and you have no business attending functions such as these."

"Admiral Groves is my uncle," she contradicted him, replacing her knife to its hiding place, "And I, his beloved niece, am always invited to attend his events. It was merely a happy accident that I was in the area at the time of this one."

"In the area," Beckett muttered in disbelief, shaking his head at her attitude, "Does he know?"

She smiled again. "No. And he would not believe you if you saw fit to inform him."

"I could have you arrested," he replied conversationally, sitting down on the bench that she had vacated, "He might find that evidence enough."

She laughed mockingly at his suggestion. His groin tightened at the sound and he hated himself for it. "You could try, your Grace. Surely, you do not think me foolish enough to come to such a function alone, do you?"

Beckett stood again, clenching his fists. "There are others here?"

"Many," she said with a raised eyebrow, "You might even know some of them." He was silent, then, glaring at her across the garden. "Hector Barbossa... Angelica Teach...Mary Read... Samuel Bellamy... William Kidd... Eduardo Villanueva..." She paused and bit her lip, "Jack Sparrow." She smirked at the noise of anger that erupted from his throat. "Though, I doubt you'd recognise any of them in powdered wigs and gentlemanly attire."

"Eight pirates against over a hundred soldiers; I don't much fancy your chances, Lady Bonnette."

She laughed again. "We are not unattended, your Grace. Our crews are around." As if by invitation, a man stepped from the shadows and she raised a hand to him. "I do not need your assistance, John. I will call if necessary. Go inside and dance."

Beckett gritted his teeth and moved towards her again. She smiled in delight at his temper, raising a challenging eyebrow as he gazed into her eyes.

"How do any of you have the nerve to show your faces here?" he growled, trying to restrain himself from strangling her.

"Because we can," a male voice replied, and Beckett spun at the noise. Jack grinned. "Nice t' see ye again, Beckett. Wasn't sure if ye were alive or not." He glanced at Annabelle. "Y'all right, Annie?"

"We had lives before piracy, Beckett," Annabelle murmured, waving a hand at Jack in reassurance and recapturing Beckett's attention. "We had lives and good names that need maintaining." Her gaze fell from his and for the first time, Beckett sensed vulnerability. "I would not hurt my uncle so as to shame him with my true identity. But I would not forfeit that identity, either. This way, I can have both."

"Your uncle expects you to join the household of his wife," Beckett pointed out, half incredulous that he was even having this conversation, "I do not see how you can continue to live this way."

"I have very loyal maids," Anna replied with a shrug, "Many loyal maids who are similar to me in height, weight, age and appearance. All are trained in courtly etiquette. I've gotten away with it before."

"'m not sure ye should be divulging all of this information, luv," Jack interrupted, his eyes flashing in warning, "Remember who yer talking to."

Anna waved a hand at this. "Beckett is no threat to us; not here. He's afraid, aren't you?" She leaned towards him, her voice lowering to a sinful whisper. "He's afraid that the entire world that he has carefully constructed for himself is a lie, afraid to wonder who is friend and who is foe." She smirked. "In fact, I do believe you were having a rather in-depth discussion with Sam Bellamy earlier about the decreasing quality of mass-produced cannons. Amusing, isn't it, that you were trying to destroy each other only a week ago."

He took another step towards her, his fists clenching with a renewed vigour. "You will not get away with this."

Jack slung an arm around Anna's shoulders and they shared a smirk. "But we already have, mate," Jack answered. He glanced at her. "Angelica wants to get back. We've a busy today tomorrow, after all." Beckett gazed at him in wonder; this was not the pirate that he had become accustomed to, this Jack Sparrow was the same man who'd sailed for the East India Company, the man who'd been comfortable in a wig of his own, the man who he'd been friends with as a child.

Annabelle grinned at Beckett's baffled expression. "Of course. Wait for me at the docks, I shan't be long."

Jack nodded and walked away, clapping Beckett on the arm as he passed him. "Sorry about yer ship, mate," Jack called over his shoulder. "I always liked the Endeavour."

Beckett stiffened at the familiar touch and turned back to Annabelle. "And what of you, Lady Bonnette? Surely you cannot balance two lives indefinitely? Your uncle will expect you to marry, and I doubt your future husband will allow this behaviour to continue. He, at least, would notice if you replaced yourself with a maid."

"That would depend entirely on the husband." She gave him a speculative look. "And I assure you, Lord Beckett; I have no current intentions of marrying."

"I do not believe you would have a choice in the matter," Beckett murmured, reaching out to brush a black curl away from her face, "But would it be so horrific, so unbearable for you to give up criminality and return to the good? Marriage has its own rewards, or so I am told."

"He would have to be quite the man," Anna breathed, leaning into the touch in spite of herself, "Powerful. Dangerous. Not opposed to having a headstrong wife. Rich." She tilted her head up so that her lips were almost brushing against his. "Do you know of anyone to fit that criteria?"

Beckett scoffed. "I doubt your first husband was any of those. I wonder... Does your dear uncle know of your first marriage? Or is he unaware that you so illicitly surrendered your virtue to a lowly pirate at the tender age of fifteen?"

Her eyes flashed. "Don't you dare speak of my James in such a manner; I loved him, Beckett, and I won't have you defiling his memory."

Pressing her up against a tree, Beckett went on, "I wonder, does your uncle know of your bastard son, sired by Jack Rackham?"

"You are well informed," Anna replied impassively, "Though it seems that your sources are a little off the mark in this case. It was Mary Read who birthed a child, your Grace, not I. Jack Rackham is but a brother to me; I am godmother to their boy, and what of it?" There was the noise of a hammer being pulled back on a pistol and she winced as she felt the barrel being pressed to her temple.

"It seems, Lady Bonnette, that you were a fool to dismiss your bodyguard so quickly," Beckett murmured, "For now, you are unattended and unarmed."

"Shoot me, if you must," she whispered, challenging and defying him even as he threatened her life, "It won't change anything. My kind will still seek to triumph over yours, and they will be vengeful. I am as a daughter to many Captains, your Grace; retribution would be swift and unforgiving." She thrust her chin up towards him. "I am not afraid of death, Beckett. If you must kill me, then do so."

And then, feeling his breath on her skin and the steel against her forehead, Anna did the only thing she could think of. She lifted her head and captured his lips with hers, knocking his arm to the side and causing him to drop the pistol as she reached up to wrap her arms around his neck. It only lasted a moment, but the moment was enough. Her lips burned, her body pressed itself against his; it had been so long since she'd had a man, so long since she'd felt the heat of another, and an absurd second passed wherein she considered dragging him into a more sheltered area and letting him take her.

She wrenched her mouth from his and pushed him away, gasping for breath as he reached up to touch his lips. She had shocked him, she knew, but there were flames of lust in his eyes and she wanted to get away from it.

"Hesitation is weakness. Weakness means death. If you are going to kill someone, kill them; do not stand around talking about it. There is one thing you must know about pirates, your Grace; whilst we do not fear death, we have a strong respect for mortality, caring only for our freedom and survival, and we would willingly sacrifice everything else to obtain those things. The gold, the riches, the ocean, the marriage act; it is all meaningless if the face of what truly matters. Life."

She had used her speech to her advantage, backing towards the door to the ballroom so stealthily that Beckett had barely noticed. He stared at her, his expression unreadable. She was almost erethreal in the aftermath of their embrace: her lips were slightly swollen and red, her cheeks flushed, her eyes at half mast, her bosom heaving against her corset even as she pretended her indifference. Even now, as their eyes met, her hands were shaking.

Beckett smiled coldly, calculatingly, and Anna shivered.

She curtseyed mockingly and walked back inside, said her goodbyes to her uncle, tore off her shoes and ran down to the docks, not stopping for breath until she was within the safe confines of The Black Pearl.

She had given him a valuable piece of advice, advice that she would not usually so freely bequeath; he had rattled her. Still her blood thrummed in her veins, her hair tangled from the sprint, still her lips throbbed from the memory of his kiss. She was furious, enraged at how easily he'd gotten under her skin.

Angelica looked up at her questioningly as she stumbled aboard, and Anna shook her head. "Not now, Angelica. I want to get back to my ship and then I want to blow Beckett to smithereens."

...