WRITERS NOTE

Thanks for reading and reviewing! You're all so sweet! xxx I really appreciate and enjoy reading what you have to say!

I hope everyone likes this chapter, it took so long because I have had horrible writers block and it hasn't been my favourite chapter to write. Something about it just didn't click for me. I'll probably be updating again in a few days. As I said before, I totally intended on only updating once weekly, but I'm just not a patient person. I will definitely continue updating this way, save for weekends, because I always feel weird while writing with my husband home. He would take the piss out of me for this haha.

Anyways, I was watching In the Loop and so tossed in a little Malcom Tucker (my spirit animal) quote, thought it was fitting because it's meant for a character that Tom Hollander plays. If you haven't seen it and you're not easily offended, it's great.

Even while typing I go on and on, blabbing away. Like I said, next chapter soon! xxx

'I cannot believe you,' Elizabeth snapped, irritably pacing Lord Beckett's study. It was something that she had reiterated since the night before. 'No I can-' she turned on her heel to flash her husband another seething glare- 'you're a slimy git and I-'

'-and you simply cannot believe me,' Lord Beckett finished for her, his monotonous voice lazily attempting to mock the way she spoke. He stood at the marble fireplace with a crystal glass of port in one hand while he casually picked up dust on a finger- earlier in their conversation he had interrupted her to remark that the servants weren't doing their jobs correctly, which sent Elizabeth into a five minute long tirade that ended in her throwing a cushion at him when she realized he wasn't listening. Everything about him, from the lazy way he stood to his preoccupied fidgeting, seeped with laxity. 'Yes so you've said, dearest. Anything else?'

The row hadn't started immediately after Tia Dalma left. For some time, Lord Beckett questioned Elizabeth on what she had done to Jack and why. She had reluctantly explained. Lord Beckett explained to Elizabeth that Tia Dalma was a witch of sorts with great power- that Jack had also made deals with her, and that her word was not to be questioned. He spoke of her fearfully, in a way so unusual to Elizabeth- he was scared of her. Then they discussed what Tia Dalma had demanded that they do; that Elizabeth travel to her, to begin the journey to find Jack. A few years before the fact, Elizabeth would have said it was crazy to save a dead man, but after so many months on the Pearl with Barbossa's skeleton crew and then fighting off Davy Jones and his band of sea creatures, it didn't seem far from the realm of possibility.

'But how am I to make such a journey with no crew?' she had questioned, chewing her knuckle nervously as they sat amongst her pillows together in the early hours of the morning.

That was when the row began. Lord Beckett informed her that the crew of the Black Pearl hadn't yet been released as he had promised her. They still sat in Port Royals prison. He had tried to amend his lies by insisting that if he hadn't held the group for questioning, it would have been difficult to track down the crew and therefore difficult to appease Tia Dalma, which was a matter that they were keen to attend to quickly. Elizabeth knew that what he said was true, but that didn't mean that his lies to her were right. She was hurt and expressed it through rants and assaulting him with cushions.

'Yes,' she continued in a matter-of-fact tone, arms defensively folded across her chest, 'you know-' her face was hot with rage, mostly conjured up by her husbands relaxed attitude, '-if I could I would-'

'You would what, dearest?' Lord Beckett questioned smugly. 'What would my pleasant little ray of sunshine do to me if she only could?' His overly articulated words were condescending and the smirk on his lips threw fuel onto the fire that was Elizabeth's rage.

'I'd fucking punch you into paralysis!' she hissed at him, her voice shaking.

Lord Becketts brow went up, surprised at his wife's use of an expletive and her will to do such damage to him. It was all very entertaining to him, watching her storm about the room. It took very little coaxing to get her to carry on with the show. 'You do so wound me with your hateful words,' his voice dripped in sarcasm that matched that of his free hand held against his chest.

'You have not a care for-'

'-oh do stop before you give yourself a nosebleed,' Lord Beckett snapped harshly, for the first time in the row raising his voice at her. He finished off the remaining port in his glass and placed it loudly onto the marble mantel of the ornate fireplace.

Elizabeth stopped pacing, stunned that he shouted at her. A gross part of herself found it attractive.

'Now-' he began, meandering towards her - 'either you can calm yourself and we can discuss the plan, or you can simply retire to your chambers and we can try again tomorrow.' His fingers trailed softly across her chest, an affectionate action that contradicted his sharp words.

She slapped his hand away. 'I'm not a child so don't-'

Lord Beckett grabbed ahold of her hand and used it to pull her against him. 'You're my wife and you'll do as I say. Now shall we do this the easy way or the hard way?'

Elizabeth's brown eyes flashed down, unable to look at him directly. She knew that her behavior was getting them nowhere- though her pride made it difficult to back down. But she had to back down. 'Well. . . fine.'

'Fine? That's hardly a response. Fine we'll do it the hard way?'

'No,' she breathed, rolling her eyes spitefully at him. 'Fine we will do it the easy way.'

Lord Beckett chucked and let her hand free. 'You know you're morbidly erotic when angry-' he strolled over to the lush red sofa that was now missing all of it's cushions. 'Come here,' he motioned to her to come closer with his fingers crooked.

Elizabeth recoiled. 'Cutler I hardly find myself in the mood for your carnal desires,' but her feet still brought her closer to him. She sat on the sofa and sighed.

'What if I ask nicely?'

'It's a pity you don't know how to be nice,' she retorted with her eyes slit smugly. 'Besides,' a sigh escaped her lips, product of all the stress she felt for their situation, 'we need to discuss a plan.'

The situation as it were had caused Elizabeth a great deal of stress and she knew it had for Lord Beckett too, but he didn't give in to urges to cry and shout like she did. He remained cool and collected while she went from wailing to screaming to laughing all within the minute. It was all very confusing- for one moment she would be grateful for his unwavering composure and the next it was the bane of her existence and her reason for lashing out. Her emotions would shoot through the ceiling and then drop like lead through the floor- so erratic that Lord Beckett remarked that her behavior was worthy of a visit to an asylum. The comment was met with a cushion to the side of his head.

Though Elizabeth's emotions were well warranted. Not a week prior to their row in the study she had been floating hopelessly through the ocean, with no end in sight. They found Port Royal, come to find that her father didn't really need saving, despite all that she did. Then she was already married, being haunted by Jack, worrying for her friends who turned out to be still imprisoned despite what her husband assured her, and a sea witch told her that she must make a quick gander down to Davy Jones' locker to save the man that she killed. Frankly she was surprised that the latter hadn't caused her hair to fall out.

'Perhaps you're right,' Lord Beckett agreed. 'Getting you out of Port Royal won't oppose any real issue. . .' he droned on. Elizabeth listened carefully, putting all of her trust in what he said. As he explained, they would stage a prison break- it would be easy to do, as he was in charge. She would break her crewmates out of their cell and lead them safely to the beach- the next move would be to commandeer a ship that would be left in the harbor for the taking. And so they would be free from Port Royal and Elizabeth would be well trusted by those she rescued. With the compass she would make her way to Tia Dalma's shack and they would do as the witch commanded- Elizabeth only hoped that the rest of the crew would be keen on saving Jack. 'Once you have Jack you'll search for me with the compass- I presume I'll have more information on the pirate lords then and you'll have spoken to Tia Dalma. . .'

Lord Beckett relaxed against the back of the sofa and sighed deeply. It was the first time Elizabeth had seen him at a loss for words. Her hand reached out and touched his thigh, in an attempt to comfort him.

'We'll take our next steps then,' she finished for him.

'Yes,' he whispered, deep in thought. His hand found hers- he squeezed it before standing to face her. 'I must ready a ship and let the guards at the prison know what is to happen. And I suppose you must ready to leave.'

Elizabeth nodded and stood with him. It was a strange moment- she felt sad for what was happening. They hadn't been married long and she had only a handful of days spent as his wife- she was robbed so quickly of her happiness. But there was more to it than that. It felt momentous; Elizabeth couldn't say whether it was anxiety or her gut warning her of things to come, but she felt like she was seeing Lord Beckett in his study for the last time. The creeping sense of impending doom made a home in her heart and she feared that it was there to stay. A lone tear escaped the barricade of her lashes.

'Why do you cry?'

'It's nothing,' Elizabeth breathed with the strain of tears, 'Perhaps you were right, I do need to visit an asylum. . .' a smile crossed her lips and his at the jest. She stepped towards him and touched the silk cravat that adorned his neck. 'I will see you before I go, won't I?'

Lord Beckett nodded unenthusiastically, as if not confident of himself. He took her hand from his neck and brought it to his lips before exiting the study without glancing at her once more.

Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak, but he slammed the door behind himself, leaving her alone and uncertain of their future.


For awhile, two hours to be exact, Elizabeth had remained in the study, flinging herself between tears of sadness and tears of panic. Eventually they seeped into tears of anger. It angered her greatly that after all of the trouble Jack had caused, after all of the peoples lives he risked for his own, that her life was now being uprooted once more and it was to save him. For all his bad deeds it seemed that God looked favourably down upon him while she was punished time and time again for her wrong doings. When would she finally be freed of the invisible debt that the universe demanded? She felt that would be never- she would save Jack, amending her fault against him, which would lead to another incident that she would pay dearly for.

'You did ask for another adventure,' she thought bitterly. It was an adventure sure enough, but not one that she wanted to partake in.

Through the long lavish halls of her husbands manor she prowled- her anger had finally pulled her from the sofa and put her into motion. She was determined to save Jack and get back to the life she felt she had well suffered to achieve. No pirate or sea witch was going to delay her any longer.

Her wrathful stride brought her to her husbands chambers. It was a room that she had not visited but once; it was Lord Beckett who came to her through the door that connected his chambers to hers. The walls were opulent, donned in maroon brocade silk and decorated with elaborate mirrors and paintings, all gilded in gold. A large four-poster bed was the center piece, draped with velvet and satin drapes and swags, enough so to dress several beds. The crystal chandelier was the grandest in the manor in Elizabeth's opinion, and it hung from the ornate painted ceilings. It was a room that needn't a soul inside of it for one to know that it belonged to a man. From the floor to the ceiling, it seeped masculinity. Elizabeth found it to be a rather intimidating place and preferred the softness of the pastels and florals that decorated her chambers.

Within the large mahogany wardrobe in the corner was where she found her husbands clothes. Elizabeth rifled through the trousers until she found a pair that would do, and stole a lawn shirt from one of the many. It only took her a moment to strip down and put on the two garments; she was always amazed and jealous at how easy it was for men to dress. She could never hope to get into a modern dress with all of the laces and layers without the help of chambermaids, let alone all of the undergarments that went with it.

A sharp breath passed her lips and she went to a mirror to check her appearance. For a second, she didn't recognize the girl in the reflection. No matter how many times she saw herself dressed so inappropriately, it always stunned her. Though she had only been back from her pirating adventures at sea for a handful of days, once more she had fallen back into the usual standards of a lady. Suddenly she looked so similar to the mangy girl stuck out at sea on a long boat- minus the dirt. It was as if she hadn't returned to a decent life at all. She used her fingers to brush her hair away from her face and glanced herself over once more.

'Lady Beckett,' the voice caused Elizabeth to jump as she spun to face the doorway where the voice had come from. It was Henrietta, her chambermaid that had also worked as such in her fathers household.

Elizabeth put her hand over her quick paced heart and let out a breathy laugh. 'Henrietta, you-'

'Lord Beckett's waiting outside with a carriage for you.'

Reluctantly, Elizabeth nodded. It was all too soon- so quickly had they discussed what they were to do and then so suddenly it was being put into motion. None of it felt that it could be real. She had hoped that they might have time for each other one last time, but the chance of that looked grim. Henrietta lead her mistress through the manor and out to the circle drive, where a black carriage awaited. Elizabeth worried her brow; this was it, the first step to leaving Port Royal to save her victim from the hell she had sentenced him to. She opened the door unenthusiastically to find her husband waiting for her as promised and took the seat across from him. The carriage jolted forward and they were off. She eyed her husband as he glanced out of the window at the scenes passing by.

'I'm sorry for wasting away the day quarrelling with you,' Elizabeth admitted as she reached out and lightly touched his knee. 'I wish we had more time, before. . .' with no respond to her touch, not even a glance, she sighed and pulled her hand away. 'Well. . .' she didn't know what else to say on the matter.

'There's no point in fretting over it now,' Lord Beckett's voice was cold and stony, as usual.

Elizabeth couldn't tell if he was angry with her or not and worriedly chewed her lip. The carriage ride was silent and awkward. She felt self-conscious, acutely aware that Lord Beckett was likely thinking about her; whether his thoughts were kind or not she didn't know, but she suspected that they weren't kind. Her fingers anxiously untied and retied the strings on her lawn shirt many a time and oft, trying to ease her nerves. The tension wasn't to be suffered for long, as within minutes the carriage came to a sudden halt. Her hand roughly pulled back the curtain that obscured her view through the window to see that they had arrived at the prison.

Lord Beckett wordlessly stood and left the carriage, leaving his hand waiting to help her out. Elizabeth took his hand and followed his steps. She craned her head, viewing the prison in all it's intimidating glory. The last time she had seen its stone walls and barred windows was the night that she had left Port Royal months before.

'There are weapons for your use on the ship,' Lord Beckett's harsh voice interrupted her gaze, 'and I've made sure that you'll cross no enemies as you pass through the prison. Here-' the compass was held out in his hand for her- 'you'll need this.'

Elizabeth took it from him and held it tightly. Tension hung between the two bodies. Her brown eyes openly examined him, waiting for him to speak again. Was that all he had to say to her? She wished that he would say more- do more.

'I'll find you as soon as I can,' she had said it to reassure herself more than her husband. Her throat swelled, threatening tears. 'Tell my father that I'm sorry,' a tear escaped, streaming down her cheek. 'I-' she couldn't speak for if she did, tears would fall freely.

Lord Beckett nodded, still cool and unreadable, all that Elizabeth wished that she could also be. 'I will.'

She swallowed hard and looked down nervously at her hands.

The two stood before the prison, each waiting for the other to move. Elizabeth made the first; she turned to rush away, unable to suffer the tension any longer. Her feet carried her into one of the many dark halls of the prison as she wiped away her continual flow of tears. Lord Becketts footsteps followed hers as she went blindly through the maze of doors and halls. Suddenly his hand gripped her arm, jarring her movements forward. He pulled her harshly back down the corridor and into a broom cupboard. She didn't argue. It was what she wanted him to do; react to her leaving.

The cupboard was pitch black. Elizabeth backed towards one of the small stone walls. Lord Becketts hands found her in the dark and unceremoniously pulled her trousers downwards. She gasped as he turned her around and she felt his hot appendage against the soft skin of her inner thigh. Her hands found the cold stone wall, using it to steady herself in the darkness. In a swift moment, he had sheathed himself inside of her. Elizabeth cried out, bringing Lord Becketts hand over her mouth, muffling the moans that would echo in the hallow prison. His free arm wrapped around her torso possessively as he rutted into her. In just moments his pace had quickened against her, bringing bouts of bit back moans passed his lips.

As soon at the spur of the moment passion had begun, it ended. Elizabeth leaned against the wall, catching her breath. Lord Beckett pulled her trousers up and reached behind her to tie them in place before tidying her shirt. She kissed his cheek as he did so.

'Cutler,' she whispered. Her stomach turned as she thought about what she was about to say. She couldn't. 'I wish we would have done that all day instead of rowing,' she said instead, trying to sound flirty and upbeat; all that at the moment, she was not.

'Yes,' Lord Beckett agreed. 'Yet we didn't,' he opened the cupboard door, letting in the silver moonlight. He stroked her hair as she passed by him.

Elizabeth nodded as she stepped across the threshold of the door. She reentered the dark corridor and sighed. Her fingers dug into the wooden frame, her body silently pleading for her to stay. 'Cutler,' she repeated once more, as she turned back to admire him, 'I love you.' Before he could respond, Elizabeth stormed down the corridor, away from him. She didn't want to hear what he had to say for her admission. She picked up her pace, the breeze against her teary cheeks soothing her. Windows and doors passed by her in a blur as she held her focus on her destination. Just before she reached the section of the prison that held iron cells, he caught up to her.

'Elizabeth,' he called to her, his voice echoing through the slender corridor. She turned to see him standing some distance back, only visible by the stream off moonlight that crossed his chest. 'We trust no one but each other.'

It wasn't a question, rather a demand, which Elizabeth gave a firm nod to and then she was off, ready to set their plan into action.