A/N: HOORAY! I know it's been a little tough being stuck in the pantry with Jack and Beckett all this time...but you've experienced a bit of what they felt! Now we're finally out! Breathe the fresh air! Stretch! And let the true insanity begin!

Thank you to Jennifer Lynn Weston, Starling Rising, Panzergal, JaxLass, LostWitch5, TavyBeckettFan, Eldonyx, and kweenofmagic for their reviews!

For Panzergal: My, that was a very long review indeed! It made me really happy. There is a bit of a backstory for Beckett but I don't presume to write the whole thing. Have you ever seen the musical Les Miserables? I think Beckett's a bit like Javert, who is obsessed with the law and justice without mercy because he's trying to live down his past. I hope the water on your computer didn't kill it! Once, I spilled water on my mouse and could see drops rolling around inside. It survived, though! Thank you!

Disclaimer: 101 Dalmatians. Everywhere. Need I say more? I don't own POTC!

Chapter 10

Rachel's father was called Henry. Whenever she accompanied him to his work he would go quiet, and she knew he was worrying. Henry was such a big man, she didn't think that he and worrying went together. But that's what daughters do to giant fathers; they turn them into matrons who wring their hands when a tiny breeze dares to blow.

They had to go down lots of steps to get to Henry's kitchen. The smell got worse and worse, and Rachel could feel all the stone above her like it was about to crash onto her head. Then there were the prisoners, some snoring, some who never slept. The constant feeling of being watched made her grateful for the floor-length cloak her father made her wear. He didn't want the men to know she was a girl -a woman now, she thought- and she agreed with him. She got enough trouble from that scrawny stable hand Tom without a bunch of convicts joining the party.

Rachel lived with Henry and Sir Furry the Cat in Brimstone Fortress, above the stables with all the peons. Every two weeks, she brought blankets into the jail where her father was a cook. The blankets were woven by officer's wives, at least that's what they wanted people to think. Rachel knew that servants did most of the work. And then Rachel brought the blankets down because Rachel's her father's daughter, isn't she? She's not afraid of the big bad men, of that horrid, horrid stench!

Actually, Rachel feared the men and thought the smell was awful. But she figured that if her father could come down here every day, the least she could do is give him company now and then.

Following her father's heavy steps, blankets a great weight in her arms, all she knew was that she would drop off her load and be rushed back into the sunlight. It always went this way. In fact, she wished she could be on the battlements watching the Extremely Formidable come into the docks. The Extremely Formidable was said to be a beautiful ship and she carried high-and-mighties Rachel was eager to look at.

She didn't know that this morning would be like none of the others.

"You can help me distribute the blankets, but keep that cloak on," said a familiar man's voice. "These men are not good men, Rachel. D'you understand? An' I won't have 'em seeing you as anything but the sweet, modest girl you are."

Jack snorted awake. Across from him, Beckett gasped.

"Don't worry," a girl said. Then she laughed.

Beckett hit the door with hands, cheek, and chest. His feet slammed into Jack's thigh. "Open this door!" he bellowed.

Shocked voices came close. "Who's in there?" the man asked. "Stay back, Rachel!" A hand jiggled the padlock and keys clinked.

"Cutler Beckett and Jack Sparrow!" Beckett pounded his fists against the wood. "Get this door open!"

"Sir! Sir!" the man was shocked. "The padlock's jammed!"

"Then bloody unjam it!" Beckett squawked.

"Yes sir..." There was a huge ruckus.

"Captain. It's Captain Sparrow," said a soft voice at Beckett's feet. "D'you mind?" Jack wriggled his legs and Beckett stepped back. Slowly, painfully, Jack rolled over and got to his hands and knees. "Well this is it, Beckie." He felt in front of him with his good hand, and then pulled himself up on the shelves and swayed, winded with the effort. "Don't be too morose...I'll send you a bouquet of beautiful roses an' a new pair a' new stockings."

Beckett backed up against the opposite wall, hugging himself. "Get me out of here before he starts again..." his voice was rough yet tremulous. Then he had to scratch his elbow.

"Rachel!" the man outside yelled. "Where are you going?"

"To get some guards!" she cried on her way out of the kitchen.

"Get back here!" Henry roared, but she was already halfway down the hall. One can move surprisingly fast when one is too poor to buy five petticoats and has to settle for two.

Rachel was not a bad girl. She don't go looking for trouble. But was she supposed to cower in a corner while her father knocked all his pots on the floor trying to find something to unjam the pantry door?

Like hell.

She'd learned that one from Captain Harrison, who trained the Brimstone cannon crews. It made her smile.

At the end of the hall she turned right and went down a swirl of stairs. At the bottom was a table of guards who were halfheartedly playing cards and sleepily smoking pipes. When she entered the room, they became very alert.

The fat one's pipe fell into his lap. "Not again!" he squealed.

"Agent Beckett and Jack Sparrow are locked in our pantry!" Rachel cried. "The lock's jammed and we can't get them out!"

They clattered to their feet. The tallest one, a man with a nice jaw, seemed to be the leader. He spoke to two of the men. "Johnny, Rob, fetch Mr. Mercer." Then he addressed the fat guard, who was hopping around and batting at his breeches. "Gilbert, stop that awful dancing and come on!" Then he turned to Rachel. "Which kitchen, miss?" He gently took her elbow and drew her back up the stairs.

"Just at the end of this hall," she gasped as they came off the last step.

"Very good," he said, and they rushed down the hall. Rachel had to scramble to keep up with his stride. Henry met them at the doorway, shooting Rachel a dangerous look as they burst into his dim kitchen. Then he addressed the guard, "Lawrence. Good. Come look at this padlock..."

Lawrence released Rachel and she faded back as he and Henry hurried to the pantry door.

"Sir! Are you in there?" Lawrence shouted at the door.

"Guess," was the acid response. Rachel recognized Beckett's voice and stiffened. No one liked him very much; he had snake eyes and icy fingers.

"We'll get you out, sir!" Lawrence replied. "Mercer's on the way!"

"He'd better be!"Beckett snapped. He spoke to Jack, "I'd hate for him to miss any of this."

"Jus' think," Jack said weakly, "if y'd've not told Mercer t'report to you tonight, he'd've realized you were missing and you wouldn't have fleas now."

"Sir!" the guard called Lawrence shouted. "Has Sparrow hurt you?"

"Of course not!" Beckett almost stomped his foot.

"Actually," Jack called, "I was just waiting for us t'be discovered. "Din't want t'spend the night wif a corpse. But thanks for reminding me..." he caught his breath, "I'll just start punching him now."

"Touch him and you'll rue it to your dying day!" Lawrence thundered.

"Which is closer than you think," Beckett muttered. "He couldn't hurt a bloody mouse," he called. "Stop fretting like a woman and get us out!"

Being the only female in the room, Rachel found Beckett's words offensive and true to his character. Another reason to resent him. She handed the newly lit lantern to Henry, who took it and motioned her away. "Stay back, Rachel."

"I can't loosen the latch," Lawrence was saying. His temples gleamed with sweat. "This door is like a rock."

"Let me try." This new voice was deep yet flat. Mercer strode into the kitchen like a black vulture, trailing the carrion-scent of the torture chambers. Johnny and Rob followed him, looking rather green around the gills. Gagging, Rachel covered her nose and retreated to a corner.

Father and Lawrence drew back with a certain degree of fear as Mercer stretched out his hands and placed them flat against the door. His nails were dark with a substance Rachel didn't want to know. He pulled on the padlock, fingered the hinges, and then turned to Henry.

"The hinges're weak," he said in his Dutch accent. "Three men can break it down."

Henry nodded mutely and he, Lawrence, and Mercer lined up with their right shoulders against the door. They took three steps away from the door, and then waited for Mercer's signal.

Rachel was smelling burnt cotton. She turned and saw Gilbert standing nearby, dismally patting the black singe marks on his white breeches. He caught her looking and turned his back to her, but not before she saw him blush scarlet.

"Step away from the door, sir," Mercer called. "We're going to batter it down."

"All right!" Beckett could smile now. "Come along, Jack." He groped for Jack's arm, and then began pulling the pirate down the pantry.

"Thanks, darling," Jack muttered when Beckett let go.

"Coo, it's nothing."

For a moment, Jack didn't believe what he had heard. "That was spectacular," he murmured.

"Thank you, Jack," Beckett said lightly.

Jack leaned back against a barrel, feeling as if he was floating above his pain, thirst, and headache. Indeed, even the conversation was becoming completely surreal. How nice.

"Are you safe, sir?" Mercer called.

"Yes!" Beckett shouted.

"This being th'last moment we 'ave together," Jack said slowly, "I wonder if you'd condescend t'reveal yer favorite flower."

"Jack, you persistent rascal!"

"Please."

"No, we don't know each other well enough."

"Fine, be coy, I don't give a-"

That's when the door imploded.

Rachel had doubted it would work. But it did. When Mercer, Lawrence, and Henry hit the door, it splintered inwards and Mercer vanished into the darkness. Her father and Lawrence reeled back, gagging and waving their arms.

The other guards nervously brought their muskets to bear.

"Smells bloody awful," Lawrence grated, then determinedly entered the pantry.

What had happened in there?

Henry moved to stand protectively in front of Rachel. The smell came with him. It was onions and smoke and sweat and unwashed body and rot. Again, Rachel was gagging, her eyes watering furiously.

Light flooded into the pantry, led by a specter in black. A specter with a death glare directed at Jack. Jack woozily ducked but Mercer caught him by the throat and heaved him onto the barrel. Choking, Jack got the full force of the monstrous man's regard and realized Mercer didn't need verbal threats.

Mercer glanced at Beckett, who was lounging a few inches away, his arms crossed. Mercer's eyes widened a tiny bit, which was a huge reaction for him. "Are you all right, sir?"

Beckett stretched his cracked lips in a smile. "Never better."

"Good." Mercer dragged Jack past a gaping Lawrence and into the kitchen. He flung him onto the table, knocking the air from his lungs. Everyone drew back instinctively.

Drat, Jack hated it when he couldn't breathe. But he was too tired to get his breath back. He could feel consciousness slipping away.

A feminine gasp brought his eyes open. There was a woman here? He looked for her. He didn't know why he did; he just wanted to faint before Mercer touched him again...

Blurrily, he saw her. She was standing in the arms of a large man, a small, demurely dressed brunette with brown eyes that looked huge in her pale face. She looked ready to cry.

Then a vicious hand yanked his hair and consciousness snapped away.

Rachel watched Mercer drag the bizarre prisoner from the table and raise a fist, ready to hit him in the face. How could he? She covered her mouth in horror. She had not been sheltered from brutality, after all, she lived in a military fortress. But she had never witnessed this hatefulness before and it floored her.

Jack Sparrow was completely limp, unconscious. His breeches were white and powdery...why? With a disappointed growl, Mercer dropped him back onto the table. Jack's wrist flopped off the side, and Rachel stared at the swollen limb. It had some sort of bandage on it, but the bandage was soaked. So it was true. He had been branded.

Beckett came up beside Mercer. Rachel would have laughed at if she wasn't so shocked. Beckett's wig was gone. She'd never seen his hair before; it was brown and cut very short. It receded from his forehead, which was smeared with...was that flour? His eyes were bloodshot and his lips peeling. His entire outfit was grimy and there was a bruise under his eye. What had happened ?

He scratched behind his ear. "Take him to the infirmary. I want him guarded at all times."

"Sir? The infirmary?" Mercer asked.

Beckett shot him a deadly look. "Do as I say. It is your responsibility to make sure he doesn't escape while he recovers."

For a moment, there was confused silence, but no one dared let it continue. Mercer nodded to Lawrence, who instructed his men to carry Jack Sparrow to the infirmary.

Then Beckett's eyes landed on Rachel. For a moment, he almost looked embarrassed. "What's a bloody woman doing here?"

Henry pulled Rachel out of the kitchen before one could say 'quit cussing already.' He towed her so rapidly down the hall, she was almost running. "I knew I'd regret letting y'come," he growled.

She couldn't answer. All she saw was Beckett and Mercer standing over their victim, ghoulish wolves planning terrible things.

Oh, that tanned, angular face, bruised...the tangled exotic black hair, the tortured wrist, and that helplessly limp body. And a story of a man who let slaves go because of what he believed.

Jack Sparrow...

...kindly asks that you review! He might share some of his dirt if you do! ;)

"Jack used to have a wife and child, until something happened and he was forced to leave them behind. But now he has a chance to see his daughter again. But at what cost?" Sound good? It is! This is LostWitch5's story, Long Lost. Check out this talented writer's work!

Life, Lies, and One Big Secret is an awesome fic by kweenofmagic. "Jack is off to find the Fountain of Youth. And he taking only two people with him." Who are the two people?? Read and find out!