A/N: Lol. I'm so bad for writing that last chapter. This chapter is going to be all Beckett and Elizabeth. (I don't know why, but writing Jack makes me apprehensive; I feel like he's such a loved character that people have high standards for him, so his actions and speech become harder to interpret. And don't even get me started on Barbossa's accent.) Anywho, thanks to my wonderful reviewers as always: Rhinoceros, Mistress Beckett, Lady Elizabeth Beckett, Miss Cuttlefish, Countcresent, and SunAndMoon16. Warning, this chapter has lots of innuendo and may be very embarrassing. Lol. I also used some crude British slang here and there.

Disclaimer: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean. Neither do I own the lovely characters presented herein, save any creations of my own. (Oh, and I don't own the song within this chapter. That belongs to Disney, I believe.)

Warnings: Drunkenness and innuendo. Nothing explicit though. XD

Chapter Eleven

Sing.

Beckett's first idea was to put a wall between the two of them. His second was to knock her out. And his third was to get the hell away.

None of which, sadly, were really doable.

Elizabeth cuddled up close to him, humming, almost. He had the strangest urge to run away, but he didn't want to leave the drunken girl alone. She might do… dangerous things. And that wouldn't be good, either.

So he tolerated it as she leaned her head onto his chest and flopped open the book. Her arms flapped forward awkwardly and the book hit him in the face, right on the cheek.

"Ms. Swann," he said exasperatedly as he snatched the book from her grasp. "Please do get a hold of yourself."

"Give me the book back," she whined, but in a playful manner. "Don't you want to read it with me?"

Beckett stared at her wordlessly. Ms. Swann could be an indignant, resistant little girl, but as a drunk, she was ridiculously stupid and her mind was probably inherently thinking only of her libido. And above all, she had probably forgotten that he was her enemy.

Which could be taken advantage of.

…No, he'd have to suffer the repercussions later when she sobered.

Damn it.

"No, Ms. Swann," said Beckett stiffly but sternly, "I do not wish to read this book with you." He paused, then added, "Why don't you get some sleep? I'm sure you're very fatigued."

She smiled. "Are you trying to bonk me, Beckett?" she asked, using a crude slang euphemism for a far more dirty word.

"What?" he spluttered, caught completely off guard, and then quickly scooted away. "Are you mad?" he snapped, his surprise and exasperation forcing him to forget that Elizabeth was totally rat-arsed.

She propped herself up on her elbows, lying on her side. With a sly smirk, she said, "You asked if I wanted to sleep. With you."

"I did not," he argued indignantly, again forgetting that he was arguing with a total drunk.

"Well, I'll have you know something," she said smoothly, still with that damned impish expression on her face. "I might not look like it, but I'm quite au fait with the sneaky, sly ways you men try to employ to get someone in your bed."

He stared, at a complete loss for words.

"Not that I've ever done it before," she added almost pointedly. "But you wouldn't care about that." She thought for a moment (well, providing she could even think in this state), and then said, "Well, I suppose I've gone on a bender with Jack before, but that's because rum was the only thing on that stupid island, and we didn't do anything intimate, if that's what you're thinking."

Beckett still stared. He was about to interject in her long, slurred monologue when an idea suddenly hit him. He'd done this before, yes, but it was always with someone who wasn't nearly as stupid when drunk. It was a tactic he'd employed on Parker; get them a little drunk, just enough to spill out their guts and tell him their everything. Yes, Swann was a total blathering nincompoop at the moment, but this could all be used to his own advantage, with just some proper leverage.

"Ms. Swann," said Beckett slowly. "What exactly did you do with Mr. Sparrow then?"

She appeared insulted. "Beckett!" she exclaimed in a horrified tone. "I just said it wasn't anything intimate. Really. It was right after Barbossa had dumped the two of us on that damn island. I was interrogating him about all those silly, fake legends that had procured about him, only to find out they were all false. He showed me this underground vault of rum traders on the island and he gave me a drink... we made a big fire and started dancing around, singing... oh, I burned all the rum after that!"

She seemed cross, but Beckett wasn't looking much at her. "The rum traders," he repeated, and then blinked, smiling pleasantly. "Ah, yes, I remember the rum traders."

Elizabeth giggled. "Served them right, it did, for helping out Jack Sparrow. He was a big fraud. A liar and a lunatic. Said he made a raft out of sea turtles, and tied them together with the hairs on his back. I don't believe that one bit." She paused. "But, you know, Mr. Gibbs does. I wonder why."

She grabbed the rum canteen and drank it before Beckett had time to react.

Horrified, he snatched it from her grip and felt it oddly light. It was empty. He threw it behind him, barely concealing a look of sheer terror on his face. "Ms. Swann!" he exclaimed. "You really must cease this madness!"

Injured, Elizabeth said, "Why'd you take my canteen away?"

"Because," he spluttered, "you're clearly not well. I highly recommend that you get some rest."

"With you," she said poignantly.

"No!" he said, raising his voice, growing severely uncomfortable and annoyed.

She grinned idiotically and then snatched the rum bottle that Beckett had used as part of his disguise. Before he could get it away from her, she tilted the bottle back and drank the contents heartily. Then she tossed the empty flask into the sand.

Beckett started up to his feet. "Ms. Swann—!"

"Oh, what's wrong? Aren't you Lord Cutler Beckett himself? Can't you handle anything?" Elizabeth teased recklessly, jeering in his face. "Didn't you climb all the way from the bottom of the political ladder up to the top, with amazing endurance and strength? Come on, come on, is a drunk girl too much for you to handle?"

"Ms. Swann, you're not thinking straight in the least," Beckett snapped, beginning to get infuriated with her behavior. "I advise that you please calm yourself."

"Trying to put me to sleep, are you?" Elizabeth shot back and came up by his side, wrapping arm around his shoulders. He barely contained a horrified expression as her rum-permeated breath caressed his nostrils while she laughed up in his face, way too dangerously close to him.

Beckett did not like being touched, least of all by a drunken wench. He was about to squirm out of her grasp when she suddenly started dancing around, trying to drag him with her in her convoluted waltz. "Ms. Swann!" he exclaimed, exasperated, trying to keep his balance as she spun this way and that.

Elizabeth laughed, quickly letting go of him. His gathered momentum sent him stumbling a few steps. "Catch me!" she shouted, turning and—running. She darted into the jungle, laughing and hollering.

"Bloody hell," Beckett breathed, gathering his wits. "She's out of her mind." He looked around and grabbed his now-dried frock coat, slipping it back on. "I cannot believe this," he muttered under his breath as he began to chase after her.

Branches and leaves slapped her face as she ran past, but she didn't mind it. The feel of the cool wind brushing on her cheeks and wiping all the sweat and grime away was enough to keep her running. She let herself laugh freely as she ran through the jungle. It was just a blissful game of tag, she thought to herself joyfully. It was the most fun she'd had in a very long time.

Meanwhile, Beckett was trailing behind her, swatting away branches and swearing under his breath. "Ms. Swann!" he called after her, but his words were lost on her ears. He ducked under a thick, hanging vine, but then his foot caught on a curled root and he careened forwards. He barely caught himself on his hands and knees just before his face almost made contact with a rather pointed rock in the earth.

"Come on, come on!" Elizabeth hooted, her voice growing quieter as she went deeper in. "You're the fearsome Lord Cutler Beckett! Catch me! I'm a pirate! Come on, can't you catch me?"

Beckett balled his hands into fists as he grunted, getting to his feet again. He dusted himself off quickly, wiping the mud from his clothes and palms. "Bloody hell, Ms. Swann; what's gotten into you?" He exclaimed, but she was too far in to hear his words clearly, in all meanings of the phrase. "Damn it," he hissed as he started to run again.

"Catch me and hang me on the gallows!" Elizabeth yelled as she pranced, weaving through the trees and bushes. "Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me!" she sang, "We pillage plunder, we rifle and loot! Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!"

"What in the bloody hell are you singing?" Beckett snapped, finally started to get her back in his sight. She was a floundering cremello dot in his vision, bouncing up and down as she galloped on through. "Slow down, Ms. Swann! It's dangerous!" He shouted after her.

"We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot! Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!" she continued to sing, but her drunken madness butchered whatever melody the song might have had.

Beckett was beginning to grow severely infuriated. Was she mocking him with that stupid pirate song?

"Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me! We extort and pilfer, we filch and—!" At this, the song abruptly stopped as Elizabeth sunk out of Beckett's view.

His heart almost skipped a beat in utter fear. Had she died? Had the alcohol finally choked her to death? Had all this running finally exerted her heart to the point of overworking? "Ms. Swann!" he yelled desperately as he breathlessly ran over to where he'd last seen her. He wondered why he was worrying so much. He never cared when he saw his own men die in front of him, yet this blasted Elizabeth Swann was making him fret over someone's safety other than his own.

He found her in the midst of snapped twigs and parted bushes. She was lying on the forest floor, prostrate. He turned her over onto her back gently, and saw the rise and fall of her chest. Immediate relief filled him, though he couldn't help but wonder why.

"Idiot," he mumbled under his breath as he picked her up more carefully than before, letting her lie in his arms. He blinked as he saw a growing spot of blood on her arm and folded up her sleeve once again to view the ugly cut wound. The strip of cloth he had wrapped around it had loosened from her own sweat, and the blood streamed freely. A trickle of white pus also dripped from it, and the flesh around the wound had swelled. Shaking his head, Beckett quickly made his way out of the jungle, following the flattened path of foliage that Elizabeth had left behind.

He settled down at the edge of the forest once again and lied her down by the shade of the palm trees. Beckett quickly retied the cloth, doing the best he could with what little he had. He rested the back of his hand over her forehead and felt that it was unnaturally hot.

Sighing, he said softly, "What a farce you've gotten us into, Ms. Swann." He paused, and then added, "No more rum for you."

Elizabeth did not answer. Obviously.

Beckett looked up and saw the skies already darkening. The last glow of the sun had sunk into the sea, and he knew that the moon would soon be up. He leaned back against the adjacent palm tree and removed his frock coat, blanketing it over Elizabeth with care, but making sure not to heat up her head. He wished he had a rag of sorts—oh! He got an idea.

Beckett snatched his wig, the empty canteen, and the now-vacant rum bottle. He turned to the woods, then back to Elizabeth. "I'll be right back, Ms. Swann, so please do sit tight," he said, even though he was aware that she was unconscious. Then he headed into the jungle.

He had already reached the pool of fresh water when he suddenly began to question his own motives.

"Why in the world am I doing this?" He muttered to himself as he sat down by the bank, refilling the canteen carefully. And it was true, why was he doing this? Granted, Elizabeth Swann was his only way of success at this point. But sometimes he felt like he was acting too kind to her. He was doubting his own decisions and feelings, really. This whole "marooned on the island" experience was making him unsure of himself, and it was annoying him. Beckett did not like the feeling of being unsure.

Yes, he should be concerned for her—if only to make sure that she stayed safe for later usage. She was of worth to the pirates and she had valuable information. That was all. It shouldn't be anything more complicated than that! So why this... this odd, inherent obligation that he had to take care of her?

It's just the whole "necessary tool" situation, Beckett told himself. It's got nothing to do with my innate feelings.

He had filled the rum bottle up to the rim now, and he capped it appropriately. Grabbing the canteen and his now-soaked wig, Beckett stepped back up to his feet and headed towards the exit, following the path he had marked with a sharpened stick.

Once he had reached Elizabeth again, he checked her to verify that she was unconscious. Which she was. Good. He liked her better quiet, and not insane and crazy like she had been when drunk.

He would never let a single drop of alcohol reach that woman's lips ever again. Ever.

Beckett settled down by her side and put the sopping wet wig on her forehead. It was nice and cool, which, he figured, should counteract the heat of her fever. Then he placed the canteen next to her and the bottle by himself. He leaned back against the palm tree and closed his eyes. But he was feeling awfully restless.

He turned to his side, but that did not improve his comfort. He rolled to his other side. That didn't contribute, either. He felt the sand snake its way through his clothing and grind itself against his flesh, which made him extremely uncomfortable. He got up and began dusting himself off obsessively, and then settled back down, only to get himself into the same situation again.

Beckett started to chew on nothing again. This was annoying him to no end. He tossed and turned more, but no matter what position he took, he was uncomfortable. "Bloody hell," he mumbled under his breath, growing frustrated.

This was going to be a long night.

A/N: Lol! If you guys were feeling sorry for Beckett before, I guess it's different now. Poor him, he has to deal with Elizabeth's insanity. And just wait until she wakes up the next day... oh my. Anyway, thanks for reading! Please review~