AN: Hi guys, first off thanks for the encouraging reviews! I love you guys! Now, I'm trying to cut down on AN's but just wanted to say that this has a bit of a slow start. I have A LOT to set up for this story. But I promise if you'll be patient with me, I'll make it worth it when we get there! ;) That said, please review and continue to let me know what you think.

An Act of Piracy

Chapter Two

Jack had planned on being late (and, in the sake of full disclosure, was not one bit sorry for it either), but he had not planned on running into Lord Cutler Beckett on his way home from the pub. Such encounters with the man he was forced to report to were always unexpected because Jack avoided them at all costs. It was, of course, impossible to never speak with your superiors and Jack found that he could be quite impressive when he had to be. From his father, young Jack had picked up the qualities of mischievousness and the wisdom that resulted from it. From his mother he had learned that not everyone appreciated those qualities, and how to mask them when needed.

And so it happened that as Jack stepped out into the dim light of the setting sun, he heard Lord Cutler Beckett call his name.

"Captain Teague?"

Jack stiffened, recognizing the voice, and made a face before turning to it with a smile. He put his hands out in welcome, unable to bring himself to clasp them behind his back the prissy way that Beckett did, and waited to be approached.

When Beckett was in front of him, Jack bent at the waist in a way only he knew was mocking and said, "Sir."

When he looked up, Beckett was staring at him in that way that he had: all knowing and a little bit amused. Though he was barely a few years older than Jack himself, the fastidious man with the cruel smile already had most of the men (including Joshamee Gibbs, though he'd die before admitting it) in a cloud of fear. Beckett had started high in the ranks of the East India Trading Company and had only continued to move up in his few years involved. Already he had a reputation for cruelty and it seemed he didn't mind who or what he stepped on the way up... not that this bothered Jack in the least.

As long as he wasn't the one being stepped on.

"Captain Teague," Beckett repeated, as if delighted in the title. Jack had to fight down an inappropriate response and barely succeeded. He knew he could behave himself when he wanted to... the problem was, he wanted to so rarely.

"Leaving the docks a bit early tonight, are we? And I was under the impression that you finished all your nights passed out in a puddle of rum?"

Jack looked at the fussy little man in front of him and smiled effortlessly. He had made grown women swoon with less effort.

"Every night I can," he agreed. Beckett shifted, frowning slightly. He seemed unsure how to deal with such open wickedness. Jack didn't give him the chance to come up with anything, however, and soon continued. "As it were, tonight I am expected back for dinner..." He gestured in the direction of town, and polite context filled in the rest.

Beckett nodded and smiled that same, tight smile... that smile that so clearly said, "You will be allowed to leave when I dismiss you." It was this kind of thing that precisely drove the other Captains mad; that Beckett could shame and anger them with one twist of his lips. Not Jack though, whose reputation for being easy-going was as well known as Beckett's for cruelty. No, for Jack it had become something of a game: Beckett wished to break him, and attempted to every time they spoke. Jack refused to give him the pleasure. The harder Beckett tried, the more amused Jack became. It was a game that could not end well, but for now Jack was enjoying himself immensely.

"Then I won't keep you long," Beckett started, and he looked positively pleased with himself, "Just a matter of business I wanted to bring up before the day was finished."

Jack looked at him, knowing it couldn't be good if the obnoxious little bugger was bursting at the seams to tell him. He waited for Beckett to continue.

"As of one week from today, you will be relieved of your duty running the supply boats to England. You have been, shall I say, relocated?" He smiled, a look Jack didn't even attempt to mirror. Nodding at the befuddled look on the Captain's face, he went on, "I think you will find your new job to be much better suited to a man of your means. Of course, such discussion with have to wait until a later time, when you are not expected elsewhere."

Jack looked at him, long and hard, wanting to demand Beckett explain himself. But that's just what he wants you to do, mate, he told himself, and forced another smile. He refused to be so obviously baited.

Tipping his head at him with a politeness that could only be patronizing, Jack said, "Right you are sir. Now, if you'll excuse me..."

"It seems to me," Beckett started, and Jack almost groaned aloud. "That you should be aware of the position you find yourself in. Especially after your father..." here Beckett trailed off, but the flutter of his hand that he lent the silence said more than the worst insults strung together. For once, Jack felt himself growing angry and had to widen his smile.

"True sir, all very true."

Beckett looked at Jack, as if trying to decide if he was patronizing him or not. Jack had to fight back the urge to say, "Aye mate, that I am," and settled instead with keeping his wide smile.

"Furthermore, I don't believe you understand the position that I myself am in because of you. The East India Trading Company is taking a great gamble, hiring the son of a common criminal. I should think that if you couldn't be grateful that you could, at the very least, remember that."

Jack looked at Beckett for a long time and now moved his hands behind his back, opening and closing the fists in an attempt to gain control of his emotions. He would not give this stuffed shirt bastard the pleasure of his anger. No, he would be good natured, jolly even. After all, Jack had seen first hand how intelligent men were underestimated when they played dumb, and being underestimated was the most important step in winning any battle.

Jack moved his hands back in front of him with a smile and Beckett jumped, his cool slipping. The spineless son of whore thought I was going to strangle him! Jack thought, and the extra push of confidence was enough to make the smile genuine.

"Sir... Your Lordiness, as it were," Jack started, and laid his hand over his heart as he stepped a little closer. He regarded his superior with that same unflinching smile. "I remember my slimy, weasly place all the time. In fact, I've spent many a night thinking about all the interestin' positions I find myself in." Only the wicked gleam deep in his eye betrayed that innuendo. "And furthermore, I am completely confident in the fact that even if I were to forget, you would be right there to remind me. Am I right?" He patted Beckett on the shoulder. "Or am I right?"

Beckett's eyes narrowed to slits as he regarded the young captain. Jack Teague had the pity of people in high places, otherwise Beckett wouldn't have hesitated in destroying him quickly. As it was, the elderly Mrs. Teague was still well respected in society's inner circles, and Cutler had no desire to destroy his own chances early on over a mouthy son of pirate. Therefore, he would have to destroy Jack slowly over time, comment by comment, humiliation by humiliation. He never considered defeat, never wondered if Jack was somehow unbreakable. Everyone had their breaking point, and after all this time Beckett thought he might have finally found Captain Teague's.

"Now," Jack was continuing, "If you would be so kind as to excuse me... the soon-to-be Missus Teague is waiting for me at home and it would be most dishonorable to keep her waiting. Don't you agree?"

Jack backed away and Beckett gave him an oily smile.

"Yes, indeed. And we are both men of honor, aren't we?" he said, as if daring him to disagree. Jack wouldn't dream of such a thing.

"Of a sort, sir, I suppose we are."

And with that, Jack excused himself.

Beckett's words and insinuations followed him as he walked the streets to home, hearing that prissy voice saying over and over, "It seems to me that you should be aware of the position you find yourself in. Especially after your father..."

Became a pirate, had been the end to that sentence. Jack snorted, trying to snuff out the anger.

If honor was what Beckett had, he wanted nothing of it.

Jack Teague could think of a lot worse things to be than a pirate.

On the way back from the docks, he made fun of "his Lordiness" nearly the whole way, taunting, "We are both men of honor, aren't we?" in a high voice that sounded nothing like Lord Cutler Beckett. No matter; it made him feel better all the same. In fact, he was in rather high spirits when he finally strolled into his house at eight o'clock, almost colliding into Mrs. Plath (little Joshua's dear ol' mum) who was waiting for him by the door.

"You're late!" she hissed, and he raised his hands as if to ward off evil spirits. Which, judging by the look on her face, might not have been far off the mark. The small woman who helped his mother was smart, stern, and packed quite a wallop when Jack deserved it. Which was often enough, truth be told. She paid no regard to the fact that Jack was a man now of twenty-four, and altogether too old to be punished by anyone. To her, he would always be that incorrigible little boy, sneaking around and causing all manner of mischief. "She's been waiting over two hours for ye to show yer sorry hide! She could've just left, and where would ye be then?"

Jack lowered his arms and gave her his most roguish grin.

"Celebrating?"

The woman's face grew redder and, anticipating the slap to come, he raised his arms once more. She hit him on the arm instead.

"I'd beat the devil out of ye boy, if I thought it'd work!" But beating the devil out of Jack Teague was something the elderly Mrs. Plath had given up on many years ago, not that it kept her from trying. She sighed, lowering her arm, and blew a breath out to knock a stray hair out of her vision. Lowering her voice, she added, "You chase off this girl and you break your mum's heart."

And there it was. Not intended to make him feel guilty; not meant to hurt him. Those words were spoken soft and deadly: it was fact, and that was all.

Jack wilted slightly.

"Mum is..."

"In bed. Resting. Now get yerself in there and apologize to the Miss before I beat you in front of her."

Jack nodded, his thoughts removed from the threat, and walked into the dining room. Candlelight danced around, ricocheting off the empty plates and unused silverware, flickering in the face of a stoic young woman. Jack stopped, hands behind his back, and took the moment to look at her: the pretty but blank face with the high cheekbones, the smallish lips, the wavy auburn hair... her features were strong, not at all delicate like a governor's daughter should be (at least in Jack's mind), but there was nothing behind it. No will, no fire, no reason to make anyone look twice. He sighed, dreading the pleasantries that were to come. He almost thought he could have had the conversation without her.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Houghton," Jack lied smoothly, bending at the waist as she rose to greet him. She did not offer her hand and he was relieved for it.

"You're most forgiven, Captain Teague," she said, sounding demure as she seated herself again. Jack pushed in her chair and moved around the table, suddenly aware that his hands were clasped behind his back in that prissy way men of society had. He nearly grimaced. "I would imagine you to be a very busy man."

Jack looked at her as he sat down, wondering (only for a moment) if she was mocking him. But her eyes were clear and her lips slack, no hint of a smile there. He almost felt disappointed.

"Quite busy, yes," Jack said, his voice dry. Best to leave it at that.

A moment later the food arrived, brought in on trays by the housekeeper and cook. Food was laid out in silence, the only sound being the clinking lids which whispered like children with a secret. He watched as their plates and cups were filled, watched knowing he should speak but unable to think of anything to say to break the silence. What did you say to the most bland woman on earth, especially when that woman was about to become your wife?

He looked up at her and watched as she cut her food: elbows in, back straight, thin lips set in an attractive line. He marveled again at the fact that he, Jack Teague (who, though he would never admit such a fact, had entertained the company of many a lady less attractive than Caroline Houghton, some of which he had paid for) would find himself so very turned off by a beautiful woman.

Not her fault really, he thought, continuing to stare. She's just all wrong.

She looked up at him and caught his gaze, raising a delicate eyebrow when he didn't look away. He waited for the inevitable small talk to begin, the "No, I insist, call me Caroline," and the "Oh but what a fascinating job you must have, Captain..." and before you'd know it she would be redecorating his house and calling his parlor the "sitting room" and turning his dear old mum against him, as wives were wont to do. He gritted his teeth at the thought but to his surprise she didn't speak at all, not for the sake of small talk or anything else. Just sat there without a word, cutting her chicken and looking the very image of prim innocence.

He looked away at long last, reaching for his cup. It wasn't rum, but it would do.

The silence dragged on, the only noise echoing in the room was the clink-slide of their silverware on the dishes. He knew why he wasn't talking, but why wasn't she? Usually women like the Governor's daughter could not be made to shut up, because even if they didn't like the company there was always the topic of themselves to titter on about for hours. He wondered if she was shy.

Taking in the sharp cheekbones and the firm set to her lips, he couldn't help but think that she didn't seem like the type to be shy. He searched his brain for memories of her at special occasions but came up with very little. This, however, could have very well been a reflection on Jack himself, and not Miss Houghton. He spent as little time at balls and the like that he possibly could.

Suddenly, Jack's thoughts were disrupted by the sound of clinking glass. Caroline Houghton had pushed her plate away from her and was now standing. Out of instinct, Jack did the same.

"Leaving so soon, Miss?" he asked, relief creeping into his voice. He didn't try hard to mask it.

She didn't look at him as she began arranging to leave, and Jack was surprised further when the housekeeper rushed in to bring her shawl. He looked to the doorway and saw half of the servants staring in at him, though they scattered when he caught them. He turned back in amazement. Had the whole damn house been watching this debacle of a date?

From the glare on Mrs. Plath's face as she helped the young woman with her shawl, he knew they had.

"I'm afraid I must, Captain Teague," Caroline was saying, and he looked back to see her eyes were down as she spoke. "It was very kind of you to have me over for dinner but I was expected back hours ago."

Her voice wasn't accusing, but Jack felt a surprising prickle of guilt nonetheless.

"Of course," he said, and stepped around the table. "I should escort you home."

"NO!" she said, nearly shouting as her head flew up. Her cheeks flushed at her outburst. "I mean, no. No thank you, Captain. I'll be fine."

Jack looked at her a long moment before finally smiling. He wouldn't have been able to tell her why he was smiling if she asked; after all, there was nothing funny about two miserable people being forced to wed, right? Especially when both parties were so clearly opposed to the idea. No, there was nothing funny at all about that. Except he had just realized the reason behind the proper Miss Houghton's silence, and it wasn't shyness nor lack of things to say.

"I insist that you at least allow me to send you home in our carriage," he said, touching her elbow. She jerked away from his touch... just slightly, but Jack noticed it.

"Very well," she said, "And I thank you greatly for your kindness."

He followed her to the door and watched as she walked out of it, a polite flounce of skirts and expensive cloth.

So... it appeared as if Miss Caroline Houghton desired him even less than he desired her.

"That's interesting," he said quietly and smiled again.

In fact, her not liking him was the only interesting thing about her thus far.

Jack checked in on his mother before passing on to his own bedroom, finding her asleep among a mountain of blankets. She looked so small and frail that for a moment he had to stop and watch her breathe. Satisfied she was fine, he moved on.

Once in his room, he closed the door and began the slow task of undressing, starting by removing his jacket and shirt. Walking over to the small mirror on the wall, he noticed he was still wearing his hat and wig, Grimacing, he removed both and ran his hand over his dark hair, wishing he could simply tie it back like most people did. Leaning forward farther into the smoky mirror, he ran his hand over his face as well, thinking a moustache or beard might be nice.

He hesitated, looking towards the door to make sure it was firmly shut before opening the small closet door. On the top most shelf, not hidden but not in plain sight either, was the pirate hat his father had given him all those years ago. He looked at it for a moment, thinking not one thought but many. Finally he turned to walk away, shutting the door not just on the hat but on the thoughts as well. He did not cut these worries off cleanly, however, because they followed him into the bed as he dropped off into sleep... followed him down in his dreams...

"We are both men of honor, aren't we?" said Beckett's voice.

"I could think of a lot worse things to be than a pirate," Jack replied, only in his dreams.