A/N: Sorry that this update was so slow in coming. I hope it's good enough to make up for the wait!

Thank you to Something Not So Normal, Jennifer Lynn Weston, Tavy Beckett Fan, Starling Rising, Pirate Trixi, Panzergal, Eldonyx, and JaxLass for their reviews!

To Panzergal: You make me smile every time you review. I'm sorry for leaving you hanging and I hope your exams went well!

Disclaimer: Princess Auriel plus Cruella de Ville equals: gadgets, gizmos, whosits, and whatsits creating general carnage. And lots of flying fur. POTC is not mine.

Chapter 8

A solemn choir in red robes with orange polka dots prepared to sing Jack Sparrow's Requiem Mass as Beckett slowly crouched down beside him.

The pirate was scrunched back against the door. His dark eyelids were shut tight, his lower lip captured between his teeth. His shoulders were tense, his entire body was heaving with his effort to breathe through his pain. Feverish color laced his filthy cheekbones and his good hand quivered as it squeezed the bicep of his bad hand. When Beckett came near, he gave a muted groan, wrenched his head around, and opened his eyes.

Beckett's face was like a fell moon floating in a suffocating sky. The agent leaned to the left and when he straightened, he brought a candle near Jack's face with a mechanical deliberateness. A orange star, it was bright enough to make Jack flinch.

Beckett took in Jack's pupils, which were dilated to cover almost all his irises, rimmed by the thinnest brown.

"You'll never guess what I'm feeling right now," Beckett said softly, "so I'll tell you." A drip of wax trembled at the top of the candle, then fell toward Jack's face. Beckett's hand shot out. He hissed as the drip landed on his palm.

"At first I felt despair," Beckett said to Jack's glazed eyes, "because the guards are used to Rob's racket and they don't care. They won't come. Before that, I felt anger. I don't know how you do it, how you constantly spew things that enrage me." He grimaced, and then sat alongside Jack. He stared straight ahead, at a shadowed shelf.

"It's you have t'thank fer all m'inspiration."

Beckett turned at Jack's weak retort. He bared his teeth in a terrible parody of a smile. "But do you know what I feel now?" He paused to lean his face closer to Jack's. "I feel protective."

Jack's eyes shifted toward the door, vaguely puzzled.

"I know, imagine that." Beckett's voice was eerily amused. "Oh." He caught another drip of wax before it could land on Jack, eyes crinkling at the pain. He stood stiffly and secured the candle next to a stack of bowls. Then he turned back to Jack.

He said, "Can I make you more comfortable?"

The earth shook on its foundations. The Andromeda Galaxy reformed itself into a big shocked face. And Jack slowly rotated his head so he could see Beckett.

"We can't have you falling apart, Jack," Beckett said, half coy, half disgusted. "Not yet." He snatched up a limp potato sack, crumpled it up, then knelt at Jack's head. He grabbed Jack's hair savagely, pulled the pirate's head up, and shoved the bundle underneath. Then he released Jack like he had touched fire, revulsion and confusion glimmering beneath the alien determination that had turned his cruel actions to nurturing ones.

The sack helped Jack's neck a lot, but Jack felt the rest of himself plummet into a pit of dread. He wished Beckett had exploded and kicked and punched and yelled and cried. Instead there was this iron control, this ominous sweetness. Outright cruelty Jack could handle. But this new manifestation of Beckett's arctic soul was far worse because Jack knew Beckett had focused every venomous drop of hatred, anger, and despair into a dream of torturing the pirate he blamed for everything. And if Jack was weak in the torture chamber, he wouldn't last long enough for Beckett's rage to be sated.

Jack began to think about pulling that horrible sack out from under his head and throwing it away. He wondered why he didn't just do it, but his mind and body had become so sluggish...

Like an evil nursemaid, Beckett ripped a clean piece of lace off his sleeve, then picked up the strip of Jack's shirt that lay tangled on the floor. Then he knelt before Jack's branded wrist, which had been flung outward as if the pirate wished it would fall off already. Beckett inspected the wrist without touching it, gagging when he got a whiff of its rotting smell. It was entirely ghastly. Part of Beckett was scrambling away. The other part just smiled.

Slowly, Jack turned his head toward Beckett, cracked lips parting in question. "You don't want to know," Beckett said, and then he did the most addled thing he'd ever done in his life.

He seized Jack's bad hand in an unforgiving grip, twisting it so the brand faced the ceiling. Then he brought the lace, folded into a pad of sorts, down onto the pirate's weeping flesh.

It was like lightning had struck Jack. He gave a high wail and his entire body convulsed, knees coming up to chest, free hand shooting toward Beckett as he rolled in an attempt to protect his wrist. Instinctively, Beckett sat back and his left foot slammed into Jack's chest to keep him back.

But Jack was unconscious before Beckett's painted heel hit his sternum. Breathing hard, Beckett pulled his foot back and examined his enemy. The pirate laid motionless, free hand uselessly splayed over the floor, wetness trailing from beneath his thick eyelashes.

Beckett looked at his own white hand, grasping Jack's heavily tanned, grimy one. His own hands started to quake but he gritted out a curse and pried Jack's fingers off before he could become to unnerved. He tied the pad of lace down with the strip of fabric, careful not to tie it too tightly. Then he adjusted the potato sack so it was under Jack's head and scrambled to his safe perch on the barrels.

"Consider that your first punishment," he whispered, wiping his hands repeatedly to rid them of the pirate's grime. Trying to breathe deeply, he licked his lips. "Why is there no water in this bloody rat warren?"

He pulled out his watch fob, and for a moment he gazed hungrily at its pristine gold curves. Then he flipped open the lid.

"Midnight," he murmured, then listened to the watch's endless ticking. It seemed to be the only noise in the universe. The entire sleeping fortress pressed down on him like the world-

"Midnight, aye?" Rob's sandy voice made Beckett jump. The agent snapped his watch closed and tucked it away, warily staring at the blank opening in the wall.

"Y'be a fancy gennleman," Rob said suddenly.

"And whatever makes you think that?" Beckett asked flatly.

"Saw that pretty shine y'ave."

"Why aren't you screaming at me?"

"I don't scream after midnight. Made it a rule, I 'ave."

"Well isn't that grand." Beckett's voice was light yet prickly. "Eat an insect out of your own hair as a reward."

Rob snorted. "Me mum'd switch the back o' yer legs for backtalk."

"As it happens, I am in the position to get your legs switched for simply breathing."

"Oh aye, that be readily apparent."

Beckett ground his teeth. He snatched up the cobweb-coated carrot and shoved it through the hole. "Eat. Do anything but talk."

"Oi, this be first rate, thank ye, kind master." A crack made Beckett jump, and then there was only the noise of Rob chewing industriously.

Beckett thought of the cobwebs on the carrot and turned green. Mechanically, he picked up the potato he had used to clear away the first of the webs and shoved it into the hole. It stuck. He pounded it in further with his fist, listening to Rob's faint protests.

Inside, Beckett had become a snowfield. Flat, expressionless, and ruthless. He settled himself more comfortably so he could watch his nemesis, and then daydreamed of water and pain.

"Jack, Jack. Ye can't stay outta trouble, can ye?" The musical yet pettish female voice brought Jack out of a rocky sleep, and into a world dripping with quirky deja vu.

He was lying on the ground, but on something very soft, too. At his side crouched a wondrous creature. For what woman was not wondrous?

This woman wore a high-necked gown of deep purple velvet. She had milky arms and her hair was loose black ringlets that cascaded and crescendoed and generally made him want to bury his face in them. Her face was pretty in a cherubic way, yet her lips were as red as any lovely lady's, and her eyelids just as heavy with paint.

Jack eyed the extremely prude neckline of her dress, then her lush lips. They didn't make sense. Was she trying to be seductive or nun-ish? Why did women leave him wondering all the time?

At least he knew her name: Violet. Wait. How did he know that?

"Captain, y'look a fright." She cupped his face, and wiped beneath his eyes with her thumbs. Her touch was warm and smooth.

Jack felt he had to say something, even though he just wanted to sigh and close his eyes. "Rough day."

"Mmm…" she said soothingly.

Jack looked past her hair. Plain white canvas formed a peak above his head. He was in a tent.

A tent?

Violet stood and shook out her long skirt. "I'll get you some water."

Thirst roared through him. "Aye, water." He barely survived the seconds it took Violet to turn around with a brimming mug. She knelt, and he lifted his head, almost taking the cup from her in his rush.

He drank. And drank.

After the water was gone, he felt less thirsty. At least he thought he did. His mouth was beginning to signal its doubts.

"Wot kind'f water is that?" Jack demanded, handing her the cup.

"Reusable," she said, shoving the cup into the side of the tent. It stuck there.

Jack watched her straighten her sleeves, waiting for her to smile and say she was pulling his leg.

She didn't.

Jack felt a huge curse swelling on his tongue. He sat up.

Violet clucked, supporting his back. "Careful, careful!"

Jack flapped his hands at her. "Don't touch me!" Yes, this had to be a dream. He'd never tell any woman to stop touching him when he was conscious. "Where's the way outta this place?"

Violet, who had drawn back with a wounded air, gave him a dark look. "When dandelions loose their fluff, graves lose souls."

"Leave Rob out of this!"

"Who's Rob?"

"None of your bell-toll."

What?

"Of course, I know it's none of my bee sting," she sniffed.

What was the expression they were trying to capture? The word wasn't bell toll or bee sting, it was...if only she hadn't confused him! "I know that you know that it's none of your blather-bop."

She raised one elegant eyebrow. "Well I know that you know that I know that it's none of my brother-whisk."

Jack folded his arms. Hooeeee and huzzah, his wrist didn't hurt. "Well I know that you know that you know that I know that you know that it's none of your bitty-boo. Blast it!"

She came close, challenging. She smelled like lilacs. Shouldn't she smell like violets? "Well, Captain, I know that you know that I know that you know that I know that you know that I know that it's none of my birdy bye-bye."

Jack shoved his face at hers, angry when she didn't even flinch. "I know that you know that I know that you know that I know that you know that I know that you know that it's none of your babble-burtle!"

"I know that you know that I know that you-"

"Would you just stop that?" Jack growled. Their faces were inches away and her eyes were beautiful, green-blue one minute and gray-blue the next.

Violet smiled. "Aye, for a kiss."

"More like a shove into the mud," Jack responded sullenly. But she did have respectable lips. Maybe kissing her would cure his thirst. She slid a cool arm around his neck and there was no turning back-

WHAM.

Jack and Violet jumped apart. The tent shook. Little bits of paper fell down from the tent. They turned into baby turtles that burrowed into the ground while singing Ring Around the Rosy. Jack was just grateful that none had landed on his head.

WHAMWHAM. WHAM. The ground itself shook and Jack felt his eardrums quaking painfully. Did ethereal beings not want them to kiss? What was going on?

He and Violet crawled to the front of the tent and peeked out between the flaps. Jack's jaw dropped.

A clear, glittering slab of ice lay flat in the grass ten feet away. Its edges were curvy and at least three feet thick. The entire thing was perhaps ten feet wide. Others lay nearby, and more were falling out of a blue sky, whistling as they came.

Snowflakes. Snowflakes oh...about the size of small carriages.

WHAM. One snowflake landed on another and snapped into two razor-sharp pieces that tumbled away, shredding the grass.

At that moment, Jack was blessed with a very clear mental image depicting one such monster snowflake landing on the tent. Landing on Violet. Landing on...aye, Jack Sparrow. 'Imminent peril' had never sounded so poignant.

"Squashed," he muttered, then spotted a forest a hundred yards off. A big forest, very nice. Strong trees, probably strong enough to keep away those cute little flurries.

WHAM. WHAM-WHAM-WHAM.

"Out of the way!" Jack elbowed Violet aside and exploded from the tent, headed in an all-out sprint for the forest. Arms windmilling, feet kicking, he ignored Violet, who gave a wail and charged after him, tripping on her skirt.

An instant later, shade engulfed him and he clutched the nearest tree, trying to catch his breath. Safe.

Oh, what about what'shername? He turned...just in time to see Violet get utterly smashed by a star-shaped snowflake – WHAM.

He cringed. "Bugger." Then he shrugged. Oh well, she hadn't seemed that scintillating, anyway. He turned with the intention of exploring the forest and leaped back with a shout. "Where- how did you-?"

"Help me, Jack!" Violet cried.

Jack leaned backwards, twiddling his fingers above his waist. "Where did you all come from?"

Ten men in rough green and brown tunics and leggings stood arrayed before him in a half-circle. Some had bows and arrows ready to fly, others had swords. The largest of them, a fey-faced man with furry ears, held Violet captive, a dagger to her throat.

The man snarled, "A place mysterious to some, that's from where we come!"

Jack frowned, barely breathing. "Who're you?"

"A clutch of men, who ken...um. We're not one, like you, but five times two!"

Jack's mouth was open like he was going to speak, but nothing came out.

The man seemed to remember something. "Your money or your life, or I will cause...strife for your wife!"

"She's not my wife!" Jack protested.

"Jack!" Violet cried. Tears filled her eyes.

"Bugger," Jack muttered, and then straightened. "Fine. Since it's money you want, I regret I have none to flaunt."

The men gave an appreciative murmur.

"And while we're in this questioning flurry, might I inquire why your ears are furry?" Jack added grandly. My, wasn't he clever!

Violet's handsome captor scowled and his short blond hair bristled. "You've no money, aye? Well then instead I want your...eye."

His men looked disturbed. "His eye?" One with red hair asked. "Why?"

"Your daring to question...will cause you universal, um, recession," the leader snapped.

Jack grinned despite himself. "That was putridly, horrifically, an' most thorough-fully awful."

"Eh?" the leader growled, and tightened his grip on Violet. She squeaked as the blade bit into her neck.

Jack sighed. "Would y'just let her go? I've nothing an' yer wasting all our time."

"Questions will be asked by me, else you'll be pinned to a tree, you and your every flea!"

Jack lifted his arms. "Pinned by what? One 'a those flimsy arrows? An' while we're talking about fleas, she has 'em, too."

With a gasp, the leader threw Violet away from himself. "Contamination!" he cried wildly. "Oh, damnation! There's no cure but...conflagration!" He yipped like a dog and ran off into the trees on all fours. His men shrugged and wandered off after him, their weapons dragging on the ground.

Violet was in hysterics, huddled on the pine needle-coated ground in a quivering heap. Jack gazed at her with weary disgust. He hated it when women did this. Why couldn't they just...not do it?

He shuffled to her, mechanically bent over, and tapped her head. She looked up with a gasp.

Well she certainly knew how to cry well. Her eyes weren't too puffy and her nose was just a little red. Her lips were rather swollen, though, and the bandit's knife had cut the collar of her matronly dress. Now Jack could see an exhilarating bit of white collarbone.

Huzzah.

He knew she wanted him to kneel down and take her in his manly arms and promise he would keep all terrible things away from her forever and ever. But seeing as she'd somehow survived being smashed by a massive chunk of ice, he didn't really want to touch her at all.

He straightened.

She threw herself back down, shaking with fresh sobs.

Jack huffed and rolled his eyes. "Come here. Stand up." He took her arm, careful to only touch her long sleeve. She let him pull her up, hope in her eyes. She reached for him and he scuttled back and hit a tree trunk.

"Oh, no, Jack's got somethin' better." He moved behind her, taking both her arms. He pushed her up against the tree, wrapping her arms around it. Then he jumped back.

She sniffled, but she didn't let go of her new arboreal friend. With a sigh of relief, Jack whirled drunkenly and ran off, muttering dementedly, "Must get back, must get back..."

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"Sarcastic teen Arcadia Hawthorn gets flung into Tortuga via a magic 'box'. Now she's a pirate and she has to survive the insanity of DMC to find 'what her heart truly desires...' Sound interesting? It is! Check out Something Not Normal's All That's Bitter is Gold.