Warnings: there be innuendo in this chapter, so ye be forewarned…


Jack returned to the brig with the scrub-brush, a small piece of soap, and a pail half-filled with seawater, and wordlessly unlocked the cell door so as to place the items in front of Beckett, who in the time he had been gone, had pulled his long white shirt down so that it covered everything thoroughly down to his knees. He was no longer indecent, yet still was humorous-looking, for it appeared as if he was wearing a dressing gown.

"I take it that cleaning supplies are difficult to find on your ship, Captain Sparrow?" Beckett shot as Jack locked the door, looking satisfied with his new level of decency.

"As a matter o' fact they are," Jack replied simply. "I have no use for 'em, being as th' members o' my crew are toilet-trained."

"I should have expected you'd say something like that," Beckett sighed. Jack half-grinned at him, watching him reach meekly for the scrub-brush.

The grin that had crossed Jack's face faded rapidly, with the look of cold unabated hatred emanating from Beckett. The captain tsked like a disappointed parent.

"Now, now, Cutler, it's this sort o' attitude that got you into this predicament in th' firs' place," he scolded, shaking his head.

"This predicament? What do you mean by that? Being taken captive? I'm sure that you heathens would have lunged at the chance to capture any adversary, no matter how fair and good-natured he or she was."

"By predicament I of course meant your punishment aboard deck. Had you not been so… like yourself… you would probably still be wearin' your breeches an' you'd be able to sit."

"Unlikely," Beckett spat. "Instead, you'd probably still have me chained to the grating, standing in my own waste, the crew standing and laughing at me all the while."

"Sounds better t' me to be standin' in my own waste than lyin' in it, mate."

Beckett scowled at him, ignoring the cleaning products. Jack noticed this, wanting to be able to leave Beckett and go aboard deck again to talk of the morning's main event with the crew – and Elizabeth. He was dying to know what she thought of the flogging.

"Aren't you goin' to be gettin' a move-on wiv the cleanin' then?" Jack said impatiently, fanning his face. "Th' stench is really gettin' to me."

"I'm not doing this to protect your delicate senses. I'm doing this to get my clothing back," Beckett growled.

"I don' currently see you doin' anythin' at all," was the response. "You'll get said clothing back after you've rendered th' cell sterile." He sneered at Beckett and hastily left the brig, Beckett's breeches still in hand.

Upon returning to the main deck, Jack tossed Beckett's pants underneath the barrel of a cannon, where it was well-hidden from the view of others. After ridding himself of the stinking fabric, he saw Elizabeth across the way, talking to several of the Singaporean crew. He sauntered over to join the conversation.

"Of course it was forced!" Elizabeth was saying to the foreign pirates. "I can sense insincerity a mile away!"

"Did I mention I missed you terribly during your outing yesterday?" Jack interrupted, flashing Elizabeth a suggestive grin.

"Jack and Beckett have more in common than meets the eye," she said half-laughingly to the pirates.

"I resent that," Jack replied, looking hurt.

"Anyway, Jack, I was just telling them how Beckett's little apology was contrived. He obviously just wanted the punishment to end. I still can't believe Barbossa went along with that act."

"Well, you coulda always taken up where Barbossa let off, luv."

"Believe me, I considered it, but he had Beckett's restraints removed before it was even obvious as to what his assessment of the apology was going to be."

"So, did it impress you?" Jack gave her a questioning, moderately serious look. What could he possibly be referring to? Her face involuntary reddened. Is he referring to Beckett's… anatomy? Oh, God, he must have heard me….

"What do you mean by that?" she ventured cautiously.

"You haven't th' faintest idea?" Oh, kill me now. He knows! she mused, watching his expression lose some of its seriousness.

"No, as a matter of fact I do not, Captain Sparrow," she said as coolly as possible.

"Why the sudden formality? You had to have thought that for a small man, he had a rather long—" he said breathily, watching to his great amusement, her face turning beet red. "—punishment." He smiled triumphantly.

Immediately she looked angry.

"Of course, surely everyone thought that!" she countered. "I admit, I was quite unnerved by his ability to withstand that many strokes with no more than a grunt."

The Singaporean men nodded in agreement. "I can't believe he take all that," one said in rather good English.

"He always seemed the stoic type," Elizabeth added, changing the subject. "Whilst persuading him to give me the letters of marque, I at one point aimed a pistol at his forehead. He did not so much as blink."

"I can believe that," Jack said. "I recall threatenin' 'im o'er his desk many years ago, but he jus' stood there, as composed as e'er."

"I didn't realize you two had a past."

Jack laughed. "You make us soun' like lovers or somethin'. Th' fact is, I used t' work for th' man."

"Wait," she said, holding back her laughter unsuccessfully. The Singaporean pirates just gaped at him like he had suddenly materialized into Davy Jones in front of their eyes. "You worked for the East India Trading Company?" she cried.

Some nearby pirates turned around, hearing her accusation. Jack put a finger to his lips.

"Not a proud time in me life, mind you," he said under his breath. He spoke to Elizabeth and the Singaporeans simultaneously. "You can't go shoutin' this about to th' crew, savvy? It's not goin' t' do me reputation any good, an' it won' be helpin' yours when I find out. 'Twas a very short, very stupid period o' my youth."

"You'll have to tell me more about this, Jack," Elizabeth said, extremely curious.

"Don' you ever wonder how I became a pirate? You think I branded meself?" Jack asked. He pulled his sleeve up to reveal the brand, which she recognized immediately. "Tha's the work o' Beckett for you. An' the Pearl? 'Twas the Wicked Wench, my ship when I worked for th' Comp'ny. Beckett had her sunk, an' so I made my deal wiv Jones t' raise her from th' depths."

Realization settled over her as pieces of the puzzle came together. Finally he had explained some things about his past. She was still curious as to what sorts of tasks he had whilst he was employed by the company, however.

"Wow, your past makes so much more sense now," she said, giving him a nod of understanding. All those problems with Jones, all over a bloody ship. It disgusted her, but she didn't show it. She continued her questioning of Jack's past.

"But what of your actual employment then? What work did you do for the Company?"

"Uh, well, I cannot divulge that at th' moment or in any moment when anyone else should or could or may be around. Which would mean that I cannot tell you whilst aboard this ship. Not until we are alone, when not a livin' soul is nigh."

"That's going to be rather hard to manage," she replied, rather amused. "Because even if we went off alone in the longboat, there are bound to be fish swimming about under the water." She said the last part rather humorously, imagining the fish eavesdropping on their conversation. Her reverie was cut off by Jack speaking in a rather serious tone.

"Exactly, luv. A risk I cannot take at this point in me career. 'S bad enough that you four know about this unfortunate period o' my distant past, an' the result o' my ungainful employment. O' course, bad for you as well as for me."

"Wait…. are you saying that fish can relay information?" she said, chuckling.

"Take a look a' Davy Jones. Bootstrap Bill. Fish through an' through."

"Point taken. Your story is probably not very interesting anyway." She crossed her arms, suddenly looking bored, her gaze focused out to sea. Jack could see right through her ruse.

"I see wot you're tryin' to do, an' I'm not fallin' for it. You can fool Captain Jack Sparrow once, but ne'er twice." He tried to think of a way to quickly get off the subject to one that was currently very important. "Don' you want to see Beckett?"

Elizabeth looked offended. "I should not want to see him in a state of indecency, thank you very much," she scoffed.

"Wasn't th' impression I was gettin' earlier," he said, nudging her shoulder suggestively as she seethed, wondering what all he knew. "But t' clear your conscience, he has covered himself wiv his shirt an' now appears t' simply be wearin' a dressing gown."

"And his… nether regions; they are covered?"

"Do dressin' gowns not cover th' nether regions? I had been under th' impression that they—"

"Alright. I will go see him then, if what you are saying is true." She still appeared to be suspicious.

"C'mon, Lizzie. Would I lie to you about somethin' as trivial as this?" He looked sincere enough to convince her, though she knew better not to try to read anything he did as sincere.

She left Jack standing with the Singaporean men, as she descended the ladder to the brig of the Pearl with a plate full of gruel and a mug of water. Cutler Beckett had been staring expectantly at the entrance to the brig, propped up sideways on one elbow, his other hand languidly rubbing the scrub-brush on the floor. When he saw her emerge, an instant scowl crossed his face. Jack had not been lying; Beckett was decently covered.

"I see that Jack is keeping you busy," she told him, her expression unfazed, as she unlocked the door to his cell, food and drink in hand.

"I am only following his orders so that I can get the remainder of my clothing back." He gave her a knowing glance. "For the time being, however, I'm requesting that you grant me the return of my coat and waistcoat."

She saw that he was only wearing his shirt, wig, and boots. Obviously the men had removed the clothing from the cell in time. Quickly she placed the plate and mug on the ground near him.

She contorted her eyebrows in an expression of innocent confusion.

"Where are they?" she asked, feigning ignorance.

"I thought that you might divulge that piece of information," he replied coolly.

She looked disinterested and mildly disgusted.

"What would I want with your men's clothing? It's of no use to me!"

He sighed. "Of course my clothing would be of no use to you, but if you disposed of it, it would no longer be of use to me. Isn't that your ultimate goal, to make my life as miserable as possible?"

"I thought I made my goals for you quite clear earlier."

Beckett sighed, tossing the scrub-brush carelessly into the pail.

"Well, after being made to eat garbage, to lose complete sensation in my legs, to piss myself out of your neglect for my basic human necessities, and then finally to be rendered incapable of ever sitting properly again, I had been under the distinct impression that you intend to cause me misery until I relent."

"All that you've went through is trivial compared to what you did to me and Will! You arrested us; you destroyed our wedding day; you separated Will and me by sending him on a wild-goose chase to find a stupid compass; you arrested my father; and then to top it all off, you killed my father, taking him from me forever without so much as a reason why."

"Save for the last act, all of my past deeds are quite mild and cannot even be compared to this out-and-out torture."

"That last 'act' as you call it, trumps all that you have went through," she snarled. "After all, you're still alive, unlike my father."

Ignoring her last statement, he suddenly looked thoughtful. "That reminds me," he said. "Where is our mutual friend Mr. Turner? I didn't notice him earlier today."

"Don't try to change the subject. And I am certain that he does not consider you a friend."

"How can you be so sure of that? Before I can believe that statement, I would like to hear that from Mr. Turner himself. Won't you fetch him, to end the suspense?"

"He's busy right now," she said, an honest statement. No doubt he was probably working overtime ferrying the Endeavour's dead to the next world.

"Is he even on the ship?" Beckett suddenly spat, surprising her a bit.

"That is none of your concern," she retorted, leaving the cell and locking the door behind her. He wasn't going to get anywhere with this conversation. Now that she was on the defensive, there was more of a chance that she would simply leave.

"Why did you come down here, besides to poison me with this so-called food?"

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"I came down here to evaluate whether your tearful display on deck was genuine. And I was correct; it was not."

He laughed spitefully, dipping his hand in the pail again to find the scrub-brush.

"Did you really believe that a flogging was all it was going to take to break me?"

"No, in fact I did not. But maybe I should exercise precaution and let you have another round, just to be certain."

He grimaced, pulling the scrub-brush out of the pail and examining it in his hand.

"Well, you'd have to let Barbossa rest his arm up first. Seeing as how the rest of you lot, who actually have directed grievances against me, are all talk and no action."

"Are you challenging me?" she said, the pitch and volume of her voice noticeably higher.

He rolled his eyes, attempting to mask the surge of fear that rose into his throat. I cannot take even one more stroke right now, regardless of who administers it. I do sense at this point I would be apt to bellow. He directed his eyes to the ground, his face expressionless.

"No, I am not. Forget I ever said that," he mumbled, staring at the ground. Now he felt incredibly stupid.

"Ha!" she shouted, causing him to jerk his head up to look at her. "It seems to me that you're the one who should be labeled as 'all talk and no action.' I can sense your fear from here!"

If I say something defiant again, I know it's going to result in further punishment. I need to let her think she's won… for now. I must swallow my pride for her to abandon this plan.

"I am certainly aware that you are a woman of action. I apologize for my earlier statement, which was contrived out of pure resentment, and nothing more."

"So you admit to being unable to follow through with your threats," she stated triumphantly.

He sighed, hating the feeling of having to acquiesce, even though it ultimately benefited him.

"Yes, I admit it."

Instead of gloating like he had thought she would be doing at this point, Elizabeth looked skeptical, and more closely approached the grating of his cell, placing her hands on the metal.

"A likely admission! You're going to have to at least look me in the eye if you think I'm going to believe that your confession is genuine."

Faking an apology was much easier when looking away, but he knew she'd more than likely be able to read his eyes if he was forced to look at her. It would probably be easier to set my teeth for a continuation of the flogging than to deal with this.

Beckett must have mulled over his next step for slightly longer than desired, because Elizabeth made a movement towards the cat o' nine tails. The captive's head shot up as he saw her pull it from the nail and snap it into her hands.

"That really won't be necessary," he said quietly, feeling a quivering going through his legs.

"You're not sorry! You can't even conjure a realistic-looking apology to avoid this, and so this must be done."

At the sight of her moving towards the cell door with the cat o' nine tails, Beckett contorted his body so that he was on his hands and knees, facing the door. Elizabeth stopped in her tracks, shocked. Is he actually preparing to be punished?


Wow, was I ever so happy about all the reviews for last chapter! And to show my happiness, I decided to post this chapter much earlier than I was originally going to (usually I do so in the dead of the night)! Please remember this for next chapter! hint hint