THREE: Popping Joints
When she first woke up the next morning, she briefly forgot all about Cutler Beckett – ignorance is bliss, they say. She changed, though she didn't know why she bothered, seeing as there was nobody on this island – and it was this train of thought that brought the memory of Beckett back to her mind, and made a scowl come to her face. Once she was fully presentable, she picked her gun up from besides her bed, and walked up to the front door, scraping the bolt back and throwing it open.
There was no sign of him. Oh god, had he already gone and found the rowing boat? Was he halfway to mainland Jamaica now? Don't be stupid, she told herself, there's no way he could row on that arm. She glanced around, and finally saw him, sitting up by a tree, looking straight forwards, his good arm holding onto his shoulder like he was worried it would fall of. Elizabeth sighed. Again with the making her look like the bad guy...
"Beckett. I want you off my island." She said, standing above him. He looked up towards her, calmly.
"Well, that's a shame, because you told me yourself that there is no way off of this island." He replied innocently. Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. She knew that he knew that she knew a way off of the island... uh... knew.
"There is one way," She said, waving her gun at him, pointedly.
"Yes. Because the situation is completely different right now then it was yesterday night," He said with a smirk. "I figure that if you couldn't shoot me yesterday, it would be no different today."
"Don't anticipate me, Beckett," She replied heavily, "I have the gun."
"So you do." He replied. There was a pause. Elizabeth noticed Beckett looking thoughtful, as if thinking of a way to put something. "I... where is the food on this island?" He asked, finally.
"How do you know there is any?" She asked with a grin. It soon faded.
"Well, you're living here, and you seem your normal weight," Beckett said, "So I'm assuming that you find some source of nutrition on this island with... no way off." Okay, that pause proved it. He knew there was a way off of the island. He just didn't know what it was...
"I'm not your servant, and you're not my superior," Elizabeth snapped, "You can go and find your own food, if you want any."
"Quite the spitfire, are we?" He murmured, "Very well, you can go."
"Are you giving me orders?" She demanded. To be honest, she was a little taken aback. She could go? Perhaps it was just the fact she'd already been on here for a few days, and the loneliness was already going to her head, but any human company – if you could call Cutler Beckett human, that is – seemed to be a welcome one. She didn't think he'd be sending her away. He was hurt – injured! Her company was being rejected even by Cutler Beckett...
"No, Miss Swann," He said with a sigh. Elizabeth felt childish for raising her voice like that. This was what made her furious about Cutler Beckett; he could belittle her with a single raise of the eyebrow. Ugh.
"Alright," Elizabeth said, still unsure. Her eyes wandered to Beckett's foot – the one that looked a little bit off. Cutler Beckett followed her gaze. He had taken his boot off, and one sock, and the foot was exposed to the cool morning air, and seemed okay enough. Suddenly, Beckett jiggled it, and Elizabeth noticed a piece of bone moving around under the skin. Beckett watched, amused, as Elizabeth backed away, staring at his foot.
"It doesn't hurt that much," He said, in an almost cheerful tone. She looked away from the foot, angry for finding the injury so interesting, in a rather gruesome way like a young boy poking at worms, and with a curt nod, walked off down the path. You just walked through the woods for twenty minutes, and then down a cliff path, and then you were at the beach. At the other side of the beach, you walked over the rock-pools, and then through some bushes, and that was where the majority of the fruit grew; she knew that, up on the plateau that she lived on, Beckett would find no food. She waited for the feeling of cold triumph to fill her up.
There was none. This shocked her.
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Beckett watched her walking, until she was obscured by leaves. Once her footsteps vanished, he looked down at his foot, and with one deft movement, clicked the joint back into place. He'd popped the joint as a child once, falling out of a tree; and since then it had been a neat party trick, though not for the faint-hearted. The weakened bone had simply popped out during the rough and tumble in the ocean.
But Elizabeth didn't know that. Beckett didn't like playing this way; relying on Elizabeth actually feeling sorry for him, but he needed it for survival. And unlike yesterday, now, he felt a need to live. His valuable life and intellect had nearly been stripped from the world, twice in quick succession.
He would not let it happen again.
His shoulder, however, was not play-acting. The bullet hadn't just clipped it; it had gone through it. The pain was immensely strong, perhaps the reason he'd passed out on the beach earlier. He frowned at the memory. It had only been for a few minutes, but had the tide been coming in, he could have drowned before escaping, yet again. So many threats to his life in so little time!
Blood was smattered on his clothes, his fingers, his neck; he was a mess. He wondered if there was somewhere he could wash. The thought of the long trek down to the beach did not inspire hope in him. One of his legs still felt a little roughed up, and his shoulder – well, he tried not to even think about his shoulder, though the pain was always there, gnawing away at him from inside. He hated it. It made him feel weakened. He was weakened.
And Elizabeth Swann had not even been polite enough to offer him... oh, I don't know, bandages made of rags or something. Surely she had some sort of medical kit in case of emergency? She was an intelligent woman, was she not? But she hadn't gone out of her way to make him comfortable yet. How unashamedly rude of her. The wound on his shoulder throbbed every second, and he wasn't sure if the bullet had come out the other side, or if it was still in there...
So he needed help. And there was only one person here; a certain Miss Elizabeth Swann. And he'd have to get this help, no matter what the cost... So that he could get off of this island, by any means, and start a new life for himself, as a new person. It would be hard work, but he would work his way up the ranks again.
He could do it. He knew he could do it.
Devious bugger, isn't he?
NB: Much exploring of Beckett's character in this here chapter! He seems out of immediate danger, for now; though is Elizabeth really convinced by his acting? Hmm! It's up to you to decide, I guess. Concrit would be much appreciated. From me...
Next update contains slacking, acting, not much tact... ing. Free food for feasible fugitive? (ack!) (and Elizabeth not only hates Beckett, but is annoyed by him too...)
