It's Just Good Business
A POTC fanfic by haganeochibi
Beta-reader: teenelizabeth
Father always told me never to associate with pirates. They were bad. You could never do good business with them. They were 'scalawags.'
As a child, I was angered by their easy-going behavior because I knew there was so much more to life than drinking all day. I was appalled at their lack of personal hygiene and by the fact that they took as much as they could from others without giving anything back. Perhaps I was in denial, but deep inside, I realized was terrified of them.
I lived with that fear most of my life, but it was a fear I made a gargantuan effort to conquer in order for my career to prosper. The East India Trading Company was my life, my soul, my flesh, my blood. It was the fruit of all I had worked for, all of those grueling years as a businessman in which I had to crawl my way up, to carefully plan everything, to find my way through a pinhole to achieve the prestige the company enjoyed.
But yet, even as the company grew, there still lay a large problem that stood out like a dark stain in an otherwise exquisite white mast. Pirates.
As an adult, my fear of pirates turned into hatred. They hindered the company's possibility and prosperity. In an epiphany, I realized what must be done. I had the power to do it, I thought. The once-blank map was slowly being filled, making it easier to purge the whole world of pirates by outsmarting them. I must beat them at their own game.
The horrendous thought of talking to them alarmed me, but I knew it must be done. I struck a deal with Turner, Swann, Sparrow, and even with Davy Jones. The stakes were high, but everything seemed to be going well.
"It's just good business," I told myself.
It was strange to think that, even with the Pearl and the Dutchman about to fire their cannons at my ship, and even with my loyal and very able first mate begging for orders, all I could think about was business – how everything I had worked for had come crashing down in one fatal moment. I did not understand.
I thought everything had been in place. With the whole armada and the Dutchman by my side, I could easily win against a few smelly, disorganized pirates and their precious goddess, Calypso, couldn't I? I was Lord Cutler Beckett. I could do anything I desired.
But now, why did the Dutchman suddenly turn against me? Why did it side with the Black Pearl, with the pirates? I thought I had Jones under my command by having his heart. Everything had gone wrong at the wrong place and at the wrong time.
The Endeavour sailed its maiden and final voyage that day. She led the whole armada, but yet here she was, sailing to her doom between two pirate ships. She faced both the Pearl and the Dutchman, and they opened fire. And I just stood at the helm. Frozen.
"It's just… it's just… good business."
I heard my first mate announce the order to abandon ship. The soldiers dove into the cool Caribbean waters while my unfocused eyes stared into space without seeing. The cannons were doing their job well. They destroyed my ship in a matter of minutes.
Walking to the stairs, I let my hand caress the perfectly polished and carved wooden railing. My polished boots clunked as I made my way down the stairs and to the deck. My face was calm, indifferent, while my insides churned like hell, turbulent and confusing. Chunks of wood and metal flew everywhere, and what remained of the Endeavour was a wreck. All around me was the quintessence of despair. Titles and achievements mattered no more.
I was too shocked for tears. Impending demise had strange ways of manipulating a person's mind. When I reached the last step, I recalled my mother, who loved me and cared for me, and who would embrace me and kiss me whenever I was hurt. Stroking my hair, she let me cry in her lap until the tears stop flowing and the hurt was gone. But then she passed away. It was a small comfort in this chaos to think that I was to see her soon.
On the contrary, father, my mentor, never let me cry, and when I did, he would reprimand me, even telling me that crying was a sign of weakness in men. I believed him. As a man, I never shed a tear; even now, when all hell broke loose. Father was right. His stern voice resonated in my head and told me again and again and again. Never associate yourself with pirates.
Then fire engulfed my whole being; the warmth was calming while the heat burned. I felt myself falling down to the waters and before I knew it, I, Lord Cutler Beckett was dead.
Author's Note: This is my first character death piece and my first POTC fic inspired by the epic moments of Beckett as he descended the stairs of the ship. Please let me know what you think! Constructive criticism is appreciated.
Thanks for the help, teenelizabeth! Thanks for reading!
~To God be the glory~