The long boat floated quietly through a thick ominous mist. It was the early hours of the day, some time before sunrise. Just light enough to admire the eeriness of their surroundings; it looked as if their craft floated among the clouds of the night sky. It was a good sign. At least that's what James thought. Mister Gibbs had another idea about the mist.

'Mist only gathers around land,' James had informed the small group. 'If only we could see the land through the mist.'

'Neigh,' Mister Gibbs argued. 'Bad luck it is. Mark me words.'

Elizabeth paid no mind to the arguments that the men she shared space with. It seemed for the past fortnight it was all they did. Though she couldn't blame them, she had grown just as bored, but had a lot more to think about than she had to say. The few stops that they had made on small islands didn't seem to cure their restlessness, for they had only come across uninhabited disappointment to pick fruit from trees and bushes to eat. Usually they stopped for a handful of hours, but a week before the misty morning they had to stop for two days to wait out a storm, for their little boat couldn't handle much. Elizabeth had spent most of her time since then staring at the compass and very rarely having to use her voice to tell whoever was rowing at the time to change direction.

While the men argued about the good or bad of the mist and what it meant either way, Elizabeth laid curled up at the bow of the little boat. With her face rested against the uncomfortable cool wood, she held the compass in one hand and let her fingers skim the surface of the dark smooth water. She had her sunken brown eyes, tired from weeks with little sleep, focused on the mist as it parted for the bow of the boat, cascading to each side in the most beautiful way. For hours she had remained that way, only moving to occasionally check the compass and to pet Cottons parrot, who had also taken a liking to the bow of the boat. From time to time she checked that the beating heart in her pocket was still there, though she could feel it all the time. James had insisted that she take it, being more trusted by the others than he.

'Yo ho, yo ho, a pirates life for me,' she softly sang, before humming the tune quietly to herself.

All the time to think had allowed Elizabeth to reflect on what she had done. The more she thought about it, the less she felt remorseful for what she had done. Her mind envisioned the sight of the selfish pirate rowing away in his long boat, leaving his own faultless crew to a torturous end, time and time again. Because of his dealings and failure to uphold those dealings, more than half of his crew died and Elizabeth doubted that he cared. When the nauseating feelings of guilt did creep into her thoughts, she remembered this, and admired what little crew was left with her in the long boat. They didn't deserve death, and thanks to her they had been saved.

What Elizabeth hadn't given any thought to was if anything lurked in the dark water. She dipped her hand in further, gathering a small pool of salt water in her palm and then let it seep through her fingers. Again and one more time she dipped her hand in, when suddenly something cold and wet held it in its grasp. Elizabeth let out a choked scream as she tried to pull her hand from the black water. The rest of the boat erupted into questions and tried to attend to her, without tipping the boat. She pulled as hard as she could; it didn't hurt, but it wouldn't let her go. Elizabeth mustered the courage and peeked over the edge of the boat as she pulled, terrified to know what had ahold of her. It was a hand, pale and cold, adorned with tattoos and rings that she recognized. It was the ghostly hand of Jack Sparrow. She screamed again. Just as she saw it, Ragetti held out a lamp over the side, and the hand let her go, disappearing into the water without a trace.

'What was it Miss Elizabeth?' Mister Gibbs was the first to ask. Even his tan leathery skin seemed pale with fright.

Elizabeth inspected her hand, but there seemed to be no damage. Ragetti, the nearest to her besides James, took her hand and looked at it as she stared at it with wide eyes. She couldn't speak. The image of the cold dead hand around hers was burned into her mind.

'There ain't no bites,' he informed before wiping it on his coat.

'Elizabeth,' Will called to her. 'What's happened? What was it?'

'A hand,' she muttered, brown eyes still fixated on her hand. 'It-,' she struggled to speak. 'It was Jacks hand-' her voice sounded calm, but she was anything but. Her heart pounded hard against her boney chest and her limbs shook, high from fear coursing through her veins.

Elizabeth moved away from the bow of the boat, trying to get away from the edge. Was it repressed guilt, eating her alive, or was Jack trying to drag her to the same abyss she had damned him to? She felt certain it was the latter, knowing without doubt what she saw. Ghosts were real, as all aboard the boat knew very well.

'Aye,' Mister Gibbs agreed, 'a tormented soul he be. Unable to rest.'

Will sighed loudly from the stern. 'Doubtful. We've all been sleepless for weeks- and hungry. You only imagined it.'

'I know what I saw!' Elizabeth snapped, her voice cut through the silence of the darkness around them. Her eyes were wide, crazed by what she had just seen and unwilling to be told that she hadn't.

James put his arm around Elizabeth's shoulder to reassure her. 'I'm sure you do, but we all need to calm down for now. Indeed we are all very tired.'

But she was too overwrought to listen to reason. 'It had his tattoos, the rings,' she insisted, shaking her head. 'He wants me dead-'

'Elizabeth?' ghostly words came from the fog.

All but one on the boat froze in fear. Elizabeth stood, shaking the boat, to peer over the mist. Her eyes searched desperately, but all she could see was grey. Again, she heard the voice call her name. She could hear it, but who it sounded like eluded her.

'Did ye here it?' Mister Gibbs whispered.

Ragetti moved closer to James, away from the edge of the boat. 'It's the spirit of Jack, come back to 'aunt us for accepting his sacrifice!'

'Enough of this,' Will barked. 'Enough! This is ridiculous!'

'Y- YOU'RE BEING RIDICU-' Elizabeth's voice cracked, before she was distracted by a golden glow emerging in the mist.

'Elizabeth!' It was a voice she knew. The voice of her father.

'It's my father. That's my father!' she put her foot onto the wooden bench, trying to peer higher, looking into the golden mist. Soon it was apparent what they had come across. It was a giant man of war; its stern was lit with lanterns, just as the entire ship was. 'FATHER!'

'It's the Dauntless,' James said, pointing at the detailed lettering at the back. It had once been a ship of his fleet. Using Elizabeth for balance, he stood with her. 'We're near Port Royal.'

'COME ABOUT!' a booming voice called. Both Elizabeth and James recognized it.

'GROVES!' James shouted back.

They could now see figures leaning over the railing of the large ship, but they couldn't see who they were with the mist and lanterns creating a strange veil.

'Commodore?' the voice was more quiet now, questioning himself. Muttering came from the ship.

'Elizabeth are you there?' It was indeed her father.

'I'm here father, I'm here,' she sobbed, letting tears of joy run freely down her face. 'Help us up!'

Their little boat drifted towards the beast.

'I don't like this,' Pintel made his discomfort known. The other men nodded in agreement.

'Don't worry,' Elizabeth turned to the group. 'On my word, you shall have a ship of your own in the morning. My father will make sure of it.' It was really Lord Beckett who would make sure of it, once she had given him the heart, but that was better left unsaid.

A rope swung down over the planks used to climb aboard the ship. Elizabeth was the first to take hold of the rope, climbing eagerly up the wooden hull, followed by James. At the top a hand, this one warm and alive, pulled her up. It was Private Murtogg, who gave Elizabeth a smile. She couldn't help but hug the familiar man. A hand on her shoulder drew her attentions away.

It was her father, who wrapped his arms around her. Elizabeth buried her face into his neck and cried in relief. She breathed in his familiar scent. She was home and after all the destruction, all would be well. James would get his life back, Will would no longer have to be tied to her, the crew would get their own ship, and her father would be free. But wait- what was he doing, already free, on a ship dressed to the nines as usual? 'What are you doing here?' she questioned. 'Were you not imprisoned?' Oh I was so worried about you.' Her hand went to his cheek.

'You were worried for me? You've been missing for so long, I've had so little news of you-' Weatherby pushed her messy hair away from her tanned face. 'I was only put on house arrest for a short time,' he explained. Something about him suddenly looked under stress. 'Lord Beckett became concerned for you with no news, as did I, and so he planned for me to lead a search party for you while he awaited your return to Port Royal. We are- well, were- due to leave at sunrise. You've come back just in time.'

Elizabeth let a smile cross her face, wet from tears. Lord Beckett had been worried? And enough to send out search parties? Then there was her father, who was in good health and happy. For a moment she forgot all the horrible things that had happened for this moment. But then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Will. His glaring eyes burnt holes in the side of her head.

'Lord Beckett?' he questioned with his eyes slit, much to Elizabeth's dread.

Weatherby saw his daughters eyes dart to the wooden deck and decided to halt the conversation. 'Commodore Norrington,' he said instead. 'Oh come here dear boy, it's so nice to see you.' The aging man put his hand on his old friends shoulder. 'I dread to ask you how you've been. How-' Weatherby spotted the next man to climb up the hull. 'Joshamee Gibbs? Great scot, has my daughter dug up all the ghosts of my past? How have you been?'

Next to come up the hull was Ragetti, followed by Pintel, Marty, and Cotton. This caused a stir.

'I'm sorry sir,' Groves stepped into the gathering. 'Sorry, James. . . These men are all wanted criminals, I really must insist-'

'Oh do what you must, captain,' Weatherby laughed. 'But I do insist that they are given hot food and good drinks. They shall be released tomorrow anyhow, it's only a matter of paper work that I must handle. It is the least I can do for them accompanying my daughter.'

Elizabeth eyed her father suspiciously. It seemed he was covering up her affiliations with Lord Beckett. She wondered why that was or how it was that he knew to do so.

'Well alright, if you would all come with me,' Groves instructed. 'Ready the long boat!'

Mister Gibbs gave Elizabeth a questioning look. She nodded to reassure him. Once he followed Groves, the rest did too. Will followed, still watching Elizabeth curiously. James went last, giving her a nod and a smile.

Elizabeth was left on the deck standing with her father.

'Father I must go speak to Lord Beckett,' she said. 'There is still much I must do.'

'Do you have the compass?' Weatherby asked, to Elizabeth's questioning brow. 'He told me that you two made a deal for it after you fled the carriage- which by the way we shall be discussing young lady. Running off and making deals with men, gallivanting with pirates. . .' he shook his head and crossed his arms across his chest disapprovingly. 'And you're filthy. When was the last time that you bathed?'

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. 'As if you're only now finding out you haven't raised a lady,' she dismissed his trivial worries. 'I do have the compass and something better father. A certain item which Lord Beckett intended to seek out using the compass. The sooner I speak to him, the sooner all goes back to normal.'

Weatherby looked down at his hands. It was a habit Elizabeth knew he exhibited when he was particularly unsettled. 'Well,' he sighed. 'Not all. There has been quite a lot of talk in society about you. I fear that your behavior, though you meant well, has ruined your reputation. I do not believe that any family of good standing may look towards you once more, Elizabeth.'

She opened her mouth to say she didn't care, though she did. Despite all her pirating and wrong doings, she was still raised as a lady and enjoyed the comforts that it brought. And she knew well that her fall from grace meant the fall of her father as well. 'Father, I-'

'Elizabeth,' Weatherby cut her words short. 'I wanted to allow you to chose your own path. I let you deny James, when you knew I would have felt the upmost comfort with the match. You chose William, but- well, even if you have earned his pardon, he shall never be regarded as more than a common criminal. I cannot sit idly by while you are subject to the same abuse as he. So I've, well I-' he cleared his throat and straightened his coat nervously.

'What is it father?'

'You'll be protected under his name, no matter what you have done or what you may chose to do in the future. . .' it seemed like he was reassuring himself. 'I've married you to Lord Beckett.'


What happened next went by in a blur. Elizabeth didn't know what to think. She vaguely remembered the short journey in the long boat to shore or how she had come to know that the old manor on the cliff was where she was going. Her father had directed her to a carriage, but she had muttered something about walking instead. But then she ran, her father calling after her, words that didn't penetrate her mind. Her feet carried her through the sleepy houses and beyond the edge of town, where the dirt road that lead up to the old mansion began. The milky mist blanketed the ground obscuring her path, but she pressed on, her lungs heaving for more air. Her doe-like eyes searched for the mansion, which should have been visible so far up the path.

Suddenly, she spotted a lone figure in the mist.

'Hello?' her voice cut the silence like a knife.

The figure turned to her, but she couldn't see who it was.

Elizabeth's throat went dry in fear. Whoever it was, or whatever it was, no doubt could see her too. But she tried to push the thoughts away; with what happened on the boat naught thirty minutes beforehand and the creepy moonlit mist, she was certainly frightening herself. Surely it was Lord Beckett; she couldn't have been far from his manor. 'Cutler,' she called out to the figure. There was still no response. With her hand on the sword on her hip, Elizabeth moved forward. 'Cutler I've come back. . . I have something that you want.'

The figure was close now, but still invisible in the mist.

'I suspected that young Turner was up to something,' it was Jack. Elizabeth's stomach dropped. 'But not you, love.'

His ghostly presence emerged from the mist, soaking with sea water.

'I'm sorry,' she whispered, stepping back. 'I can't change what I've done. . .'

'Ah, but you can,' Jack hissed, the familiar crispness was somewhere in his voice, that only could be heard when he was scheming. 'Tia Dalma, she will know. Or. . . you could join me.'

Jack lunged at her and Elizabeth shrieked. She ran through the mist, unknowing where she was going. Just as she looked back, fearful that she would see the wraith following her steps, she ran into someone, who wrapped their arms around her. Her breath was too quick to scream again, but as she saw this persons face, she sighed in relief. It was Lord Beckett.

He walked her silently into the manor, which had only been a few feet away. They didn't speak, which Elizabeth found strange, though she was too out of breath to speak anyhow. She walked into the entrance hall, which even in the dark seeped grandeur. Lord Beckett shut and locked the two large wooden doors behind her.

'What were you running from?'

Elizabeth shook her head and wiped her eyes. 'Nothing,' she whispered, turning with her arms across her chest defensively.

The two figures stood silently in the dark hall, each waiting for the other to speak. Elizabeth wanted to approach him; she wanted to kiss him and remember why she had been so keen to do his bidding. Had it only been to save her father? She couldn't say it was.

'Are you not pleased to see me, my lord?' her throaty words filled the hall.

Lord Beckett stood in front of the door in a stream of moonlight, so imposing, just as she remembered him. 'As ever,' his ultuous voice sent chills through Elizabeth's body. 'I was worried that you would not return.'

'So I heard. You meant to send a search party, all for me?' Elizabeth took off her dirty coat and let it fall to the marble floor. She should have been negotiating, but she felt that was all she had done for months. For a moment she wanted to forget. 'How gallant of you. Perhaps you should be rewarded for your nobility, my lord.' Her rasping voice made her sound all the more sultry as she subtly flirted.

A small smile curled at the corner of Lord Becketts mouth. 'What do you have for me?'

'I possess an interesting item or two that I think may appease you,' she purred. 'But it is what you have for me that will earn you the items.'

'I was under the impression that I was to be rewarded,' Lord Beckett slowly approached her. 'For being so gallant, as you put it.'

'Yes, and you shall, but I have other ideas for rewarding you for that later,' Elizabeth hadn't said what the reward was, but they both knew well what the reward would be. 'I came here to negotiate.'

Lord Beckett didn't speak. He crossed his arms and eyed her curiously.

Elizabeth brought the compass from her hip and held it up in front of him. 'The compass which points to whatever you want most in the world. For this, I want the crew of the Black Pearl freed and given a ship to sail tomorrow. Letters of marque for Will and I want James to be given the position of Admiral of the fleet.'

Lord Beckett snickered, unable to stop himself. 'Ah, but you see we discussed the terms of our agreement already, did we not? I promised to give Mister Turner his letters of marque and your father his freedom. That is all.'

From the pocket of her waistcoat she brought out a small leather pouch and held it out in her palm. 'I think this should afford me whatever I please.'

The pouch thumped loudly in the silent room. For the first time, Elizabeth admired Lord Becketts face fall into confusion. His brow pulled together as he took her hand in his own and watched the pouch move. 'How-' he couldn't seem to get the words out. 'How did you-'

'Know that you wanted the heart? Or how did I get the heart?' Elizabeth asked proudly. 'Well, you're not as careful with your words as you think. I figured it out as soon as I heard of the chest and what one could do with it's contents. I commissioned the assistance of James Norrington. He and I accompanied Jack, who was also in search of the chest. James stole it and gave it to me for safe keeping, with the knowledge that I could get him his life back.'

'And where is Jack Sparrow?' Lord Beckett asked, seemingly regaining his composure. 'I take it your thieving has displeased him.'

Elizabeth's breath hitched. Although she didn't feel guilty for it, at least she didn't most of the time, it wasn't something that she had spoken of since she found James on the beach at Isla Cruces. 'He's dead.' The words felt like a lie as they passed her lips as ghostly images of Jack floated through her mind. Her hand twitched as she thought about the incident on the long boat.

Lord Beckett eyed her suspiciously. 'May I ask how?'

'No,' she snapped. 'Do we have an accord or not?'

'I suppose we do,' he took the pouch and the compass and placed the items on a wooden side table nearby. 'Now, what did you have in mind for rewarding me?'

'Oh,' she whispered. 'Did I say I was going to reward you? I'm afraid I'm no longer in the mood.' Elizabeth strode over to the marble stairs, which were blanketed with an expensive carpet run. As she climbed a few stairs she continued, 'Might you send a maid to lead me to my chambers.'

Lord Beckett prowled after her. 'I suggest you refrain from teasing me,' he warned in his aristocratic drawl. He stood just two stairs below.

'Oh? Will you force me, my lord?' Elizabeth was challenging him. A smile which she tried hard to hold back crept across her face. She stepped down a stair, closing the gap between them. 'Force yourself into me and fuck me right here on these stairs where anyone could hear us? I was under the impression that you were a gentleman.'

Lord Beckett seemed as stony as ever, despite the scarlet words that she said to him. 'Well,' he spoke calmly, 'I suppose you were under the wrong impression.'

Elizabeth's doe-like eyes watched him, waiting for something to change. She hadn't been under the impression that he was a gentleman since the night he had taken her virtue, but wanted him to challenge what she had said with more than just words. 'Well,' she spoke equally as calm, 'I don't think I am,' she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. 'Goodnight Cutler.'

Before she could turn to leave up the stairs, only to tease him further, Lord Beckett had his grip painfully around her arm. 'You'll be coming with me to my chambers,' his voice was demanding and husky, sending a shock through Elizabeth's body. 'I care not for your mood or lack of it. Furthermore, I suspect that a-' his icy eyes went up and down her body with a sick smirk- 'scarlet woman, such as yourself, is aching for it after all these months.'

'I suppose you were under the wrong impression,' she echoed his own words, challenging him.

Lord Beckett entrapped her waist in the crook of his arm, pulling her body firmly against his own. His hand deftly went down the front of her trousers. Elizabeth simpered, until his fingers slipped inside of her with ease. Her breathy giggles turned into a suppressed moan. He wiggled his fingers about, sending her limp against him as she chewed her lip. 'If I was under the wrong impression, then why are you so wet for me?' Without an answer, he answered that for her by whisper in her ear, 'You're a liar, Elizabeth.'

Elizabeth pulled his hand from her trousers and pushed herself away from him with a cold, hard glare, trying to prove him wrong. Lord Beckett answered this by pushing her back, sending her backside to the carpeted stairs.

'You're a liar,' she whispered, looking up at him. She didn't bother to rise from the stairs. 'If you weren't, you would have taken me by now.'

Lord Beckett kneeled down, each knee on either side of her hips, holding her against the stairs. His fingers went to the buttons on her waistcoat, before he pulled them apart harshly. The sound of torn clothing pierced the silence of the hall. He moved on next to her lawnshirt, which was far more easily ripped off of her. Elizabeth laid bare, her hands above her head, making no attempt to cover herself. Lord Beckett leaned into her, taking her lips in his own. It was a short kiss, not as passionate as Elizabeth would have liked, but it was amended by his lips moving the distance down her slender neck. Her breath hitched as he took her right breast in his hand and clasped her nipple between his lips. She suddenly felt so exposed.

Elizabeth's throat clicked, dry from her nerves. Her eyes scanned the room, which was already not as dark as first she saw it. Soon the rising sun would bring with it servants and shed light onto their debauchery. A scarlet flush reddened her cheeks as she imagined them being discovered in such a way. Her rosy lips parted, meaning to suggest that they retire to his chambers, or anywhere more hidden than the main staircase, but before she could do so Lord Beckett had taken the front of her trousers in hand and ripped them down the center. Cool air graced the hot junction of her thighs. Her honeyed eyes watched as Lord Beckett pulled down his own trousers just enough to take her. The worries of being caught were suddenly far from her mind as she set eyes on his hardened manhood. Her slender legs parted and intertwined in his own. Their lips met in sudden fervid passion, both suddenly so unwilling to continue playing cat and mouse games. Elizabeth bit hard onto Lord Beckett's lip, emitting a guttural grown from deep within his chest. She tasted the warm copper tinge of his blood as she ran her tongue over the wound that she had caused.

Lord Beckett brought his hand to her throat as his lips left hers. His hot breath was unsteady on her neck. 'You're a vulgar minx,' he hissed in her ear.
Elizabeth tittered as she brought her hands up his back.

'Should I put you out of your misery?'

'Yes,' she whispered.

'Yes what?'

'Yes,' she repeated, her voice like velvet. 'Yes, your lordship.' Her white teeth flashed as she smiled at her own doltish cantrips.

Lord Beckett pushed himself into her warm centre and Elizabeth cried out. He pulled himself out as he watched her dewy face erupt with pleasure, before thrusting back into her, with as much force as his hips would allow. She moaned in both pain and pleasure, a combination that sent her into an intoxicating daze. Her dirty nails dug into his back as she gasped for hair between the moans being forced from her lips. Lord Beckett groaned loudly into her neck as he quickened his pace, forcing moans louder and more frequently from Elizabeth.

The two bodies continued on, their moans in pleasure slowly ebbing into one steady sound that echoed through the dark and empty entrance hall of the Beckett Manor, unknowing of the trouble that would soon befall them.

WRITERS NOTE:

Again, I apologize for my shotty smut writing. It's something I need to improve on. Also, I know this didn't take super long to write or anything, but I had intended for this to be an easy chapter to write and wanted it to be posted the day following the last chapter, but I had an unexpected bout of writers block. But anyways, thank you so much for reading and I hope the long awaited Beckabeth is worth it! The next chapter should be coming very soon. xxx