Thanks to all who reviewed! I think this chapter is my longest yet! Enjoy!

Chapter 11: A Painful Misunderstanding

Warnings: innuendo an' a drop or two of blood, an' some o' Beckett's more sinister thoughts….

Elizabeth couldn't help but mull over what Barbossa had said about Beckett's hinting at her and his being involved, and was curious as to if he had said something similar to Jack. She also couldn't help but wonder if Beckett had been lying about not revealing her state of health to Jack. Before she was to go through with the flogging, she had to know.

"Jack," she said, approaching the captain as he stood on the quarterdeck, a telescope to his eye.

"Hello, Lizzie," he replied, keeping the telescope up. "Lovely day, eh?"

"Yes. The sky couldn't be clearer, I think."

He grunted in reply. Here was the moment of truth.

"How are you feeling?" she asked him. He was finally done with the telescope, and condensed it to a small size, tucking it away in his frockcoat.

He looked at her.

"Fine. An' yourself?"

"Very well, thank you."

A silence followed, thick enough to be cut with a knife.

"Great. It's important that you're feeling as such, bein' as you have quite a responsibility later on today."

"He won't be disobeying you again after this," she said, her voice calm and confident.

"Better not be. Or spreadin' lies either, as it were."

"What do you mean by that?" she ventured, automatically suspicious as to the nature of the lies.

He looked at her, half a grin on his face.

"He said I would be not be pleased if I was aware o' th' advantages his presence brings to a certain someone aboard, obviously referrin' to yourself. As well as commentin' several times on the nature of your relationship—"

Her mouth went agape in shock once more. Beckett told not only Barbossa, but also told Jack that something's going on between us? What's he trying to do; get me kicked off the ship?

"How dare he?" she shouted, cutting off Jack's train of thought. "What does he think; that I won't hear these ridiculous rumours and find their source?"

"So it's not true—"

"Of course it's not true. Do you take me to be some sort of fool?" She gave him a small smile. "I thought you knew me better than that."

He took a swaggering step closer to her, flashing his golden teeth.

"Well, I can get to know you better; jus' say th' word."

She realized the suggestiveness of his statement and smiled but didn't say anything.

Jack returned her grin with a warm genuine smile.

"Luv, in all me life I've never met someone quite as complex as yourself… not that that's a bad thing, o' course."

She looked mildly affronted.

"Well, you are complex as well!" she said poutily.

"Mos' certainly not," he said coolly. "All I need to be happy is a bottle o' rum an' th' sea beneath th' ship beneath my feet."

"No one else?"

"Wot do you mean?"

"So, you're perfectly happy being alone on the sea on the Pearl with a bottle of rum—"

"Aye… even though I'd need a crew to help run me ship."

"You don't need anyone to make you happy?" she asked, saying it in a disbelieving sort of voice. It had to be nice not depending on others for happiness, but was it actually possible for the amiable Jack Sparrow to feel such a way?

"Wot's th' point, really," he said, a hint of bitterness in his voice that she had never heard until now. "Puttin' such massive responsibilities on another is guaranteed to lead to disappointment. An' so I avoid the whole rigmarole altogether."

It seemed that finally Jack had given up the active pursuit of Elizabeth's fancies. Well, it's all for the better, she mused, seeing as he can't even trust me to tell me about the Azores….

When it came time for the flogging, Elizabeth tried to guess at where Beckett would be laying low. She was in a rather poor mood because she had searched the forecastle, the hold, and Jack's cabin for Beckett. She had been mulling over his lies to Barbossa and Jack about the nature of their acquaintanceship, she thought of it merely as. Surely he wouldn't have jumped overboard, she mused, heading down the stairs to the brig. There's still no sign of land in sight.

A creaking noise in the vicinity of the brig startled her, and she froze in place, listening for more sounds, her head still not low enough on the stairs to see who – or what – the source of the noise was.

She took a couple more steps down, her eyes adjusting to the significantly dimmer atmosphere of the brig.

"You're late," a voice said. There was Beckett, sitting on a barrel near the ruined grating of the brig's only cell, a smirk on his face. He had not bothered to put on his waistcoat or frockcoat. His dangling legs did not quite touch the floor.

She flashed him a look of disbelief and of suspicion.

"You've been here all along?" she ventured to ask, her eyes narrowed.

"I do believe I have an appointment for —a quarter of an hour ago, is it now? I happen to pride myself on punctuality."

"I see," she replied, her face dead serious. Somehow this further amused him. Beckett was now grinning unabashedly.

"What's so amusing," she asked him in a deadpan tone. He slid down off of the barrel, slapping his hands together to rid himself of any dirt they had accumulated.

"Nothing," he replied, smile fading, not moving any closer to her. Suddenly he turned away from her, his hands moving to his shirt. Without a word, he robotically slipped his shirt over his head, placing it neatly on the lid of the barrel. He stood for a few seconds more, his back to her.

She could do nothing but gape at him, her mouth now slightly open. Had he gone mad? Was he enjoying this? Was he getting some sort of kick out of this?

"What are you doing?" she asked, her tone flat.

He turned around, flashing her a look of boredom.

"Preparing myself," he replied, matter-of-factly, giving her an unrestricted view of his chest hair and healthy amount of musculature. She was too busy gaping at his build to notice the sword-slice scar across his abdomen. Evidently he doesn't sit around all day drinking tea and chewing on lumps of sugar….

"What," she said blandly, blinking in disbelief. She then kept her eyes focused exclusively on his eyes, so as not to let her gaze wander elsewhere.

"Mere hours ago, you were concerned about the wound on my shoulder," he said, indicating his left shoulder, "and as I'd prefer not to have it struck with the cat, by removing my shirt, it's thus possible for you to see where the blows are landing."

He followed his statement in a sort of grin in which he bit his lower lip.

He's trying to use his state of undress to fluster me, Elizabeth mused, watching his mouth more intently than she would have wanted to admit. He doesn't seem the type to lack modesty. Guess I haven't totally figured him out just yet… A flash of her eyes to his chest again, and she took a quick intake of air, looking over at the cat, hanging on its nail.

Elizabeth walked over to the cat, pulling it off the nail, glancing very quickly at Beckett to see what he would do next.

Beckett gave her a nod of understanding, his mouth now serious but his eyes still glistening. He turned away from her, walking over to the hull as she gaped on. He placed his hands on the hull a good distance apart, and looked back at her expectantly.

She didn't move. Something squirmed in her stomach. Was he going to ambush her or something when she walked over there?

"What?" he said, shifting back and forth on his feet, looking back at her as his body stayed turned away from her. She remained silent, just sort of gaping in his general direction.

"Were you instead anticipating a flogging like the one above deck?" he said. He removed his hands from the hull, turned and crossed his arms quite haughtily. "I apologize in advance, but I'm afraid I must refuse to allow you to see that sort of view again." He followed his statement off with a naughty smirk.

"What are you—"

He took a step closer, holding his head at a slight angle as he looked at her, the smirk remaining.

"However, I'd be willing to make exceptions if I'm first seduced into obedience. That, of course, would require your first taking—"

"What is wrong with you?" she suddenly shrieked, startling him. The odd playful, flirty mood he was in was scaring her and causing her to be suspicious and mistrusting and conjuring up all sorts of negative paranoid emotions within her.

On the other hand, the last time Beckett had been around Elizabeth it had been rather entertaining. He and she sitting on her bed, her insisting on examining his wounds, and her even going so far as to tickle him; a good bit, in fact. There was no reason for her to be so irked by his playful talk. She had been playful earlier, that he was sure of. After all, what transgressions does she have against me, to justify actually flogging me? He considered it as her favour to him, to merely keep him aboard ship. Whatever purpose he served afterwards to her was anyone's guess, save for the secretive doctor's visit on Pico Island. Maybe that was all. But she still had no reason to actually start physically flogging him….

"Get back in position," she commanded, watching his smirk fade to a sort of disappointed exasperation.

Sighing deeply, he turned back around and put his hands on the hull once more, watching her warily as she approached with the cat o' nine tails. He began talking once again as she swung her arm back.

"So, did the roots help with your naus—Agh!" he half-yelped, half-bellowed when the tails struck him forcefully across his good shoulder, the familiar stinging pain causing little waves of nausea to go through him. He removed his hands from the wall and turned to face her, confused and angry, face flushing red.

"Good God woman; why are you even bothering!" he said accusingly, yet not raising his voice. He took several steps towards her.

"What are you talking about?" she hissed. "Am I not hitting hard enough? You are to be punished by me, and that is what I am doing! Turn around!"

"You know very well that you have no real reason to punish me, Elizabeth," he murmured, his voice low and breathy, remaining facing her.

"That's Mrs. Turner to you," she shot back. "And yes, I do have a rather valid series of reasons to do so."

He crossed his arms.

"And what would those be, may I ask."

"Turn around!" she bellowed. "Or else I'll flog you where you stand!"

"No," he snapped, looking positively arrogant. It looked like he was going to take another step towards her. Her behavior alarmed him. He had suspected his punishment would be a mere slap on the wrist, if that, maybe followed with some laughter—or perhaps even some light tickling…. After all, she had no real reason to flog him. What could she possibly be thinking? This has got to be some sort of sick joke on her part, one that already smarts a good deal—

Elizabeth raised the tails above her head and shoulders, preparing to strike him. She took two steps toward him, the tail moving to hit its target. The arrogant smirk Beckett had on his face faded into one much like his last expression aboard the doomed Endeavour, and he whirled around quickly in a late attempt to get away, or at least so that his back would take the blow.

As the tails hit him, they just so happened to lick across the gunshot wounds. He fell to his knees as if shot, making a sort of animalistic sound, trying ever so hard to keep his mouth shut and teeth gritted. She watched him there, shirtless, kneeling on the floor, blood trickling from between some of the stitches of the now rather nasty-looking wound. She had never meant to strike him there. Why hadn't he just toppled over, or moved to the side? She felt queasy and extremely dizzy, looking down at three Becketts and a thick cat of twenty-seven tails. All of a sudden darkness overcame her completely.

Elizabeth came to shortly afterwards with a splitting headache, yet her head rested against something relatively soft. Her eyes fluttered open to the sight of Cutler Beckett, looking down at her, his face devoid of any readable expression. She soon realized that her head was lying in his lap, and – too quickly – attempted to sit back up again. When she had gotten halfway up, the dizziness returned with such a vengeance that she dropped her head back onto his lap, flashing him a glare of suspicion in the process.

"What just happened?" she said. "How in the world did I end up here?"

"You don't remember?" he asked quietly, his inquiry more of a statement than a question.

"It's not that—I remember what I was doing… but then I opened my eyes and I'm… here."

He sighed, hating that she hadn't simply forgotten what had just taken place, what was supposed to still be taking place at the moment.

"You fainted," he said simply. "I don't know what it is about you women and your weak ways. Always fainting or acting so delicate in an otherwise completely inappropriate situation."

Or dying... with apparently no cause at all. Going from completely healthy and tough to dead, simply upon setting foot on a bloody ship, he mused, silently cursing the Azores and the heartache it held for him.

She was immediately intrigued. Was there a woman in his life?

"What, has this happened before to you?" she said, placing her hand on the ground so as to remove herself from this most odd positioning.

"Why does it matter, anyway," he said. "You had quite a fall," he added, trying to change the subject.

He really is quite an enigma, she mused. Her head throbbed with pain.

"Did I hit my head?" She sat up slowly this time until she was sitting near him but not physically contacting him in any way.

"Yes. Unfortunately because of the state that I was in – no thanks to you – I was not able to catch you."

"It's not like this came out of nowhere, Beckett. You've known about this since yesterday."

"Well, I never thought you'd actually go through with it," he shot back quickly. "What are your supposed 'valid series of reasons' for doing so, if I may ask again." The impatience in his voice was obvious.

She cleared her throat.

"I was informed by both Jack and Barbossa that you have been spreading lies to them," she said.

"About what?" he said, utterly lost. What could they possibly accuse me of lying about?

Elizabeth could feel her face getting hot.

"You know precisely what I'm referring to," she told him.

"No," he said, scratching his head. "I'm confused."

"I'm not going to explain your own actions back to you."

"What in particular have I lied about. This is important, seeing as how it prompted you to act so irrationally."

This statement irked her.

"You insinuated to both Jack and Barbossa that you and I are an item," she said, finishing her statement with a sigh. He opened his mouth to reply but she continued speaking. "If I'd known that treating you in any way but with the utmost contempt would lead to these sorts of implications, I'd simply go on hating you, if that's what you'd like to have done."

As she took a breath, Beckett began explaining.

"I in no way, shape, or form meant to imply that sort of thing. I had simply left it up for Barbossa to judge on his own, neither confirming nor denying. It's none of his business anyway," he added bitterly.

"Yes, it is his business," she replied. "As you now know, my husband is the new captain of the Flying Dutchman, our ally. If he should learn of some supposed flirtation, there's no telling what he would do."

"But he's not going to find out, is he?" he said in a monotone. "He has duties in another world. He's not going to risk a transformation of his physical appearance into various sea life or what-have-you by ignoring his duties to check up on you. After all, his appearance is just about all I can see he has going for him, no offense intended."

She flashed him a look of spite. Yes, Will isn't the sharpest tool in the shed, but he's courageous and loyal and dedicated—oh, Beckett does have a very nice amount of chest hair.

"What need would there be to have him check on you, anyway?" Beckett continued. "You do trust each other completely, I'm sure…"

He bit on his lower lip, looking at her anticipatorily.

He needs to stop doing that with his lip, Elizabeth mused, immediately averting her eyes.

She was unnerved. She trusted Will, but Will didn't exactly trust her. He never really had. His vying for her affections always seemed to be a race against others, first with James Norrington, and then with Jack Sparrow. Probably the only reason he proposed was so that I'd not stray, because otherwise there's no vows keeping me to himself. Even so, I can't help but be uncomfortable with a previous enemy, simply because he has his shirt off. It's a shame that he's not so bad to look at….

Elizabeth must have paused a slight bit too long in her thoughts, for Beckett began speaking again.

"Ah, I see," Beckett murmured, an impish smirk appearing on his face reminiscent of the days of yore. "Mr. Turner may indeed have a valid reason to occasionally monitor your fidelity."

"Why do you assume it's him not trusting me?" she shot back quickly. His smirk spread.

"I've never seen another woman anywhere near him. And I know there to be no women on the Dutchman. On the other hand, you're always surrounded by men. And you've had quite a few admirers along the way."

She couldn't help but be flattered yet remained suspicious. Was he referring to Jack?

Beckett spoke up again.

"How long is it until Captain Turner can return to land? A decade, is it?"

Elizabeth's face fell.

"Yes."

"That's an awfully long time for one to remain faithful, especially to someone heartless. Literally."

She cringed at the reminder of Will's not-quite-alive state of being.

"You're telling me," she scoffed, realizing immediately she had said way too much. Why didn't I shoot some nasty remark his way, being as his statement was meant to be offensive?

His eyes lit up at her unexpected comment.

"Why punish yourself over his lapse of attention to staying alive? It's not your burden to bear," he said in a dry monotone.

"Yes it is."

He put his hand to his mouth, as if considering.

"Alright. So you'll see him for a day every ten years. Let's see. That'll be… once when you are what, thirty, assuming you're twenty now. Then once a decade, when you're forty, fifty, sixty, and seventy years of age. So essentially you are punishing yourself for fifty years in order to see him for five more days. I can't see how anyone could be worth that torture, let alone him." He cleared his throat, watching her glare at him.

"Meaning no offense by my last statement," he muttered, looking slightly sheepish.

She frowned, deep in thought. Oh, why hadn't she thought this through more carefully? Her entire life was essentially gone… for five days. And probably only three of those days for experiencing those amazing pleasures ever again.

The sound of Beckett's voice pulled her out of her reverie of disgust.

"And, in addition to this, you'll be aging, whereas he'll remain youthful. That may make things awfully awkward, say, upon your days with him at age fifty and above. I cannot even imagine how strange that would be—"

"Alright!" she heard herself blurt aloud. "That's enough!"

She watched him smirk, him knowing that he had made her think… and squirm.

She had to bring up the original subject again, before it was lost completely. Besides, she was supposed to be flogging him at this time, and might cause suspicion among the crew if she was not.

"Well, the point is, I decided to execute the punishment when I heard you were making up lies. I don't like liars."

"Is that reason enough to flog them, as well as striking them across an obviously sore wound, at that…."

She flinched as if she had been burned.

"I didn't mean to hit you there," she murmured. "You moved in the wrong direction."

"And yet, you meant to hit me, all the same. If I hadn't moved, the tails would have struck me across the chest. Ah, yes, that would have been much more pleasant."

"You shouldn't have lied. Simple as that."

"Well, I wasn't the one who immediately broke a promise and divulged a secret meant to be kept. I don't like people who can't honour promises."

Elizabeth's face flushed with shame. He hadn't even approached her about it, hadn't even mentioned her broken vow until now. Granted, there were several instances when he could have brought it up, could have gotten ever so angry at her over it. But he hadn't. It was she that had irrationally decided to punish Beckett for doing something that could have been cleared up with simple conversation. Her transgression against him could have very easily resulted in his death, had she not been awake to stop it.

She thought very hard what she was going to say, going to do. He watched her intently, most likely not realizing that he was still only half-dressed.

"Alright," she finally said, after a couple of minutes of silence and anticipation (on Beckett's part) had passed. "We're even then."

"You broke your promise; I allegedly lied; that's all well and good. And yet I didn't get to lash you twice with the cat," he said in a pouty tone.

Her eyes grew larger and she gave him a look as if believing he was serious.

"What," he said, seeing her resulting expression of horror and bewilderment. "I might be called a cruel man, but I would never lay a hand – or an implement, for that matter – on a woman. That is, of course, unless it is expressly desired by said woman." He smirked at her, rubbing his thighs with his hands, awaiting her physical and verbal response to such a… what was it, an invitation of sorts?

Elizabeth chuckled nervously.

"If the woman desired for you to do such a thing, it couldn't be called punishment anymore," she stammered, her voice sounding hollow.

Beckett hadn't expected that reply. He had assumed she'd change the subject very quickly and very poorly. There was more to her than he had first assumed.

"I'd be willing to make an exception… in your case," he said, voice low and husky, staring at her with intense blue-gray eyes. "That is, if you'd really like to assuage your guilt and even the score."

She gaped at him in utter shock, her mouth open as she watched him openly and unabashedly flirting with her. And what was worse was that she was finding herself to be rather enjoying this sort of talk.

"I really do feel guilty for having gotten you into trouble, but you should have been honest with me up front and told me that if Jack found out anything, you'd have been thrown overboard—"

"Oh, so you'd only be willing to keep a promise if there was a serious consequence for not doing so?"

"That is not what I meant."

He clasped his hands together in front of him.

"I rest my case," he said, his expression triumphant.

Elizabeth glared at him.

"You're wrong about me," she muttered.

One corner of his mouth curled his lips into a partial grin.

"Am I? Well, then please explain your reasoning for having betrayed my trust a mere hour after I was so adamant on you keeping your mouth shut." He ended his statement with a smile, so that the last words wouldn't sting quite so harshly.

She stood up unexpectedly, her jaw set in frustration.

"I did not tell him outright, as you apparently assume. The way he found that you told me was that I made the connection between Pico Island and the Azores, and then said I'd never been to the Azores. He figured I had to have heard of Pico Island from someone else—you. You don't give Jack enough credit for the logic he uses."

Beckett scoffed from his position on the floor. "Ha. You could very well have learned of Pico Island from that Gibbs fellow, at the very least. He was in the Royal Navy once, I've heard. Or from Barbossa. Certainly both men have been to the Azores before. You revealed it all to Jack in the way you looked at him. Surely your guilt was written all over your face."

Suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious, Beckett stood up and turned his back to Elizabeth as he fetched his shirt. With his back to her, some oozy and caked blood around the sutures of the gunshot wound, he slipped the shirt back over his head.

"Wait—" she said, watching him freeze in place. He turned to face her, one arm in the shirt, preparing to push another arm through the other sleeve. His face had a sort of knowingness to it, though she didn't know of what exactly.

"Jack will think we are up to something if I don't follow through—"

Beckett sighed, slipping his other arm through the sleeves as he shot her a mildly venomous look.

"So I think I've figured something out. Take off your shirt again."

She picked the cat o' nine tails off of the ground by her feet.

His eyes briefly lit up with interest at her requesting him to remove his clothing, yet his mouth twisted in disgust at the sight of the cat. He removed his shirt, holding it in one hand as he looked at her again.

"I'm going to flog your shirt," she said, devising a new plan in her head. "And you're going to bellow as if hit. Does that sound logical?"

"I take it that you're doing this so as not to arouse the suspicions of dear Captain Sparrow and poor Captain Barbossa into confirming that there is something going on between—"

"As well as to save you the pain—"

"Which I don't deserve anyway—" he interrupted.

"—and to satisfy Jack in thinking that the punishment has been carried out, and so he'll let you off the hook," she finished, ignoring his last comment.

"Right," he said sarcastically. "Contrary to what you claim, this is all for your benefit. However, being as I still haven't told anyone of your sickness, I am not going to do one more favour for you—" he watched her face flush. "—that is, until we are even."

"What do you mean by that," she said in a high-pitched monotone, almost dropping the cat in the process.

"You know very well what I mean by that," he said, a wry grin across his face, his eyes flashing naughtily.

"Absolutely not," she said, crossing her arms, the cat still in her hand.

"Very well," he said snappishly, stepping towards the ladder leading to the gun deck, an amused smile on his face. "I only hope Jack is able to control his jealousy over noticing your lack of follow-through due to a deeper involvement with the condemned."

"Go ahead; tell him! See how I care!" Elizabeth cried.

He got to the top of the ladder, only his legs from knees down visible to Elizabeth, and called out in a singsong voice.

"Oh, Ja-ack…."

A/N: The next chapter is going to be the heavy chapter, the major one making this story a T rating. I MUST WARN YOU THAT IT'S RATHER DIFFERENT THAN EVERY CHAPTER SO FAR. I hope you are looking forward to it! I make mention of it in the last chapter/note page of Beckett's Debt, to remind you of the nature of this warning.

Chapter 12: "We're not even," Elizabeth said breathily, her voice barely above a whisper, disappointment in her eyes.