A/N: Thanks for the reviews! And once again please excuse the short chapter!
Disclaimer: PotC belongs to Disney.
"They are not--" I began furiously, but Beckett and Norrington were already swinging aboard.
"Well, unfortunately we meet again," announced Jack, sounding only slightly annoyed, but I strode up to them with my eyes narrowed.
"I was under the impression," I said in a low, threatening voice, "that we have--" I quickly counted the days "--eight days left."
"Well," said Beckett, using a belittling voice one might use to explain arithmetic to a small child, "I had heard that you already finished Merlow."
"And I would reason that we have the extra time as a reward," said Jack.
Ignoring him, Beckett continued, "And I was under the impression pirates break truces quite often?"
"Only pirates do," said Jack immediately. "And since you are honest men, you do not break truces. However you just broke a truce. And according to a pirate's definition, honest men follow the patterns. So the only conclusion is that you honest men did what honest men do, followed the said pattern, and became pirates. Savvy?"
"Don't you dare," said Norrington.
"In other words," I snapped, "there is a reason you're not pirates. So don't break the truce."
Beckett said nothing but pulled out a sheaf of parchment. I took it to be our arrest warrants.
"Just out of curiosity," I said coolly, trying not to let my short temper burst, "when people speak, do you actually hear? Or is that only for the people who give you what you want?"
"Under preferrable circumstances, for the latter," said Beckett, in his usual bored tone.
A ball of fire whizzed past my head and landed on Beckett's boot. I turned to look for the source, and saw the twins standing with a bonfire blazing in the middle of the deck.
"Don't worry, captain," said Aryza happily as Norrington stamped the fire out frantically. "It only burns people."
"We'd have done the worst destructive types, but the only the men at the cannons are using that," said Emera. "Just in case one of us catches on fire as well."
"I don't like the sound of that," murmured Jack as Beckett made a signal to the Dauntless. "Or the look of that."
I already had my sword drawn when Beckett turned back around. I was completely oblivious to the cries of the Pearl's crew as they rushed into battle with the men who had swung over. With a swift, practiced stroke I sliced the parchment out of Beckett's hand before he had pulled out his own sword.
It felt like everything was happening slowly again, just like in my dream. I moved trancelike through the battle, the slashes of the swords silver blurs in the air. It felt like an infinitely slow dance, moving to the endless rhythm of the ocean. I had never felt so much power before as I fought, I could feel more and more exhilirated with each stroke of my sword. I wasn't thinking; my mind had stopped processing information. I couldn't hear the ringing of the weapons or the explosions of the cannons. All I knew was that I had hated Beckett with a bitter loathing ever since I knew who he was. And I was sick of hating him without being able to do anything.
I parried a slice from a redcoat, and pushed my sword into his stomach. Before he had reacted I retrieved my sword, turned around, and buried a dagger into another's chest. Suddenly I collapsed to the floor as something exploded in my injured arm. I braced myself and wrenched a knife out of it. My blood was sickening, my damp shirt sticking to my skin. I only managed pick up a rifle with my free hand and fire at whoever had thrown the knife.
"Here," said a familiar voice. I recognized it as Aryza's but I couldn't see her. Tears blurred my vision and I felt ready to faint. I could distantly feel Aryza tying a cloth around my wound.
"Thank you," I whispered.
"Aryza, that Beckett is running toward the mast!" said Emera. "He's... holding an East India Trading Company flag. It looks like he's going to raise the flag."
"The coward!" I hissed. "He's too weak to fight."
"No, Lizzie don't move!" protested Aryza, but I had already gotten up. The wound wasn't bleeding so badly now. I took a few paces toward Beckett. Emera threw another ball of fire at him. Though the fire couldn't burn his wet coat, it took him by surprise. He tripped as the ship rocked unsteadily, and I seized my chance.
I ran up holding my sword, feeling the power coursing through my hands as I raised it and drove it down with all of my strength straight into Beckett's chest. Warm blood spurted from the wound, flowering onto his shirt, flowing onto the white East India Trading Company flag that he still clutched. And I had never felt so cruelly satisfied with the power that I had held. His eyes were still open and surprised as he slumped and died.
He came from behind, and I cursed myself for sheathing my sword. The rope cut into my wrists as he bound them tight; I choked as he gagged me. Norrington. He wrapped an arm around me and grasped a rope with his free hand. I aimed a kick at his body, but he held on tight--and it seemed as if he wasn't reluctant to do so. He's always liked me. But as the bitter night wind whipped my hair loose, I turned my head to look desperately at Jack, my head screaming from the pain in my arm. And Norrington swung, holding me, still struggling, captive in his arm, my hands still stained with the scarlet color of victory.