TWENTY-ONE: A Place to Stay

Elizabeth stood by the door of her house, her heart in her mouth. She felt... wretched. She was panting and tired, and with every second that passed, all she could think about was – where was Beckett? Why wasn't he here yet? She found herself nervous – and found herself annoyed with herself for finding herself nervous.

It was slightly mixed up. And when Beckett came flying out of the forest and nearly ran into her yet again, there relief flooded into her, as well as guilt for feeling relieved, and... well, her emotions were all over the place.

"Is the bear coming after you?" She asked him. Beckett shook his head, panting. Elizabeth looked into the forest – nothing was coming. But just the thought of the bear still being in there made her want to crawl away and hide somewhere. The sun was setting – night was falling, and Beckett stopped panting, stood up, and adjusted his overcoat, brushing leaves from his shoulders – being especially careful with his tender one.

Though the bullet-wound, at last, seemed to be healing. Cleaning it out in the hot springs had done good, though Beckett still wished he had gone to see a doctor while on mainland. Actually, Elizabeth seemed willing to take a visit to mainland Jamaica soon, and they both needed a doctor, anyway...

"Well... I'm going home now... uh..." Elizabeth looked around. Beckett turned to her with a small frown.

"So you're going to leave me out here with a bear?" He asked, wrinkling his nose, "Some friend you are! Oh, and where did your pirate buddies go?" He looked around.

"They're gone, Beckett," Elizabeth rolled her eyes, but looked a little but worried, "And I'm hurt that you think I'd call up some buds to come and assassinate you. Some friend you are! And anyway... since when have we been friends?" She pulled the most distasteful look she could onto her face, but Beckett arched an eyebrow, as if saying, I can see right through you...

"Since you saved my life on the first evening I was here?" He suggested, "Since I saved your life from the crevice in the ground? Since I saved your life from falling off of the cliffside? Since I rowed you all the way to Jamaica and back? Take a pick..."

"Right..." Elizabeth closed her eyes and breathed out through her nose. "Right. But letting you sleep in the same building as me... let alone the same room as me... isn't right. It's scandalous..." It was true. If a man and a woman was to share a room, then... well. These were suspicious times. It was improper.

"Huh. And since when did you care about scandalous?" He said the last bit in a high-pitched, mock-girly voice – which was odd to hear – and then he frowned at her. "I hate it when you say things that remind me of my mother."

"Your... mother?" Elizabeth's mouth dropped open. She'd heard enough about Beckett's mother to know that being compared to her was not a compliment, at all. "I am not like your mother! And anyway, it's true. It would be looked down upon if anyone found out we'd shared a room... especially Will..." Her eyes took on a far-away, loving look as she spoke the name of her betrothed.

"But the bear will eat me," Beckett said dumbly, for once out of long words – and he also seemed a little put out. He shook himself, and started again. "Mrs Turner, we have long since left the scandal and controversy of high-life in the New World," Beckett said smoothly, "And I assure you I'm not about to jump on you and rape you... though I don't know if the same can be said for you," He finished with a light sneer, and Elizabeth flushed.

"Don't you be so crude," She snapped at him, folding her arms.

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth," He said, and she had come to realize that he only called her that when he wanted something really badly. "But will you please let me stay in your humble abode so I'm not killed in my sleep? It would be much appreciated."

"Ugh..." Elizabeth rolled her eyes, "Fine, you can... but not forever, do you hear me?"

"I do hear you," Beckett said with a big smile at her, "And we have lots to discuss... beginning with this; what exactly is happening with you and William Turner?"

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Well, that was the worst topic conversation he could have even thought to pick. Elizabeth felt a small stab at what he'd said, and lowered her eyes downwards, shaking her head – she did not want to talk about it. She wasn't going to tell anyone she didn't trust by one hundred percent the truth about Will; and nobody was ever going to know where his heart was hidden.

Dead Man's Chest... what a terrible, but sadly truthful name for it. Only nine years and eleven months to go – whoopee. She shook the thoughts out of her head, as if scared Beckett would read her mind. He was regarding her, carefully.

"Is he... dead?" He asked, sort of gently, but more curiously.

"No!" Elizabeth snapped – a little too forcefully. Beckett just shrugged, and shuffled a foot, waiting for Elizabeth to lead the way into her home. He wasn't ungracious enough to invite himself in, it seemed... the only bright side to Beckett being, well, Beckett.

Elizabeth walked over to her home, and pulled open the door, stepping into the dim shack. She quickly kicked a crimson, slightly lacy undergarment that she had tossed to the floor that morning, angry at how uncomfortable all of her clothes seemed to have become all of a sudden – not that her stomach was growing yet, but she felt sort of tender – and turned to face Beckett, folding her arms.

"You can sleep out there, on the floor." She said, pointing towards the landing. Beckett wrinkled his nose. The floor was stone, and covered in dirt and twigs and bits of leaves. Elizabeth had never thought to bring a broom to sweep out the front of her home, and regretted it now.

"You can do better then that, can't you?" Beckett asked her, looking at the dirt-stained floor, "Not exactly, generous, are you?"

"You think that you are one to talk about generosity?!" Elizabeth demanded. "Beckett, this is my island, and what I say – goes!"

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Three and a half hours later, Elizabeth lay awake in bed, while Beckett dozed, curled up in her slightly raggedy old armchair, wrapped up in her best blanket, after they'd both had a long conversation over some food that Elizabeth had cooked for two.

She frowned to herself.

How did this happen?! She thought to herself, frustrated. Beckett!

NB: Oh yes. Beckett and his mind-tricks. Thanks for the supportive reviews! They are fabulous - constructive criticism also welcome... and please, please tell me if Elizabeth and Beckett begin to drift out of character, that's the most important thing! If you can't imagine then doing something I've written, give my ears a bashing! Heh, much love.

Next update contains happy souls, drolly droll, mind control! Jabbering jerk judges jaded journal, jotting jeopardizing jokes! (ack!) (tut tut, Elizabeth shouldn't leave her journal lying around with a Beckett on the loose...)