'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney.

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"Is that Sparrow, Sir?"

"Was there ever any doubt, Mr. Groves?"

It was only for purposes of confirmation that Lord Beckett was peering through a spyglass to identify the two people who had so improbably emerged from the dissipating maelstrom. Using a folded sail to soar clear of all constraints- of course that could only be Jack Sparrow. It hardly mattered whom the person clinging to him was. The Swann girl, Cutler supposed- that pirate was known to possess a chivalrous streak. Though it was hardly the characteristic foremost in Beckett's mind.

This latest escape, from the foundering Flying Dutchman, crystalized a decision Cutler had been wrestling with for days, ever since he'd witnessed Jack's equally improbable egress from the Endeavour. That urge to get away, to roam beyond the reach of any laws, was truly endemic to the rogue's nature. No threats, abuse, coercion, or bribes of any kind were going to change Captain Jack Sparrow.

The pounding rain had stopped, just as suddenly as it had started. Beckett stepped out from under the quarterdeck's overhang, to watch the progress of the now-descending sail. As the castaways splashed into the sea, the disengaged Black Pearl altered course to meet them. To judge from the distance, it would take several minutes for her to retrieve her captain. Beckett knew what he'd have to do, once Jack was back on board.

"Close distance on the Pearl, helmsman," Cutler instructed as he ascended the quarterdeck. He handed the spyglass to his aide. "Keep a watch on that ship- let me know when she picks up Sparrow."

"Yes Sir." Groves obediently peered through the instrument.

Cutler leaned against the rail, staring towards the 'Pearl', but he wasn't really seeing it anymore. A years-old scene was replaying in his mind; standing outside a familiar paddock, ruefully eyeing the occupant- a magnificent glistening-brown stallion, hobbled, sweating, neighing defiantly. Listening to the stablemaster's account, of the animal's consistent refusal to be broken to the saddle. The Lord of the estate had ordered the horse to be taken to the far ends of the pastures and shot. It was an ironclad rule in his stables; recalcitrant equines were to be put down. No exceptions were allowed, though some provoked more regret than others. Those beasts which had started out with great promise, or which were beautiful beyond all reason...

Beckett's memory shifted to another, oft-recalled image; Jack Sparrow in that Barbados gaol. Heroically nude, standing in that elegant arched-back pose he'd assumed right after being unchained. So open, vulnerable, almost serene... seemingly on the verge of submission. Of becoming Beckett's own.

An illusion, as it turned out- Sparrow had actually been anticipating his upcoming escape, enabled by the removal of his bindings. Beckett would never know how much of his misimpression was due to the pirate's deliberate subterfuge, and how much just the product of his own wistful thinking. But at least he'd retained that striking mental picture.

And of course Cutler remembered what had come just before. Many an evening since, he had allowed himself to relive every moment of it. Closely inspecting that sleek, restrained body, with the same light strokes he would use to accustom a skittish horse to his touch. Which, being assured of gentle treatment, would allow him more at the next encounter. And more, and more, until gentleness was no longer essential.

Beckett's hands twitched on the rail now, recalling the feel of the pirate's skin, unlike any other Cutler had handled. Exotically colored, smelling of spice and ocean spray, smooth and pliant between the punctuating scars... in certain places, surprisingly soft...

As always, the recollection ended with a sense of frustration. Comparable to what he'd experience upon viewing a richly laden banquet table, only to be told the feast was canceled. Or at least postponed until further notice, as he'd insisted to himself at the time.

And that insistence did seem to be vindicated, for recently Sparrow- betrayed by one of the few people he trusted- had indeed been returned to Beckett's custody. Taken aboard the EITC's own flagship, from which there was no rational chance of fleeing to anything other than the waves. Cutler had been so confident of the Endeavour's capacity to keep Jack secure, he'd instructed his guards to remove Jack's manacles upon to delivering him to the great cabin, just to impress on him the futility of resistance.

Ever the EITC man first, Beckett had opened their 'reunion' with attention to business concerns- to obtaining the information he required to crush the possible threat of the Brethren Court. That portion of the meeting had gone well. Having been informed what was wanted, Jack had given a hard look to the rows of small metal soldiers (no doubt recalling Mercer's familiarizing him with their function), and immediately started to deal. It had been both amusing and irksome to observe Jack's very distinctive manner of negotiating- the restless moving about the cabin, those ridiculous fluttering mannerisms, his complete disregard for property rights or personal space. That flamboyant rapscallion could be truly annoying. It was to give vent to his irritated state, as much as to remind Sparrow of his precarious situation, that Cutler had drawn his pistol and elucidated the advantages of killing him then and there.

Not that he'd seriously considered doing so- he'd needed the man alive to assist his efforts against the massed pirates. And, he still hoped to pursue his personal plans for this prisoner, once matters of business had been dealt with. Still, there was no denying the practicality of ridding his Company, and himself, of this troublesome outlaw... this half-bred, damnably alluring scalawag, whom Beckett so wanted to touch, to grasp, to possess.

Never more so, than that moment he'd been regarding Jack at gunpoint.

But the scoundrel's luck had held. Things slipped out of control aboard the captured pirate vessel, and Sparrow managed to get away, again. Employing an insane maneuver which, by all rights, should have bashed him against a yardarm, or flung him to a hard fall. Instead, it had landed Jack safely on the Pearl's stern, as though his precious ship had reached out to catch him (as some of the Endeavour's crewmen later muttered.)

To add injury to insult, he'd even contrived to puncture the flagship's mainmast. Listening to the great timber crack and collapse behind him, Beckett was forced to a regrettable conclusion; that exquisite renegade was incurably escape-prone.

And Jack's flight - literally! - from the Dutchman had cinched the conviction. This Wild Beast would never be tamed.

The diminutive Lord set his jaw. What could not be subdued, must be destroyed.

Groves spoke up. "The Black Pearl just took Sparrow aboard, Sir." Beckett turned his keen awareness back to the present, expecting the pirate vessel to now attempt a run for it.

/ That was a most entertaining spectacle you put on, Jack. But as an escape, it was a failure. Even your impressively fast ship has no chance of getting past my forces. /

To his surprise, though, Cutler saw the dark sails were being furled, leaving the Pearl dead in the water. "What are they waiting for?" Groves wondered.

"He expects us to honor our agreement!" Beckett realized. It seemed Sparrow's judgment had slipped, just when it would cost him most dearly. Lord Beckett could now easily accomplish what he wanted most; eliminate a major threat to EITC interests, and a longtime thorn in his own side.

Cutler gave the orders to close and attack, with no real regret. If the satisfaction of making the kill was the last thing he could wrest from Jack, he'd take what he could. Beckett pondered whether to order his crew to retrieve and imprison any survivors, or to shoot them in the water. He smiled cruelly, being quite sure which fate Sparrow would prefer.

"It's nothing personal, Jack..."

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FINIS