Disclaimer: I still don't own anything from Pirates, unless it's a character I created (like Helen). But everything else belongs to Disney.

Author's Note: Finally I get a chance to write this. This summer has been a hectic one. And, as I've found before, it's very hard to get back into the habit of writing these things (although knowing that there are actually people reading this has helped – thanks!). This onset of writer's block is sort of ironic, considering I spent two of these weeks away at a writing workshop. I guess I was all written out. My apologies if this chapter is a bit more awkward and stilted than usual; give me some time to get back into the groove of things.

Chapter Fourteen

The Pearl cut through the water like a new-formed ghost, reflecting back the wan light of the moon rather than absorbing it like she used to. Jack stood at her bow, brushing his hand lightly over the freshly painted wood. The sails above looked like clouds, obscuring the waxing moon.

"Not good for sneaking, is it, darling?" he murmured quietly under his breath. The Pearl dipped down smoothly in a movement that Jack took for agreement. "Yes, well, no need to worry. As soon as we have the Heart, we'll paint you again. We'll right things." His voice harder, he added, "Just make sure we catch up to that ship, and you can have all the black paint and black canvas you'd like." His eyes had not once left the – he hoped – quickly growing shape of Norrington's ship on the horizon.

He patted his hands over his coat, feeling for the cylindrical shape of his spyglass. It was nearly impossible to see very well in this darkness, but at least that made it easier for him to spot the ship – the lanterns hanging on the deck were the only light on the horizon, other than the stars. But despite the gently rocking lanterns, Jack could tell nothing else of the ship. He closed the spyglass impatiently.

"Tell me when we get closer," he said to no one in particular. Several men stopped and looked over at him, listening. "I'm going to get some sleep."

He wasn't very tired, but he couldn't stand looking at Norrington's ship any longer. He was starting to see things, staring so intently into the darkness for so long – ghost ships that surfaced from the depths, long tentacles of a mythical beast, a barely perceptible disturbance in the ocean currents, spiraling downward. Jack decided that it wasn't good for his health.

He settled himself on his bed, fully clothed and still wearing his boots, and laid back, staring at the low ceiling above.

"Now would be a good time for sleep," he said firmly to himself.

---

The next thing he knew, Gibbs was standing over him, shaking his shoulder violently.

"Oi, I'm up! Stop that, man!"

"The ship has stopped, Captain." Gibbs glanced over his shoulder toward the door that obscured the deck beyond.

"Stopped?"

"They dropped anchor, and now they're waiting for us. Cannons out."

This captured Jack's full attention. "Cannons?" To himself, he muttered, "Bloody git. What the hell does he think he's doing?" He rolled off the bed and walked briskly out onto the deck.

It was early dawn, and he could better see the ship they were pursuing: crisp paint, limp bleach-white sails, the typical Navy vessel. He couldn't see her name, as the inevitably gold-leafed plaque was facing away from them. The gun doors were all open on the side facing them, the port side.

Jack stopped abruptly, and Gibbs narrowly avoided knocking him over.

"Drop anchor just out of the range of their cannons."

"Aye aye, Captain."

The few hours sleep still clouded his brain. Jack leaned against the rail, more because he was having trouble balancing so soon after waking up than to look at ease. All the same, he stared at Norrington's ship with groggy eyes.

Norrington was on that ship. If Jack had been uncertain before whether he had truly seen Norrington, all of his doubts were erased upon seeing the ship ready for a fight. The Pearl would have overtaken them eventually, but he knew that only Norrington would be stupid enough to actually stop his ship and wait for the battle.

There was a loud splash from the starboard side of the Pearl, and Jack turned in time to see the heavy chains of the anchor quickly sliding beneath the dark water. A few seconds later, the anchor caught and the ship lurched with sickening suddenness and swung about.

There was a long moment of silence. Jack could see figures moving around on the other deck.

The tall, unmistakable figure of Norrington stepped up to the railing. "Sparrow!" His shout was faint, but the thick fog about them helped it carry clearly.

"Norrington!" Jack answered. When he said nothing more, Jack added, "I thought you were dead? Or does death just not take with people like you?"

"And what would you mean by that?" Norrington's voice carried the familiar bite of formality and pride.

Jack merely laughed.

He had obviously touched a nerve, because Norrington's voice was much louder when he finally spoke again. "What do you want, Jack?"

"That, I think, is obvious. Ignoring the fact that you should be rotting in your grave by now the last I heard of you, I think everything can be summed up in one simple question."

Norrington waited silently.

"Where is the Heart?"

But Norrington didn't have a chance to answer. There was a sudden scream – of rage? of pain? – and then Beckett appeared on deck, dragging Helen behind him.

Jack was momentarily too shocked to say anything. Beckett? He was possibly the last person Jack would have wanted to see – even if he was probably more useful for his goal than Norrington.

Beckett yanked hard on Helen's arm and pulled her in front of him, as though he was expecting Jack to take aim with an unusually long-ranged and accurate rifle. Or maybe he was just trying to make a point: he pressed a pistol to her temple. "I hope you will come quietly, Jack."

Even though her exact expression was blurred by the distance, Jack could tell that Helen was terrified. Her anguished sobs tearing at the silence might have helped clue him in a bit, as well.

Beckett was trying to blackmail him, Jack realized with fury. He was threatening an innocent – well, not so innocent, he amended – a girl that had very little to do with the current situation and nothing at all to do with their long-held grudges, all because he was afraid that Jack might try to best him.

But he needed that Heart.

His brain hissed, But what about Helen? even as he shouted, "You expect me to give up, just like that?" He scoffed, even though he knew the sound wouldn't quite carry over to Norrington's ship. "You're more of a fool than I previously thought – and, believe me, I've always thought of you as a bit of a nutter."

He thought he could hear the pistol's hammer click as Beckett cocked it, but it was probably just his brain substituting in sounds where they ought to be.

"It won't make any difference to me, Jack, if I pull this trigger."

His voice was hard without him meaning it to be. "I'm not giving myself up."

"So you would let me shoot the girl? All so that you could keep hold on your worthless life?" Jack could hear the grin coloring his words. "And I've always thought you were more merciful than that."

"No one's telling you to shoot her."

"Sir." Norrington's voice was sharp and forcibly calm. He didn't turn to Beckett as he spoke, merely tilted his head toward him slightly. The rest of his words were drowned out by the faint lapping of waves against the two ships, but Jack thought he could hear the words "not prudent" and "provocation."

Beckett started at him, rigid with anger. But he let the pistol drop ever so slightly.

Jack took the momentary distraction to shout again, "Where is the Heart? If you tell me where it is, I will leave."

"You're a fool," Beckett shouted coldly, but he let go of his hold on Helen's arm, and she leapt away from him. He regarded her with disinterest.

Jack grinned. "Tell me that when I'm holding Davy Jones's still-beating heart in one hand and gripping the hilt of the sword that is impaled in your heart in the other."

Beckett smirked despite himself: a challenge. "So, it is to be a race, then?"

"Whoever makes it to the Heart first."

"And how do you propose to do that when you have no idea where the Heart actually is?"

"I have my ways. It would be imprudent to reveal them now, wouldn't it?" He turned to his men. "Weigh anchor! Make ready to sail!"

---

Helen's throat was raw from screaming his name before Beckett cuffed her lightly and said, "Shut it, he won't hear you now."

She fell to the ground and rested her back against the railing, bringing her knees to her chest and trying to gain control of her sobs. He hadn't saved her. She had been so sure– he hadn't even asked if she was all right. A frightening mixture of pain and anger swirled inside her mind. She remembered vaguely that he had been set on abandoning her only a few weeks earlier; this was probably a lucky coincidence in his eyes.

"So much for that," Beckett said, almost indifferently. "I was hoping he would give in when he saw you." He looked down at her and a leering smile crept onto his lips. "I thought you were convinced that he was in love with you. Guess you were wrong, hmm?"

Norrington tore his eyes away from Jack's retreating ship and stepped over to them. "Chivalry's dead." He reached down and gripped onto one of her arms, hauling her up. He held her there a moment, staring down at her, and for the first time since their unexpected reunion, there was something other than undisguised loathing in his eyes. The anger seeped back into them slowly.

He handed her over to Beckett. "Keep her locked up. Make sure she doesn't try anything stupid."

Helen caught one last glimpse of the grey-white sails and shining wood before Beckett led her back down the ladder to the dark decks below.