A/N: Alright, so I read all of your reviews! Thanks for the answers, I can now comfortably say that the worst we'll get is just a light little lemon. (x I've never liked it heavy, anyway. Don't worry, this story still won't be getting anything beyond its "T" rating. Now, huge thanks to my reviewers (and readers!): SunAndMoon16, ninjalover13, g, and Lady Elizabeth Beckett. Thank you, you guys! You're the reason why I'm even still writing this! XD

Disclaimer: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean. Neither do I own the lovely characters presented herein. Except maybe any OFCs.

Chapter Five

Negotiations.

"And just wot," said Jack Sparrow smoothly in his thick, drunken voice, "do you think you are doing with my ship?" He gestured to the Black Pearl with a slight sway in his back. The black ship was docked by the HMS Endeavour, and there was a great large amount of men crowded around and upon it.

Beckett ignored him. Turning to the guards escorting Jack, he commanded, "Take Mr. Sparrow, here, to the Endeavour's brig. There's been a slight change of plan, although I expect the same amount of security there as on the Obstinance."

The guards nodded and dragged Jack away. Beckett watched them go, and then turned to Derrick Parker, who was standing on the pier, staring out at the sea, looking contemplative—an expression that didn't fit him.

"You don't look quite happy, Mr. Parker," said Beckett curtly, nodding to his new right-hand man.

"Why is the Black Pearl docked here? By the Endeavour, no less? She should have been wrecked by now. In front of Sparrow. For sprite," Derrick responded bitterly.

Beckett smiled a slight. "And why does the Pearl's status concern you?"

Derrick clammed up.

Beckett sneered, and then turned back to face the Pearl. "Indeed, I never expected to see her again," he said after a pause. "The last I saw the Black Pearl, she was known by another name; she was on fire, sinking into the sea. And Sparrow was watching intently, believe me."

Derrick was intrigued. "Set on fire, you say. And claimed by the sea. However did she survive that?"

Beckett snorted lightly and began walking back to his estate. "Come," he said, and his right-hand man quickly shuffled after.

"Well?" Derrick snapped, growing impatient with Beckett's silence.

Beckett suddenly found his frock coat button to be very interesting.

Derrick grumbled. "What are you planning?" he snarled. "Don't think I'm stupid enough to trust you. I heard what happened to Ian Mercer."

"Mr. Mercer," huffed Beckett, "was a casualty of the War Against Piracy. There was no murderous intent on my part toward his death."

"Really," Derrick muttered dryly. "Is that so?"

No answer from Beckett.

Derrick rolled his eyes. "Just what aren't you telling me?"

After a long pause, Beckett said with a serious expression, "There is an issue far more troublesome." Derrick looked intrigued as Beckett continued: "Ms. Swann will be accompanying us on our voyage, and she will require the utmost protection."

Derrick swiveled to face Beckett, stopping him from proceeding. "Are you nuts—?" he snapped, and then caught his language. "Lord—Lord Beckett. That's insanity. A lady on a ship. That's—bad luck!"

Beckett snorted. "Hardly. 'Bad luck'? Really, Mr. Parker. I thought you were beyond such childish superstitions."

"Well—" Derrick spluttered, and then snarled: "A woman cannot be onboard a ship. That's simply just improper."

"Improper, you say," said Beckett mildly. "Not that you are one for propriety, Mr. Parker."

"It's still not a good idea!" Derrick complained. "She'll be a waste of resources, damn it. And she's too delicate to do any work. You know how those of the fairer sex complain at the slightest muscle tear."

Beckett scoffed. "Are you not the one who insisted that she was a pirate through-and-through?" He swerved on the heel of his boot to face Derrick. "Rest assured, Mr. Parker: Elizabeth Swann is more than simply 'useful' on this trip."

Derrick rolled his eyes. "Surely, with that talk of yours, you aren't thinking of taking her, are you? Believe me when I say that she's too feisty for that."

Beckett merely turned his head away, continuing to walk through the gardens. He was a bit past his right-hand man when he muttered under his breath, "Elizabeth 'Becket'?" Pausing for a while, he hesitated, mulling the concept over before he smirked. Still turned away from Derrick, he said loud enough for him to hear: "Regardless of your beliefs, Mr. Parker, I do intend to bring Ms. Swann with us. And you will guard her."

Derrick ran after Beckett to catch up with him. "Nonsense!" He hissed under his breath. "I refuse!"

"Do you?" said Beckett darkly, his brows rising a tad.

Derrick's lip curled. "And what can you do about it, Lord Beckett?"

Beckett sneered. "You are bound by contract, Mr. Parker. Remember what you signed up for."

Derrick flared. "I—"

"—cannot resign," Beckett cut in curtly.

Derrick's lips squeezed together. His brows furrowed. He hated to admit it, but Beckett was right. He had signed the contract. And he had, indeed, agreed to serve on the Pirate Lord extermination voyage. But that was before he had known that Beckett would make him his right-hand man. And that Elizabeth Swann of all people would be attending.

He was quiet as the two of them arrived at the entrance to the Beckett estate. They passed through the gates swiftly and without interruption. The gardens were being tended to meticulously by a series of servants. Derrick looked around and rolled his eyes. "Who even sees these gardens, anyways? What's the point of making them look pretty?" he said indignantly.

"I see them," Beckett responded matter-of-factly. "And therefore, they must be perfect."

Derrick groaned. Moving on from the topic, he said, "And where is Elizabeth Swann?"

Beckett pursed his lips. "Ms. Swann," he said in a clipped tone, "is enjoying herself in the library, alone."

Derrick smirked. "Cooping her up in there, are you?" He lowered his voice. "Just what are you doing with little Swann, I wonder? Keeping her in your house, under heavy guard? Not letting her out without spies? Forcing her to steal a carriage from me to get virtually anywhere? Seems mighty suspicious to me, milord."

Beckett stopped walking. The two of them paused in the middle of the rose gardens. He sighed, drawing out his exhalation. Crossing his arms over his chest, he said in a low voice, "And what interest is she to you?"

Derrick's grin widened. By the way Beckett was avoiding the question, he knew that he was onto something, he realized. And he would not lose this little hint of a way to gain leverage on the Lord. "That's not the question, milord. The question is—what interest is she to you?"

"Elizabeth Swann," Beckett snapped back abruptly, "is information in its material form. Information is knowledge, and knowledge is power, Mr. Parker. Power must be kept safe in order to be used, I am sure you are aware."

He is definitely hiding something, Derrick thought to himself with an even wider grin. But what? Certainly there isn't... no, it can't be... not an affair of all things! "Yes," he mumbled. "Of... course."

Beckett glanced at Derrick. His observant eyes noted the look of thought on the normally-impulsive face of Derrick Parker. Beckett nodded a slight, and then led Derrick to his carriage. "I shall see you later, then, Mr. Parker. On the day of our voyage."

Derrick had a smug expression. "Of course, milord," he drawled. Hopping into the carriage, he began humming to himself joyously as the vehicle rode off.

Beckett watched him go. After Derrick was out-of-sight, he turned and headed back out towards the pier.

"Jack," drawled Barbossa as he sat on the floor of the brig, leaning against the wall. "What are ye doin', Jack?"

The guards shoved Jack into the next cell over. He stumbled in, swaying a bit as he finally steadied himself (well, as steady as Jack Sparrow could be). "Wot?" said Jack as he whipped his head around a bit. Coming over to the bars, he wrapped his thin, spidery hands around the rungs, and then poked his head as far out as he could, his nose protruding out. "Hector!" he exclaimed in an enthusiastic tone.

Barbossa rolled his eyes. "Jack, queer as ye might be, this be not the time to act... silly."

Jack seemed insulted. His eyes widened, but also went out of focus, as he muttered, "I could really use me jar of dirt. Or a peanut."

"Jack," said Barbossa irritably, "what did that scoundrel Cutler Beckett be tellin' ye?"

Jack paused. His eyes were both thoughtful and empty. "Beckett?" he questioned haltingly.

"Aye," snarled Barbossa, growing impatient with Jack's airheaded attitude. "What did Beckett do with ye?"

Jack hesitated. "Ah... aaahhh!" He suddenly exclaimed, a look of brilliance crossing him. "Lizzie!" He snapped in the air. "Yes, that wos it—Lizzie. Lizzie. Our distress in damsel. Er, damsel in distress," he quickly corrected himself. Pausing, he added, "She's in deep trouble, mate."

"Trouble?" said Barbossa, cocking a brow. "And what kind of trouble has befallen our Ms. Turner?"

"Dunno," Jack muttered. "He was bloody vague 'bout that. Though I'd imagine that the wigged midget has—bleh!—taken a bit of interest in little Lizzie."

At this, Barbossa laughed; a full-out, hearty chuckle. "The likes o' Cutler Beckett, interested in the Pirate King?" He let himself snerk for a little longer before he finally calmed down and actually thought about the notion seriously. Then he blinked, and then said, "Actually, the thought is not bein' too far from a possible truth..."

Jack narrowed his eyes. "Yes it is! Quite far from the truth, actually!" He said, exasperated. "The li'l bugger killed Lizzie's father. More than enough a bloody reason t'hate his guts, don't y'think?"

Barbossa grinned. "You be forgettin' that Ms. Turner is but a forgivin' lass. She be on rather friendly terms with me, though it was not long ago that I filched her from Port Royal and forced her aboard me ship, shedding her blood upon the cursed chest of Cortes to lift the curse that had befallen me crew." He paused and added seriously, "That was when ye shot me, Jack."

Jack grinned halfheartedly. "Good thing you're back, then, eh, mate?"

Barbossa rolled his eyes.

Jack sighed, and then said, "That's very different, mate. You see, you didn't kill anyone back at the Isle de Muerta, even though I'm bloody sure ya thought uv'it. But Beckett"—his arms flailed about as his hands made odd gestures, as if moving his arms was going to get across his thought process—"Beckett killed our damsel's father, and killing isn't something you can take back. If the li'l lassie has any sort of a brain in her—which she does—she won't get close to the belligerent wigged midget and she will get you an' me an' Gibbs out of here."

"Aye, Jack, nice to be knowin' that you haven't forgotten me," said Gibbs's hoarse voice from the other cell.

Jack smiled, pleased with himself and his outstanding memory.

Barbossa seemed perturbed. "She be a woman, Jack. Considerin' how many times ye've been slapped across yer cheeks, I'd think ye be knowin' how women think."

Jack's smile was wiped off his face. "Scarlett and Giselle," he said stiffly, "are not even on the comparably same level as Lizzie."

Barbossa smirked triumphantly. Sparring with Jack was easy, but with words, things were a little bit harder. Jack was clever and drunken with his words, which made him both unpredictable and very intelligent. Crossing swords, Barbossa decided, was nothing like crossing tongues. Good thing he was skilled and agile at both, though.

Then, footsteps echoed through the wood of the ship. All three of the brig's occupants, and the guards, perked up a bit, their heads turning to the direction of the stairs. Then their expressions became very, very mixed.

"Eugh," said Jack between his teeth.

"'Eugh' indeed," Beckett calmly said in response.

"...Quite an empty office now, isn't it?" Jack noted as he stood in the rather-emptied office of the Endeavour, curious fingers probing at whatever was still left. The large map of the world, and all the figurines, as well as the globe, had been removed. The desks and the painting of Beckett was also absent. The only things left were a few chairs. "Why is there nothing in here?" Jack asked, looking confused.

Beckett started adjusting his cuff button. "Jack," he said under his breath, "why do you think?"

Jack gave the room another glance. He threw his arms into an exaggerated shrug and said, "Yer moving offices?" He paused and added, "But where to?"

Beckett turned to face the window, gazing out of it. His arms were behind his back, his fingers knotted together. His eyes stared out at the Black Pearl, sitting not far from the Endeavour.

Jack suddenly looked very, very perturbed. "Wot are ya doin' with MY ship?"

"Don't worry, Jack," murmured Beckett. "She will be relatively safe under the jurisdiction of the Company."

Jack frowned. "That's wot worries me, mate."

Mate? Becket thought to himself incredulously. Since when were we "mates"?

"You see," drawled Jack as he crept closer to Beckett, "the phrase 'under the jurisdiction of the Company' usually means captured, remodeled, and reused. That's wot yer doing t'me ship, isn't it?" And with that remark, he curled his fingers onto Beckett's shoulders.

Beckett looked disgusted and shrugged him off, then turned around, nudging him away. He noticed how lax Jack was around him. Perhaps, even after all those years, they still had some sense of camaraderie. The lord smirked a bit. "Jack, Jack, Jack..." he said quietly. "The Wicked Wench has always been mine."

Jack opened his mouth, the corner of his lips twitching. "By my reckoning—" he started to say, but Beckett swiftly cut him off.

"By your reckoning?" Beckett scoffed. "Jack, you're no longer in control. Not anymore, you aren't." He walked closer to the smelly pirate. "Befitting for a traitor such as you, isn't it?"

Jack frowned again. "By my reckoning," he repeated indignantly, "she's not even the Wench anymore, now is she? Thanks to Davy Jones, she's the Pearl now, and she's mine."

"And now she is mine again," said Beckett darkly. "You betrayed my trust, Captain Jack Sparrow. And for those who betray me, I make sure to pay them back in return."

Jack stuck out his tongue and cringed. "Rather be a free an' good man than a slave trader," he muttered.

"You are a criminal," Beckett snapped. "And a pirate. A fugitive from justice. A lecherous, shameless, smelly pervert. A plunderer, thief, and common burglar. And a rum addict. And you could do with more baths." He paused, letting the slew of insults settle in. "Had you agreed to transport those slaves," he said in a low voice, "you would be none of those."

Jack's mouth moved, but his words couldn't be discerned.

Beckett began to pace, a habit that he thought was long revoked. Yet it had returned now, and that was no thanks to Jack. "The HMS Pearl will set sail in a few days. You, Captain Barbossa, and Joshamee Gibbs will remain in the Endeavour's brig during the expedition. Ms. Swann will supply us with a heading to the Pirate Lords—but should she stray from what is appropriate, you will be punished." He stopped his pacing for a moment and swerved to face Jack. "And should Ms. Swann succeed, then you, your crew, and your ship will be... free." The way the word "free" rolled off his lips sent shudders down Jack's spine. There was something dark about it. But freedom shouldn't be dark.

"Wot exactly do you mean by 'free'?" Jack inquired suspiciously.

Beckett sneered. "Patience is a virtue, Mr. Sparrow, which could use more of. You will find out eventually what ill fate is to become of you."

Jack's lip curled. "Why did you even bring me here? Just to mock t'me face?"

"Bargain!" Beckett replied.

"Bargain?" Jack said, looking insulted. "I think the last time I made a bargain with YOU, it wos broken."

"It was nothing personal, Jack," Beckett responded delicately. "It was just good business."

Jack seemed a little disgusted. "So you ditch an arrangement when it no longer benefits you." His brows furrowed together. "You must be quite th' lonely li'l bugger."

"Powerful," Beckett corrected sharply.

"Lonely!" Jack shot back.

"So be it," Beckett said curtly. His jaw started to move, chewing on nothing. A habit he developed when his mind was in turmoil.

Jack waited.

Beckett finally turned to face him. "Be grateful that I have decided to spare your life," he said smoothly. "Considering your transgressions, you really should be hanging from the gallows. This is an act of charity on my part."

Jack grinned. "But you never were one to be for cannonade and cutlass, were you?"

"The gallows are neither cannonade nor cutlass," Beckett corrected. He paused, then added softly, "Astute observation, Mr. Sparrow."

"Of course it's astute. Who am I?" Jack said, smiling like an idiot. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow!"

A/N: So~ that's it for now. Please review!