—Terasa—

The worst part of spending the night in a jail cell were the rats. They were active at night and I could hear their claws scratching against the flagstones as they hunted for something to eat. More than once, I had to kick out at the damn things to keep them from eating the expensive fabric of my dress or even my damn toes. It's bad enough that I wasn't even married after the Governor had spent so much money on everything, so I'll be damned if I let my dress get completely ruined.

Still, it could be a lot worse considering we weren't hanged yesterday. It helps that Will and Carl are in the cell next to mine, Will's hand holding mine through the bars as we wait for any news. Carl just kept pacing, kicking at the bars occasionally, filled with an anxious energy stemming from the absence of his sister. We had all thought she would be drug inside sometime yesterday, but that's been a little over eight hours ago and there's been no sign of Kit.

"You don't think she's dead, do you," Carl asks, ignoring the dark look James sent him. The other man was seated on the bench with Will, chewing on his thumbnail. "I mean, she's spunky and goes for blood, but she's not exactly coordinated."

"I'm sure she could beat up Beckett if she had to," James replies, almost growling. "As you said, she goes for blood."

"She'll be fine," I cut in before Carl could start another argument. "I taught her the basics of fighting in high school and Carl taught her how to kill a man. What we really need to focus on is how we're getting the hell out of here."

"Will, you got Sparrow out of here before, do you think you can do it again?" But Will was shaking his head, absently rubbing his thumb in soothing circles on my hand.

"These benches aren't right for it," he murmurs, using his free hand to knock on the wood for emphasis. "They would break under the strain of trying to lift the door."

"What about you, Carl, can you pick the lock?"

"With what," Carl asks," my good looks? I can't exactly use my charm on the lock, Norrington." The sound of a door opening and closing above us had everyone looking up, the soldier slowly revealed to be Murtogg as he makes his way down the steps. The skinny marine seemed strange without his friend, but he kept his head up and his gray eyes on my cell.

"Lord Beckett wishes to speak with you, Miss Sterling," he says, expression grim as he pulls out the keys for my cell. "He said it was urgent and to get you there right away."

"Don't suppose he's sporting any bruises," I say dryly.

"A small one on his chin." Murtogg's lips raise slightly in a smile that he was trying hard to fight. "Seems like Mrs. Norrington took offense to the accusations and struck out before that scary clerk could stop her."

"You see," James says proudly," my wife knows what she's doing."

"I picked her up a second ago from your house, Commodore."

"How is she?"

"Looks fine other than a hangover." He shrugs, unlocking my cell and cuffing my hands in front of me before leading me outside to a waiting carriage. It was made up of dark wood with a B emblazoned on one of the door, dark blue curtains keeping me from seeing inside. He opens the door and helps me inside, shutting the door once I was comfortable. Katherine was lying across the bench opposite me, still wearing the same pale teal dress from the day before.

"What happened to you," I ask, watching as she shifts and sits up. Kit groans, rubbing her forehead and squinting at me in the dim light.

"After my meeting with His Shortness, I went home and drank until my darling butler had to carry me upstairs," she responds in a soft grumble that was difficult to hear. Obviously she has just woken up because she's rarely this quiet once she's been up for more than a few hours. "Apparently I was engaged to Lord Beckett when I was sixteen, then Jack freed his cargo of slaves and took me to Tia Dalma to be sent to what we thought was the real world. Or something like that anyway. I don't know, but Beckett is a perv and his servants make shitty tea."

"So Beckett's nickname is His Shortness?" She nods, smirking a little with her eyes closed. The rest of the ride is spent in silence with an occasional groan coming from Kit, her hangover probably reminding her why she doesn't get drunk very often. She was more of a lightweight than she made people believe, so she must have had a really stressful night if she went home raided the liquor cabinet.

The carriage rumbles to a halt and the door is opened again, this time by Lieutenant Groves, and he helps Katherine and me to the ground, making sure to have a tight grip on Kit when he helps her out, before leading us to Lord Beckett's office.

"Oh hell no." Kit nods grimly when she notices my disbelieving expression. The office that Beckett had taken over is Norrington's and I can tell that it makes Kit makes angry to see her husband's things replaced by Beckett's.

"Yes," comes Beckett's voice after Groves knocks on the opened door.

"Miss Sterling and Miss Maxwell are here, my lord," Groves answers, sending us a look that meant behave. It was a moment before we got the okay to enter, Groves escorting us inside the spacious room. Beckett nods towards my cuffs and Groves quickly removes them, giving me an apologetic look. "Behave and good luck," he whispers, leaving the room and shutting the door behind him. The room is sparse considering how it used to look, a desk and two chairs setting in the middle of the room, a map being painted on the far wall, and double doors leading to a balcony on my right.

"Good afternoon. I trust you both slept well?"

"Oh yeah, because sleeping in a jail cell all night is sure to leave you well-rested," I mutter, crossing my arms and looking away from the man.

"You know damn well that I didn't," Katherine says loud enough to be heard, her eyes narrowed at His Shortness. The only sign that Kit had annoyed Beckett was the way his lips pressed into a thin line. He clears his throat, gesturing to the two chairs in front of the massive oak desk that was scattered with paperwork.

"Please," he murmurs," have a seat. Would either of you like some tea?" Katherine opens her mouth to say something, but I step on her foot as hard as I can, the words turning into a squeak of pain. The last thing we need is her snide comments making Beckett hate us even more. All of us take our seats, Kit respectively declining a cup of tea while I accept one, discreetly summoning a couple of packets of Splenda in my lap and dumping them in the tea while Beckett was distracted by pouring his own cup.

"You said if I came back we would talk about a deal." I look over at Katherine, finding a defeated, exhausted expression on her face that I've never seen before. She's telling the truth and she hates the fact that she has to deal with this rat. I move my gaze back to Beckett, taking in his smug look as he takes a sip of his drink. I wonder if there's booze in this office. Beckett continues to watch us for a few minutes, Kit squirming under his intense stare while I match it.

"So I did, but I would like a few more answers." Kit's shoulders slump and her hands grasp the arms of her chair tightly as though she was fighting not to coldcock the bastard. She has a good right hook as the dark blue on Beckett's chin proves. "Who is your father, Miss Sterling?" I swallow hard around the lump building in my throat, well aware of what happens to people who associate with pirates. "Don't look so worried, your friend has already told me of her father, surely yours can't be any worse." He was baiting me, I'm almost positive of it.

"Why does it matter," I ask, taking a drink of my tea and wincing a little. Katherine's right, this tea tastes like ass.

"Before I make a deal that could possibly result in your pardons, I want to know who your father is." He raises an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair and looking at me expectantly. Kit grumbles something indistinct under her breath, sinking down in her chair.

"My father's been dead for about two and a half years now."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, Your Shortness," Kit practically growls," I told you that last night."

"Then Terasa shouldn't have a problem telling me his name." Kit clenches the carved wood arms tighter, her knuckles going white. She is going to snap soon and when she did it would be bad. Kit normally has a good hold on her temper, but when she lets go she really lets the person that pissed her off have it. Last time was in college and she sent a guy that was bigger than her running inside the school with his tail tucked firmly between his legs. Quiet kids are the ones you have to watch out for in the long run.

"It's none of your business," I state firmly, my own temper beginning to rise.

"I suppose we'll be doing this the hard way." He nods at someone behind us and when I turn in my seat I find Mercer and Carl stepping out of the shadows with one hand holding tightly to Carl's arm and the other holding a knife to Carl's throat. Kit's eyes widen as we both jump from our seats. This isn't what I was expecting and I found myself wondering how they managed to get here so fast since I left before Carl. "It's simple, really, no one of importance will miss a pirate." The unveiled threat hangs heavy in the air, my mouth opening and closing.

"Captain Hector fucking Barbossa," I yell, close to panic, watching my friend in fear. "Are you insane?"

"No, darling, not insane, just persistent." Beckett nods again and Mercer brings the knife harder against Carl's bared throat. Carl holds his breath, knowing he couldn't struggle due to his hands being tied behind his back and any move he might make would only succeed in slitting his own throat. He sends a desperate glance in Beckett's direction, the knife making a shallow cut and a few drops of blood staining the white cotton of his shirt.

"Stop!" Looking helpless, Kit turns and takes Beckett's face between her hands, planting a kiss smack on his lips. His Shortness lets out an audible groan, pulling her tighter against him with an arm around her waist and his fingers tangling in her thick hair. I quickly look away, feeling sick to my stomach. Carl's jaw clenches and I can tell that if it weren't for the knife at his throat he would be on top of Beckett and Hulk smashing the man's face.

When Beckett finally lets Kit go, he nods again at his clerk and this time Carl is thrown to the ground.

"Carl," Katherine cries, dropping to her knees beside him and helping him to sit up. I grab the knife from Mercer before he could react and cut through the rope binding Carl's hands, wincing at the burns on his wrists. Obviously he'd struggled on the way here and the rope had bit into his flesh, leaving bright red rings. "Are you alright?" Carl nods, shaking from rage as he gives Beckett a murderous glare. There was a promise in that look, a promise that, when he got the chance, he would remove Beckett's head from his shoulders in the most painful way he could think of.

Before any of us could do anything too stupid, there's a knock on the door and then Will is being escorted inside. His hands were cuffed, the iron digging in and leaving sores that would have to be tended to soon to avoid infection.

"Terasa," he asks softly, letting his shoulders relax slightly when I give a nod. Beckett turns away from us to stoke the fire, making sure it stayed nice and toasty inside the office despite the stifling heat outside. "Carl, are you alright?"

"Been better," Carl remarks, giving Beckett another scathing glare. Beckett just smirks a little when he catches sight of it, looking too smug for words. Honestly, I've never seen someone that smirked as much as Beckett does, it's weird.

"Lord Beckett, the prisoner as ordered, sir," one of the soldiers with Will says.

"Those won't be necessary," Beckett replies, gesturing at Will's manacles. The soldier that spoke removes the chains and both leave the room as Beckett pours two glasses of brandy. "The East India Trading Company has need of your services." He sets a half-full glass down in front of Will before walking back to the fireplace, talking as he went. "We want you to act as an agent in a business transaction with our mutual friend Jack Sparrow." Beckett looks over at Katherine as he says this and picks up a pirate brand, the metal glowing red from constant exposure to the flames.

"Captain," she corrects again, finally looking up from Carl," my father is a Captain and a better man than you will ever be."

"He's more of an acquaintance than friend," Will interjects before Beckett could react to Kit's attitude. "How do you know him?"

"We've had dealings in the past," he answers vaguely. Beckett brings the brand up to eye-level before he continues. "And we've each left our mark on the other."

"Are you talking about when you wrongfully branded him," I ask boldly, moving to stand next to my fiancé," or about when you tried to force his kid into a marriage?" Beckett ignores my question, sticking the brand back into the fire and walking over to Will and me. He'd looked miffed for a second, like my question had legitimately offended him in some way.

"By your efforts, Jack Sparrow was set free. I would like you to go to him and recover a certain property in his possession." Beckett takes a gulp of the booze and I wanted nothing more than to take Will's drink and dump it on the bastard's head.

"Recover," Will repeats. "At the point of a sword?"

"Bargain." He moves over to his desk, opening a small chest and holding up a leather packet. He looks over his shoulder at his clerk, eyes cutting back to Carl and Kit. "Mister Mercer, please escort Miss Sterling and Mister McGee back to their cells, and Mrs. Norrington to the sitting room." Mercer nods, practically pushing us out the door and taking his knife back from me.

I'm afraid to think about what he might do if we gave him any trouble, he doesn't seem like the type that would think twice before committing a murder.