Warnings: this chapter contains a bit o' cursin' an' may or may not contain some sexual innuendos, so ye be forewarned…
Suddenly Beckett was being untied from the base of the cannon. His wrists were unshackled quickly and expertly by Gibbs, and although he was now free of restraint, he had lost the strength to lift himself off of the cannon. Elizabeth watched him as he remained prostrate over the cannon, free of all chains, yet not even attempting to pull himself up.
Jack had watched this entire lengthy yet pathetic scene unravel in front of him and felt a strange surge of pity welling up inside him. He went over to the disgraced former head of the EITC and pulled Beckett's shoulder back to help slide him back off of the cannon.
Elizabeth watched all this with interest. Beckett had not actually learned his lesson; that she could tell. He couldn't even come up with one lousy lesson to have learned. Of course, she'd find out for sure if he had gotten anything out of the experience later on, when he wasn't in direct danger of getting another stroke of the implement of punishment. I'll find out then his true feelings.
Meanwhile, Jack had been able to get Beckett back up off the cannon slightly. Barbossa watched the other captain, feeling a rage building in his chest. No wonder I staged a mutiny on Jack! It's this sort o' soft behavior tha' put us all in danger not once, but several times, under his supposed "command!"
"Get away from 'im, Jack, he can take care o' himself," Barbossa growled, grabbing Jack's arm to pull him away. Jack allowed for the tall captain to pull him away, yet kept his eyes on the pitiful man still bending over the cannon. Barbossa gave a signal to a pair of crewmembers to remove Beckett from the premises.
It was then that two of the newest additions to the ship, Murtogg and Mullroy, came out of the crowd and hoisted Beckett up by the shoulders, giving the entire crew of the ship an unrestricted view of the nether regions of Lord Cutler Beckett. Beckett was so weak, he didn't even try to cover himself up as he was pulled back towards the ladder to the brig. His breeches were down around his knees, and another pirate yanked them off over his boots so that the burly pirates would not trip over the lengths of fabric that hung down below his feet.
"I can't believe it; his actually puts Will's to shame," Elizabeth whispered aloud, drowned out by the hoots and hollers from the crew due to Beckett's indecent exposure. Before she even registered what she had been saying, she had blurted out her opinion of Cutler Beckett's surprising anatomy. Her eyes wide as saucers, she gaped around her at the thankful lack of anyone who might have heard her. Her heart left her throat and settled back into her chest. Beckett also had an alarming amount of leg hair, given the only hair that she had ever seen on him was his powdered white wig. What would cause me to even consider thinking these things, let alone saying them aloud? Propriety be damned now, she mused, the blood still emptied from her face.
Cutler Beckett was returned to the brig before he had even realized he had lost his breeches somewhere back up on deck. Murtogg and Mullroy gathered up the articles of clothing that he had formerly left in the brig from before the flogging, and took the clothing with them, under Elizabeth's orders. Beckett lie facedown on the urine-dampened boards of the brig, the burning in his backside not allowing for him to think of much more than intense scorching pain. How did I manage to live through that? he mused, disgusted that he had to be reduced to tears in order for the punishment to stop. Perhaps in a few years I'll be able to sit again….
As the iron grated door of his cell clanged shut, he made a feeble attempt to identify the two men who had brought him to the brig. They seemed familiar to him, but his vision was blurred with tears. That's too bad, he mused. I would like to have known their names so as to relay them to the executioner as they await their turn at the gallows….
He soon was aware that he was still nude from the waist down, yet couldn't change position in order to attempt to cover himself more effectively without causing a flare of intense pain from his backside. Immediately he thought of the waistcoat and coat he had left along the back wall of the brig and lifted his head up to look at where he had placed them. They were gone! Before he could even deduce when and why his clothing had been taken, he heard the tromping of boots down the ladder, which indicated that soon yet another crewman would get to see his piteous position, lying half naked across his own wastewaters.
Beckett shot a poisonous glare at Jack Sparrow, who stood emotionless yet watched his change of expression intently, his own ripped and urine-stained breeches held delicately between two fingers, Jack's other hand hidden behind him. Oddly enough, the look that Jack was giving him seemed to hint slightly at sympathy. Beckett broke the mood with an expected remark.
"So what's the bloody holdup then? Am I getting those back at any point in the near future?" Beckett remarked, lifting a finger to point at the breeches.
Jack looked at Beckett as if surprised, then back at the breeches, as if he hadn't realized he had been holding them.
"Would it be these breeches you are referring to as 'them'?" he said as innocently as possible, gently raising them, watching Beckett's expression change to that of unabashed hatred.
"Yes, you blathering idiot; what else could I possibly have meant?"
"Now, now, Cutler, that's no way to win 'em over. You ought t' know that, seein'as you did plenty of arse-kissin' on your way up th' Comp'ny's ladder."
This only infuriated Beckett further, his face darkening to match the color of his exposed backside.
"Firstly, you will not address me as 'Cutler' like I'm some sort of equal. I will simply ignore you. And if you're expecting your arse to be kissed, you are sorely mistaken."
"Alright, Cutler," Jack said smoothly. "Guess you'll jus' have t' remain half-naked in your own excremen' 'til you get th' idea…."
Beckett strongly desired to ignore Jack's last remark, but he was getting desperate. Jack turned around, preparing to head out of the brig. As much as Beckett didn't want to admit it, he'd rather kiss Jack's arse than remain half-naked in the brig.
"What is it that you want from me?" Beckett cried. He attempted to lift his upper body off the floor by use of his hands, but the pain was severe. Jack spun around, a look of mock surprise on his face.
"Oh! I see that you got over your little vow o' silence quite quickly, Cutler. But to be perfectly frank, I want from you th' utmost reverence, an' all that it entails. Is that so much to ask?"
Beckett winced at the casual mention of his first name by a man who should be referring to him as 'Your Lordship,' 'Lord Beckett,' or at least 'sir.' He had to swallow his anger, at least for the time being. Me, revere Sparrow? He can't be serious.
"How can you expect me to do anything in the state that I am in, no thanks to the captain of the ship," the former lord coolly retorted, craning his neck up towards the deck, alluding to Jack's weakness in refusing to accept Barbossa as a bona fide captain.
"One of th' two captains of th' ship, mind you," Jack said, watching a grin spread across Beckett's bloodied lips. "Well, seein' as you're lyin' upon th' floor, unable t' do much else…. You can scrub your…." He looked revolted as he glanced at the telltale puddle, shaking the hand holding the breeches to indicate the puddle— "substance… off th' floor. 'Course, this is mainly for your benefit, seein' as this cell will be your home… indefinitely. Not much fun smellin' of that."
"And just how am I going to do this?" Beckett said, turning his head to look around him at the bare cell.
"Don' you fret, Cutler; you'll have a scrub-brush an' a pail all your own." There was a lag in speech as Beckett seemed to be scheming something, for he stared intently at some spot near Jack's feet whilst painstakingly lifting his upper body propped up by his elbows. Before Jack could ask, Beckett spoke again.
"And will I be receiving my breeches, upon my agreement to partake of this job?"
Jack smiled back at him, gold teeth glistening from the specks of sunlight between the boards serving as patches for the hull.
"You're missin' one important fact here, mate. You're not, as you say, agreeing to partake of said job." He smiled, relishing this moment. "You're doin' it 'cause I bloody well said so, savvy?"
Thanks for the reviews, everyone! I hope you enjoyed this latest installment!