SIX: DAY OF CHEATING

"Sparrow."

"What?"

"No."

"What do you mean, no?" Jack waved an arm, "What are you, too wimpy to hit someone in the face?" he paused, seeming lightly annoyed, "Well, you hit me."

"Jack, the objective of this entire task is to prove that I'm a good person and get sparklies... eh... a green conscience," Beckett pointed an accusing finger at Jack from his place, floating near the ceiling, "Making me smash somebody's head in is not going to help my current situation!"

"Fine, fine," Jack waved an arm, "Spoilsport," he muttered, shooting a glance at Beckett to make sure he heard. "And you can get down from the ceiling too!" he smirked, "Suppose you wanted a turn at being the bigger one, eh?"

Glaring at him resentfully, Beckett allowed himself to drift downwards, though he didn't let his feet touch the floor; he floated about five inches above it, his arms folded, standing stoically. Jack rolled his eyes and made his way out of the bar, with Beckett floating along behind him; it caused an odd effect, because though Beckett himself moved through the air, he did not move his legs or arms.

"Where are you going?" Beckett asked. He loath to use the term, 'where are we going', as if he belonged to Jack, somehow. But he knew that he did—at least, until he managed to cross his name off of the list.

"I'm in search of certain valuable treasure," Jack said as they walked, "Priceless treasure, to be exact."

"If the treasure you're going after is priceless, what's the point in going after it?" Beckett asked, rolling his eyes. He wished that Jack would just tell him to do something relatively easy and let him go. So far, he had been forced to act as his personal assistant, waiter and general slave; and now he was being dragged on some sort of mission? No thanks.

"There ain't enough money in the world to pay for this treasure," Jack grinned, and Beckett had to admit to being curious about this treasure, despite the fact that there was no point in treasure for him now, "But I plan on keeping it meself."

"Hmm. And what do you want me to do?" Beckett asked, narrowing his eyes. "I don't have much time, you know, Jack. I'll stay for as long as it takes to get you crossed off of the list, and then I'm going." Beckett looked at the list. He was quite pleased about the fact that a lot of the names had been crossed off—in fact, most of them, now. And he was nearing the end of day two—which meant good progress! The little glass orb was glowing now, with many sparklies inside it.

Because a lot of the people he had sinned against had been dead—probably his own doing—he had only had to do a good deed in general to get them off of the list. This was a valuable shortcut; during his time helping others on his list, if he overextended on the goodness, he could demolish a dozen people from his list in one deed. He used this to his advantage.

"I require the help of a certain King Elizabeth Turner," Jack said with a smile, "Aqua de Vida has turned out to be a little bit more of a puzzler then I first anticipated," his slur of that final word was impressive in it's own way, "And I could do with more then a dinghy."

"Quite," Beckett said, still floating along behind Jack, "So she did get hitched in the end, hmm?"

"She did indeed," Jack said, as they tramped onto the docks. Nobody gave him a funny look for apparently talking to thin air—this was Tortuga, after all. "And may I proudly present to you... my vessel," Jack showed the dinghy off with a sweep of his hand. Beckett continued to float there, looking distinctly unimpressed.

"What ever happened to the magnificence of the Black Pearl?" Beckett asked, shaking his head, "Did my armada blow her to pieces?" he sounded hopeful. Jack snorted.

"Your precious armada did nothing," he said, grinning like a wolf, "We won. You failed. End of the game, mate." Beckett stood, digesting this in silence, as Jack hopped into the dinghy, and gestured for Beckett to join him. Beckett glided through the air, landing soundlessly on the small dinghy, and glanced around.

"Do you know where to find the newlywed Mrs. Turner?" he asked, sniffily.

"I know how to," Jack said, untying the rope and beginning to unfurl the sails, "You can use your ghostly powers, innit?" Beckett stared at him for a moment. Then he closed his eyes, seeming to be counting. Then he opened his eyes once more.

"Repeat that with the added privilege of having it making sense, please," Beckett said. Jack rolled his eyes.

"You teleported to find me. So go teleport to find her! And then come back here and tell me. Simple." Beckett shot Jack a look that said, I hate you, and then he vanished with a small popping sound.

----------

Calypso swirled through the ocean. Her body was bulky, strong, invisible in the darker waters. But she could sense something—she knew now. Beckett was on the ocean. He'd left the land. He was in her domain now.

And in her domain, what she wanted, went.

Changing course, she began plummeting through the ocean at an unnatural speed, heading towards where she knew him to be. And he was in the presence of a certain Pirate Lord, too! She thought about tipping the odds. Her goal. Not to destroy anything, but to tip the odds.

Perhaps he would succeed. Perhaps he would fail. Calypso knew that she couldn't alter it—what happened, happened. But she could, perhaps, meddle; just a little.

----------

When Beckett returned with the bearing, looking rather irritated, Jack simply grinned to himself. Beckett could sulk all he liked—Jack was on his way! At least he seemed comforted by the green sparks that appeared around him; 'sparklies', as he called them. Jack wondered for that man's sanity, sometimes.

"Did they see you?" Jack asked Beckett as the dinghy sailed on.

"No," Beckett said. He'd gone to look at the charts and suchlike, and hadn't bothered showing himself to anyone—though he had spotted Elizabeth, being her usual bossy self. She was on his list, somewhere; for killing her father, he presumed.

"So—what's death like? I'm never going to reach it, but I'm curious all the same," Jack said, leaning back and resting his feet on the edge of the dinghy.

"It was quite boring, up to the point that I met the goddess Calypso and she reincarnated me as a ghost and consequently put me on an impossible mission to repent for my living sins after death," Beckett said. He was standing at one end of the dinghy, his hands behind his back, and Jack was lying at the other end—the stern end, for those who are interested.

"Huh. And that leads me to ask another question," Jack twirled his beaded beard around a finger idly, "Why didn't you give the order to fire?" Beckett clicked his tongue, but didn't reply. Jack grinned. "Couldn't bear to see any harm coming to me, eh?"

"Hardly!" Beckett replied, frowning, "I just-," he stopped mid-sentence, and looked into the water. "What is that?" he asked, quietly, drifting to the edge of the boat. Jack looked down into the water too, and then sat up.

"It's a manatee," Jack grinned, leaning over the edge, "This one's huge!" he commented, and it was. This manatee was at least three and a half metres long; which was possible in a manatee, but fairly rare. Jack noticed Beckett shifting uncomfortably, and decided to have a little jibe. "Scared, are you?"

"I'm not scared," Beckett snapped, "Just... wary." He watched the manatee swirling through the sea beneath them, only just visible. "Something's not right with this manatee."

"Don't be stupid," Jack rolled his eyes, "Manatees are herbivores. Peace-loving creatures. Odd to find one so far out, but there you go."

"Jack," Beckett said slowly, "This manatee is circling us. Like a predator." His eyes followed the giant beast, rising higher as it swirled around. Jack craned his neck to see it more closely.

"You are scared, aren't you?" Jack looked up from the ocean and grinned at Beckett in glee, "Relax! I've always wanted to see a manatee..."

"What, from the inside?" Beckett retorted, "I don't like this manatee. It's huge, it's not where it should be, and it's circling us." Jack waved an arm, and Beckett scowled at him, "Jack, this isn't... natural..." he trailed off as the manatee rose still higher in the water, coming ever closer. Jack sat back and folded his arms.

"What do you want us to do, eh? Fly away?" Jack shrugged, "Manatees are harmless! They-,"

The manatee attacked.

----------

What happened, exactly, was rather confused. Neither Jack, nor Beckett got a full view of everything. They were each too busy with their own problems. As the manatee crashed out of the water, buckling the dinghy (and a fairly surprised Jack Sparrow) upwards, Jack made a dive for what he felt would be best for his safety... i.e., a bottle of rum.

Beckett, on the other hand, thought quickly. If Jack dies, when I'm here, that would look bad. I could lose all of my sparklies. And also, I can't really repent to a dead man. So he decided that the only thing he could do was save Jack, which he did, by dragging him up into the air by his arms. He gained a nice, healthy dose of sparklies for that one, but that didn't stop him scowling. Was Jack crossed off of his list now? He had better be.

Jack was still holding a bottle of rum in one hand. Beckett's grip was tight on his wrists, and he looked down at the upturned dinghy. The manatee was nowhere to be seen. But he was rather nervous that it was under the water somewhere, preparing to leap upwards very high.

"Ta, Cutler," Jack said with a grin up at the ghostly man who was still looking down at the dinghy, as if wondering how it had come to be upside down.

"I have three words for you," Beckett said flatly.

"Are they the 'I love you' ones?" Jack asked, smiling easily.

"No. They are the 'I told you' ones," Beckett glared at Jack for a moment, before saying forcibly, "I told you!"

"Oh, righ', so it's my fault that a malformed manatee came out of nowhere and attacked our little dinghy, is it?" Jack asked, as Beckett began moving through the air, dragging Jack along with him.

"No. It's your fault that you didn't listen to my warnings, and sat there gawping like a four-year-old as it attacked!" Beckett snapped.

"Oh, shut it," Jack rolled his eyes, and kicked his legs about in thin air, "And hold me a little more tightly, will you? I'm going to fall, and I feel like me arms are being yanked out."

"What do you want, a piggyback?"

"Maybe."

"I don't think I could hold you," Beckett said scornfully, as they continued to move across the ocean. Jack's innuend-o-meter gave a little ping at this point, but he ignored it. He tended to be like that, sometimes. Thinking the worst of things. (Innuend-o-meters should be a real thing. Honestly.)

"Beckett! You're going to pull me arms out! And what the hell will people think when they see a floating Jack Sparrow flying across the open ocean?" Jack demanded. Sighing, Beckett let go of Jack (who freefell for a second), grabbed him by the back of his jacket, and then grabbed him under the armpits (a place that he was certain no man should ever be forced to touch).

"Happier now?" Beckett asked, as Jack flailed beneath him.

"I suppose," Jack muttered, "But you could do with some hints on making people comfortable."

"I know perfectly well how to make people comfortable," Beckett said mutinously, "It just depends on whether I want to or not." Jack's innuend-o-meter gave another small ping. At least it wasn't ringing like an alarm bell. Beckett's chest was pushing lightly into his upper back as he struggled to carry the captain.

"At least I saved the rum," Jack said with a self-satisfied grin.

"Good for you," Beckett muttered, "I can't drink any more, which is really terrible... now, of all times, I could use a nice stiff one down my throat..."

Jack's innuend-o-meter exploded.

He looked up at Beckett, who didn't seem to notice anything was wrong. Was he pretending, or did he mean the double-entendre, or was Beckett simply a complete and utter idiot? Raising one eyebrow, Jack simply looked on ahead, and decided that a topic change would be best for now.

"Did you ever hear the one about the sailor, the carpenter and the priest walking into a bar?" he asked, brightly. Beckett pursed his lips, as if hoping that not responding would make the joke go away. It didn't work.

And, as they travelled over the ocean, an almost-half-bantering-friendship began to grow, and—though Beckett didn't notice—the crystal ball glowed ever greener for it.

NB: Yes. Innuendo. Every story needs some. Just perhaps not as blindingly obviously... here's chapter six, with three left to go! What, oh, what will happen next in our exciting tale? Snerk!