A/N: Thank you for all your reviews—you keep me going. Honestly, if I hadn't posted this on Fanfic, and you wouldn't have seen it, I would have stopped, oh, thirteen chapters ago? Yeah. But I did, and you did, and I didn't. So all is right with the world. :D

On the other end of the spectrum, WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM, Cam910? A simple one flame would suffice! But nineteen? Nineteen? Why? What could you possibly gain from repeating yourself eighteen bloody times? And 'your next chapter better be longer'? Is that a threat? Good Lord, you've got me worked up. But I am pissed at you! Don't do it again, or I will block and report you, I promise I will. Kay? Kay. :D

Cutler Beckett took deep breaths as he slept, but not for long. The consistent plink-ing of pebbles hitting his window stirred him from his slumber. He grumbled incoherently, something about freedom, and rose from his divan. He stumbled to the window, for he had not quite totally woken up. He looked to the source of the pebbles and his eyes widened. It was a couple of crew members from the Flying Dutchman, and the projectiles weren't pebbles; they were tiny empty oyster shells. Davy Jones waited expectantly at the head of the ship, looking at Beckett. Beckett looked behind him; Will was sleeping. He waved to Jones, making a beckoning motion to come to his room so they could talk. Davy Jones nodded his head and Cutler remembered that the monster couldn't step on land for about eight more years. He sighed and headed down towards the Dutchman.

Once onboard the ship, Beckett crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow. "Well? Jones? Did you kill Sparrow and Miss Swann?"

"No. I did not." Davy Jones was not one to mince words, and neither was Beckett.

"Why not?"

"He got away."

"He got away. He got away? That's fabulous, Jones, just fabulous." He tapped his foot a few times and stared Jones right in the eye. "Well, Mister Turner and I will just have to come with you."

"Excuse me?"

"I have Miss Swann's fiancé, William Tur—"

"I know you do. Why do you have to sail with us?"

"Because if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself." Cutler Beckett shook his head and climbed over the side of the ship onto the dock. He shoved the door of his building and he disappeared up the stairs. He searched his dark room for the figure of Will tied in the chair. His eyes rested on a large lump in the corner which was darker than the rest of the room. He kicked Will's thigh and growled. "Wake up, you sod."

Will grunted. "Wha…?"

"Get up."

"I kind of can't…"

Beckett fumbled for his knife on his desk and then felt for the ropes on the chair holding William.

"That's not the rope!" Will cried frantically. Beckett pulled his hand back disgustedly.

"Ugh!" He felt the rope (the real rope this time) and sliced his blade swiftly across the binds. "There you go. Get up."

Will tried to stand, but his legs collapsed at the slightest application of pressure. "I…can't. I haven't stood in so long."

"HURRY UP!" The two men could hear Davy Jones shouting.

Cutler Beckett shouted in frustration. "You're just going to have to take it. Because I for one am not going to carry you."

Will sat down and stretched his legs, one after the other. He tried to stand again, and was successful this time. "Alright. We're good," he said. Beckett grabbed Will's hands and wrenched them behind his back.

"Move." He shoved Will with his knee. He grudgingly started taking unnecessarily slow steps. "Move!"

Soon they were on the Dutchman, and headed toward the Black Pearl.

A/N: Seriously, guys, I really try. I used to be satisfied with three hundred words. Now I have to make my chapters six to seven hundred words. Maybe with time it'll get easier for me to write a whole lot, and maybe then I'll write twelve hundred word chapters. Till then, please, be nice, but don't lie. Don't be all, HOMGZ I LOVE IT EVERYTHING IS PERFECT when you don't like it at all. Make your opinion known but don't be mean about it.

….I'll shut up now. R&R, kids.

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