Well, I was going through some of my stuff, and I found this little story that I wrote sometime around the release of At World's End. So I figured I'd share it, instead of letting it collect dust.

Pairing: Beckabeth, with a little bit of Norribeth and Willabeth thrown into the mix.

Disclaimer: Don't own a thing, but wish I had a pirate ship ;)

She woke up in a daze, her vision still foggy and wavering. Groaning, she reached a hand out to massage her temple, but was stopped by the rusty chains that held her wrists down. A slow, aching fear rose from the pit of her stomach. As calmly as she could, she surveyed her surroundings to get some idea as to where she was.

She was in a cell, cleaner than the others she had been in, but still, the smell of decay overpowered her. She shuddered at the sight of blood splattered on the wall closest to her and inched away until her back collided with something. She looked behind her. It was a pair of expensive looking boots. Boots were on feet, and feet were connected to a body. But whose body? She couldn't recall just yet...she snapped her head up to face her captor.

She looked up into the face of evil itself.

Lord Cutler Beckett smiled serenely down at her. "Miss Elizabeth Swann. Or, shall I say," he paused for emphasis, "Your Highness." He chuckled to himself as she stared up at him with a look of unabashed fury on her face. She averted her eyes and stared down at the ground, not uttering another word or whimper. He crouched down beside her and lifted her chin up roughly to face him. "You will look at me when I'm talking to you, girl. I believe I am the one who holds the power now." She recoiled from his touch, instinctively jerking herself away as his fingers made contact with her skin. He grabbed her chin and turned her face towards him so that she was staring straight into his eyes.

She met his gaze with pure loathing, trying to convey as much hate and anger as she possibly could into his electric blue eyes. He released her without a word and stood up.

"This cell is no place for a lady, my dear," he simpered as he drew himself up. "I have more...accommodating chambers awaiting you." He pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the chains. Elizabeth rubbed her sore wrists, and watched Beckett warily as he stepped out of the cell. He bowed and put an arm out before him, waiting for Elizabeth. She frowned, unsure if he was mocking her or simply being polite. She shook her head and stepped out of the cell in a regal manner, lifting her soiled skirt up above her knees and holding her head up as high as it could go.

Beckett stepped in front of her and she followed him up the stairs and to his office. Elizabeth stopped at the door, eying him warily.

"I can assure you that I won't bite, Miss Swann."

Once she was in, Beckett gestured to one of the chairs and she sat down, still staring at him defiantly. He took the seat across the table from her and poured a glass of brandy.


Elizabeth shook her head. Beckett sipped at the brandy himself and watched as Elizabeth grabbed the entire bottle and started to gulp it down. He raised his eyebrows.

"Quite impressive, Miss Swann. But you now owe me a decanter of brandy."

Elizabeth wiped her mouth on her dirty sleeve and glared at him. "It's Highness to you, Beckett, and I believe that you owe me much more than just a bottle of brandy."

"Oh? And why is that?"

She leaned forward in her chair. "You murdered my father." Lowering her voice to a whisper, she continued. "You will die if I have to kill you myself."

Beckett stared at her for a moment before regaining his composure. He lifted his glass towards her and drained it before setting it down carefully on the table. "Come here, if you please, your highness."

He stood in front of the fireplace, silent and unmoving. She approached him and waited, the crackle of the flames breaking the silence. Beads of sweat formed on her brow as the fire rose steadily. He cleared his throat and poked a long rod in the fire.

"You are aware of the consequences of piracy, are you not, Miss Swann?" He lifted the rod out of the fire. She stepped back.

The brand.

He was going to brand her.


In a flash he was on her, pinning her against the wall. She let out a scream and flung her arms at him, grabbing at whatever she could in a desperate attempt to free herself. He grabbed her arms roughly and put them above her head. Holding her with one arm, he used the other to rip down her dress so her left breast was half bare. She watched him as he paused, staring at her and breathing heavily.

She shook slightly in his arms despite her defiant glare. "Do what you want, then."

'If Jack could do this, then so can I.'

A single scream of pain penetrated the night.