Love of mine, someday you will die...
Title: Into the Dark
Paring: Beckett/OC, one-sided Jack/OC, Calypso/Davy Jones, Calpyso/Jack, and hints of Norribeth.
Summary:A lord, a pirate, and a pick-pocket are reunited in London. Each has something the other wants. "You see, Mr. Mercer? Every man has a price. Even for that which he hoped never to sell. "
Notes: This is un-beta'd but thorougly re-read and self-edited. Criticisms, historical nitpicks, etc, are all welcomed. This is inspired by all the beautiful work that's been done in this journal. :) My dad bought me AWE for Christmas and revived my love for our favorite diminutive Lord. I hope you enjoy. <3
Jack knew when he was beat.
“I know you’re not well pleased with me at the moment,” he began, in what he hoped was a contrite tone, speaking to the empty night air on a strip of Tortuga sand.
“But I would appreciate some help, if you could spare it.”
There was a faint hissing sound, and the moonlight on the waves shimmered, and from the reflection it cast, a woman rose.
Jack bowed elegantly. The dreadlocked female looked unimpressed.
“Freedom suits you well, Calypso.”
“I will not help you, Jack Sparrow.”
His face fell. “Now, love, I know some bad blood has passed between us - but,”
“Tha compass - you know where it is pointing you.” Jack glanced at the bartered object that hung from his belt.
“Towards England, yes, I know that. Unfortunately, the thing is love, I’ve no boat to speak of and no crew, and Lord Beckett took a very important - er - thingy with him to his watery grave, and -.”
He stopped. The goddess was laughing.
“Jack Sparrow has not been paying attention,” she taunted.
“Cutler Beckett is alive.”
Jack stared. The goddess met his gaze with a quirk of her eyebrow. “You do not believe I can be benevolent?” She questioned.
“Not to the man who tried to control your domain, no - I admit I do have a bit of a hard time believing that you would show him mercy.”
“My reasons for sparing his life had nothing to do with him, Witty Jack.”
Jack digested this information with a frown and tried to think like Will.
Think like Will.
Proper leverage.
Beckett, alive, compass pointing towards England, leverage.
The wheels in Jack’s mind stopped turning, and his course of action became crystal clear.
“Oh, bloody hell.” He groaned. “You have to be joking.”
The goddess did not look pleased. “I do not joke.”
“I can't bloody well just do...that.”
She shrugged indifferently. “Than your precious Pearl will be lost to you forever.”
Jack’s stomach turned at the thought. “Even if I were to consider it....is it possible? And by possible, I mean will all parties involved come out of it with their extremties in all the right places?”
Calypso smiled mysteriously, her ink-spattered teeth luminous in the darkness. “Anyt’ing is possible,” her form started to recede from his view. She had given all the advice she was willing to, and Jack knew trying to persuade her to stay was fruitless.
“Give my regards to la petite bijou,” Her voice said, echoing through Jack’s head unnervingly. He gritted his teeth.
“I’ll be sure to do that,” He replied, taking a swig of rum.
“Assuming she doesn’t kill me first, of course.” He added under his breath.
Calypso’s laughter danced across the waves.
--
The Clever Cat was not unique from any of the many other pubs and taverns that littered the docks and quays of London in the respect that it served the same alcohol, and catered to the same kinds of people - sailors, officers, dockhands, whores.
Thus there was no real reason for the Clever Cat to be as popular as it was. It certainly hadn’t always been that way.
As Jack Sparrow observed the changes that the pub had undergone since his last visit, he was willing to bet gold he currently did not have that the tavern’s popularity had something to do with its proprietor.
The proprietor in question was currently behind the bar, but there was a certain dignity in her bearing that did not fit the profile of a bar wench. Her movements were inferred with a gracefulness that would not have been out of place on a fine lady going to a ball, and to look at her made a man feel that he was more than a lush in a tavern before noon.
It had been four years since they’d parted ways in Paris, and she still somehow looked exactly the same. God’s teeth, he’d missed her more than he had realized.
She lifted her head and looked in his direction, as though she’d felt his gaze on her. Though her appearance was unchanged, her eyes betrayed a soul that had survived much more than her twenty one years would belay. Sea green badges of grief and loss and triumph and adventure.
She promptly shrieked at the sight of him and dumped both mugs brimming with rich brown alcohol all over the man who’d just ordered them. She ignored his outraged spluttering and ran out from behind the counter. He noted that she was dressed uncharacteristically in black, a color which did nothing for her unfashionably suntanned skin.
“Jack!”
He smiled at the genuine note of joy in her voice. Julia was the only human being he’d ever known who was consistently glad to see him.
“‘Lo, darling.” He said grandly.
He held out his arms to her, but Julia Rex paused before leaping into them, her hands on her hips, faux suspicion written on her face.
“You know, I thought you were dead.” She said, and though there was humor in her voice, there was also a hint of accusation. Jack saw the tremble of her usually typically British stiff upper lip. Her eyes were red and - he noted with a start - she was still wearing that damn ring around her neck.
Women.
He would’ve pawned the thing years ago. It would have fetched a pretty price. He doubted her tears and the air of mourning were for him and was surprised to find that this hurt a little.
“Returned from the grave, love, when I realized I hadn’t said my proper farewells to my dearest friend. Give old Jackie a hug.”
She went into his arms gladly, burying her head in the lapels of his jacket and breathing in the scent of rum and saltwater that was so dear to her. She didn’t realize she was crying until Jack stepped back from her, a bemused look creasing his sunburned face.
“Here now, what’s the tears for, little one?” Julia turned away from him, swiping angrily at her cheeks. She said nothing, because she didn’t fully know herself who it was she was crying for. She caught sight of the peeved man she’d dumped drinks on moments earlier.
“Oh, hell. Give me a minute, Jack - I’ll be back.” She said abruptly, turning away from him and hurrying back to the bar, where a queue had formed in her brief absence. Jack watched her go, a curious mixture of emotions filling his head.
Jack didn’t have many qualms of conscience - it had never been his way, and yet as he watched Julia fill orders and wipe up messes in the tavern she’d always hated, he felt a twinge of guilt about tearing the fabric of her life to pieces all over again.
“What brings you to London, sir?” Jack glanced over at the sailor who had addressed him, and was eyeing his appearance with undisguised curiosity.
“Settling old debts, as it were.” Jack replied, his voice carrying effortlessly to Julia, who he knew was listening to every word. Glad as she was to see him, she was smart enough, and she knew him well enough, to know that there had to be a reason behind this visit.
“Ah, seems to be a lot of that going around these days.” The sailor replied, taking a pull from his ale.
“Oh?”
“Haven’t ye’ heard? Cutler Beckett’s returning to England as well. Though I would wager his debts are a bit more substantial than your own. At least,” he guffawed, “I hope so - for your sake.”
The graceful line of Julia’s back snapped up, and he saw her hands ball into fists. Thus confirming what Jack had suspected - she hadn’t known. He felt that annoying pang of guilt again. He’d have to work on that. He had things to accomplish and things like guilt and sense of fair play would only hold him back from his goal.
However…he hadn’t intended for her to find out like that. He was sorry that necessity made hurting her inevitable and wondered how many more times he would have to break her heart before this ordeal was over.
“Ah, yes - Lord Beckett. Another man recently returned to us from the brink of death.” Jack said carefully, fingering his dreadlocks as he watched Julia turn around slowly to face him, her face pale.
They stared at each other for a long moment while the sailor continued to expound upon Lord Beckett’s summons, from King George himself, to report on the disastrous sinking of the Endeavor.
“Word is he’s fighting mad, lost a lot of the power and the respect he once held, an’ he’s desperate to get it back.”
Jack kept his eyes on Julia, trying to hold her together with the force of his gaze. He wanted to apologize, but - again; it had never been his nature.
Tears sparkled in the corners of her eyes, her face taught with an emotion Jack could not place. It might have been terror just as easily as it might have been relief.
Just as she opened her mouth to speak, there was a loud crash from the stairs that led to the upstairs rooms. An elderly man Jack recognized instantly tumbled into view. The fall barely seemed to faze him, but Julia seized on an opportunity to turn away from Jack and control herself as she helped the man stagger to his feet.
While Julia still may have looked the same as she had four years prior, time had not been nearly so kind to this man.
The man saw Jack and his face darkened. “You!”
The force of his words caused him to dissolve into a fit of painful sounding coughs. Julia went back behind the bar and handed him a glass of water, which he rejected, and poured himself a mug of ale instead, earning him a harsh look from the younger woman.
“Da,” She began warningly. Thatcher Rex, the once infamous privateer, shook off his daughter’s concern with a wave of his hand.
“I’ve been dying for a long time, Julie darling. A spot of ale will do me soul good.”
“It’s not your soul I’m concerned for,” Julia said tetchily, whisking the drink from his hands and replacing it with water. “The doctor said it was to be water, tea, or juice for you - and I’ve no time to boil water or make juice at the moment.”
Thatcher scowled at her, and she matched his glare with her own, daring him to challenge her. Jack never knew she’d inherited one of her best weapons from her father. She’d also apparently perfected it, because Thatcher finally relented, throwing his hands up in mock surrender.
“All right, all right - as you wish, milady. A fine world it’s become when a lass will deny her poor old father a drink to ease his pain.”
As a response, Julia took the drink he’d poured for himself and deposited it on the bar for a heavily painted older woman with vibrant, unnaturally red hair.
Thatcher grumbled at this and sank into a chair with a loud groan. He noticed Jack standing beside him, and the two looked at each other for a moment with mutual dislike.
“She’ll not have ye’, if that’s why ye’ve come back, Sparrow.” Thatcher said smugly. Jack took a seat across from him and they both watched Julia work. Her long burnished gold locks tumbled over her shoulders as she took orders and handled rowdy customers with a flick of her too elegant wrists and a sharp word from her pretty lips.
“Don’t I know that? Not that I’d ask her to have me, anyway,” Jack replied, almost to himself. Thatcher scowled at that.
“Oh? She not good enough for the likes of you, then? I’ll have you know that she could’ve married a score of different men - fine men, good men. A captain in the Navy was mad for her a few months back, bought her all kind of fancy things.” He looked back over at his daughter thoughtfully,
“Course, she told them all no. Gave the trinkets back and sold them when he wouldn’t accept them. Likes being alone, she does. Strange girl.”
Jack chuckled. “She was always a popular girl. Though ‘tis a bit curious she never consented to marry any of these fine gents.”
There was a brief pause.
“I’m not fit to kiss her feet, Thatch.” Jack said quietly, taking the older man by surprise. “She was always too good for the likes of me, too good for you, as well.” He added, his voice sharp.
Thatcher flushed at this barb. “I may not ‘ave always been the best father to little Jules -,”
“That’s putting it right mildly.”
“She’s a good girl,” Thatcher said gruffly, “she came home when I…well, when it got harder for me to handle things on me own, she took over the pub - and lookit now, eh? It’s flourishing, innit? She’s worked wonders. Done more with it in a year than I ever could’ve in ten lifetimes.”
Jack looked around the tavern and couldn’t help but agreeing.
“She always was the more forgiving one in your family.” Jack said.
Thatcher looked ready to retort, but shut his mouth when he saw Julia approaching with a tray of tea and biscuits. He leaned forward, and Jack could smell stale alcohol and ill health on his skin.
“You’ve not come because of that wretched little bastard, have ye?”
Jack smirked. There could be no mistaking who Thatcher was talking about with that description. Thatcher’s eyes hardened and Jack saw the shadow of the powerful, great, man he’d been blaze across his sunken features.
“That son of a bitch ruined her life once, Jack, and I know I’ve not been a grand father to her - I admit it, all right? But I’ll be damned if I see her hurt by him again. It almost killed her last time; I almost lost her for good.”
Memories of Julia waking up screaming and sobbing flashed through Jack’s mind. Love, rage, regret. They were so similar it was hard to distinguish which one had been causing her so much pain.
“Da, you’ve not been giving my guest a hard time, have you?” Julia said, touching her father’s shoulder gently and smiling briefly at Jack over his head.
Thatcher scowled blackly at Jack and sat back in his chair.
“Just making conversation with an old friend, love. That’s all.” He said slowly, his voice laced with loathing, his fingers covering his daughter’s hand protectively.
Jack felt the twinge of guilt again and resolved to cure it with rum before he spoke with Julia and told her of his plan.
--
Once Thatcher had retreated back upstairs to rest, and the two other girls who worked at the Clever Cat showed up, Julia and Jack finally had a moment to talk.
“I got the Pearl back, you know.” He began conversationally. Her face lit up.
“Did you really? Oh, Jack! That’s -.”
“Course, it’s been cruelly stolen from me once more, but I plan to rectify that.”
Julia laughed and rolled her eyes. “You should take better care of the things you hold dear, Jack Sparrow.”
“The same could be said for you, pet.”
His words touched a nerve.
“So it’s true, then?” Julia asked, a moment later as they walked along the docks together. Her voice was different now, more cautious. She was on her toes. “He’s alive?”
Jack sighed regretfully. “That does seem to be the word on the street. It’s all anyone from here to Singapore can talk about. The pirate hunter, back to threaten everything that we hold dear. I was surprised you hadn’t heard.”
Julia smiled distractedly. “You’ve always had a better ear for gossip than I, Jack.”
Jack watched her carefully, gauging his next move. “I was also a might surprised to hear you’d come back to London, Jules, considering all the trouble I took to get you out of here.”
Julia shrugged. “I’d been gone for three years when Da got sick. There’s no one else to take over for him, what with Luke -.” Her voice trailed off, her jaw tightening in pain as it always did at the mention of her dead brother.
“Anyway,” she said after a moment, shaking herself out of the shadows of past. “I’d had enough adventuring for a while,” she said lamely. Her words, plainly lies, left a bitter, forced taste in her mouth.
“And I would imagine it got a bit hard to travel on the seas with all those pirate lords putting bounties on your head. How many of them was it, anyway? I’ve forgotten - two or three?”
“It was four, but Sao Feng is dead, so I assume my debt to him has been forgiven.”
Julia looked over at Jack, her eyes hard and shiny like glass, and when she spoke again it was with an air of resignation. She was steeling herself for the truth.
“Those things they said he did - Jack, all of those people that they say he had killed - is it all true?”
She silently pleaded with him to lie to her, but knew he wouldn’t. He thought of all the people Cutler Beckett had hung - not innocents in the technical sense of the word, but an odd mish-mash of whores, low ranking pirate members, merchants, and cabin boys. People who’d lived their lives by a different set of rules, but people who didn’t deserve the ignominious deaths they’d been handed.
He thought of Julia, pale and sad-eyed on the docks, and remembered that there was more than one way to hurt someone.
“All true.” He affirmed. Julia’s eyes fell shut, pressed close by the weight of the facts.
“I wish I could say I was surprised.”
Jack quirked an eyebrow at her. “You’re not?” Julia smiled bitterly, her eyes still closed tight.
“Surprised that Cutler Beckett wouldn’t hesitate to kill those who posed a threat, abuse the laws of the British Empire, and neatly destroy everything that was in his path, to get what he’s always wanted - total control?” She shook her head, and when she opened her eyes there was pain etched there, raw and tender.
“No, Jack. I’m not surprised at all.”
Jack reached out for her but she turned away abruptly, his fingers trailing after the lace cuff of her sleeve. “Why are you here?” She demanded, her voice flat and ragged like the edge of a knife.
He smirked. He’d wondered when they’d get to this.
“I’d thought it would’ve been obvious, darlin’. I need something…ah, procured for me.”
Julia made a soft tching sound in her throat. “Unless you are much changed since we last met, Captain Sparrow, I remember you to be a most accomplished thief.”
“Ah, true enough. But this job requires more than my own meager skill - I need a professional.”
Julia rubbed her temples and stared out at the ocean, her expression stormy. If he wanted to force her, he could. She owed him. She waited for him to bring that up, but he chose to remain silent, swaying slightly on his feet as he waited for her response.
“I’m out of practice.” She said finally. Jack beamed.
“But I would imagine that being an honest woman is grating heavily on your nerves, is it not, darling?” When she said nothing, he continued. “You can’t change people like us, Jules. It’s not in our nature.”
Her hand went absently to her throat, her fingers gripping the chain around her neck as if it were threatening to choke her to death.
“What is it you want me to…procure for you?” She asked slowly, a feeling of dread blossoming in her stomach. She had a bad feeling that she knew where this conversation was going.
“A ship.”
She waited.
“And Cutler Beckett.”
He saw her hand instinctively go to her bodice, where she kept her dagger. He waited until her impulse to stab him passed before he spoke again.
“He’s, ah, got something of mine. And I need to find it.” Julia did not turn around to look at him, her shoulders stooping as she struggled to breathe and remain upright.
“It’s…something I’ll need if I’m to get the Pearl back.”
That was as close as Jack Sparrow got to begging. Julia knew what the Pearl meant to Jack, he did not need to elaborate.
She tried to ration her spinning thoughts. Getting Jack a ship was one thing. She had her connections, she had a few people who owed her favors. Stealing a person - stealing this person, was another thing all together. Even if she could somehow disregard all the treacherous emotional baggage she was bringing to the job, it was going to be a veritable nightmare to plan.
After all, it wasn’t as though Cutler would be strolling down the street, unarmed and alone at any point on his journey. He’d constantly be surrounded by East India Trading Company personnel, his guards, that bastard Mercer…She felt a flare of resentment at the thought of his dreadful lackey. She also assumed he would be staying in his home - which she knew from past experience was a veritable fortress.
And it wasn’t as though Julia had much faith in Cutler’s benevolence if she did get caught, which she probably would. She flinched at the idea of it. He’d probably tell Mercer to kill her on the spot. Or - no, he’d probably prefer to kill her himself. Shoot her in the back, or something else that was dreadfully fraught with symbolism. He’d always had a weakness for dramatics.
She heard His voice in her mind as clearly as if he was standing behind her, whispering in her ear. Chills raced down her spine as she imagined his arrogant, intimate, drawl.
Afraid, darling?
She turned around to face Jack, her face impassive. “When do you need the ship?”
“How soon can you get it?”
“Come back tomorrow morning. I’ll see what I can do.”
Jack inclined his head gratefully. He didn’t bother asking questions. Julia had her ways.
“And the other thing?”
She flashed him a warning look. “That will take…considerably more planning.” And whatever’s left of my soul, she added silently.
Jack grinned and reached out to hug her. “Ah, Jules - you’re a star.”
She held up her hand to deter him from coming closer, and turned on her heel, her light, dancing footsteps taking her in the direction of the slums and brothels. He would’ve offered to accompany her, but knew she preferred to work alone.
“I might never forgive you for this, Jack Sparrow.” She said coolly, without looking back.
Jack watched her go, jingling the coins in his pocket absently.
“That goes double for me, love.”
--
“You called for me, my lord?”
Cutler Beckett looked up briefly from the missive he was drafting and beckoned Mercer closer. The manservant shut the cabin door behind him securely and waited for his orders.
The only clues to the death Lord Beckett had so narrowly avoided scant months earlier were the angry, slow healing wounds on his back and neck. Mercer was the only one who ever saw them, and only when they needed cleaning. Otherwise, Lord Beckett remained outwardly unchanged by his brush with fate - his brutality was now tempered with a desperation to restore his good name.
“See that these find the correct recipients, will you?” Beckett said, nodding towards the bundle of neatly tied letters at the edge of his desk.
Mercer picked them up and waited for Beckett to continue.
“Tell me of the gossip below decks.” His master said after a moment, his quill scratching softly as he wrote. Mercer pocketed the letters and clasped his hands behind his back.
“Nothing to report of much interest, sir.” What he meant was that there was nothing relevant to their situation to report. He did not tell Beckett that the precarious state of his position following the disastrous handling of the Endeavor had greatly depleted the influence that Mercer was able to wield over his sources. There were only so many ways that you could threaten to disembowel someone.
Beckett nodded, still not looking up.
“And…the other matter I asked you to look into before we left Port Royal? What of that?”
Mercer cringed inwardly. He’d been expecting this, but no matter how hard he tried he had failed to think of a way to put this positively. He opted instead for telling his master the simple truth.
“Sparrow was in Tortuga, sir, as you expected. But only briefly. Apparently he left soon after he was stranded by his crew - with intentions of sailing for England.”
The quill paused.
“And what is he looking for in England, I wonder?” Beckett mused aloud, his voice devoid of any emotion.
Mercer steeled himself for the fallout.
“He said something about finding la petite bijou, sir.”
He saw Beckett’s hand ball into a fist before he had time to control himself. He stood up abruptly, upsetting his ink well as he did so, the black ink covering his precious documents like night, like death.
Beckett made no move to clean it up. It reminded him of poison, not unlike the kind corroding his own soul. It reminded him of who he had become.
“He was telling the truth after all,” He said in a low voice, dry with humor. “She is in London.”
Mercer’s lips curled at the feminine pronoun. There could only be one to whom he referred.
“Sir, what would you have me do?”
Beckett tapped his fingers lightly against the edge of the window that overlooked the sea. He was still in the customary fine quarters he had come to expect, but apart from that he knew everything had changed.
“When we arrive in London, I would like for you to kill Jack Sparrow.”
Mercer was unsurprised by this request - in fact he’d rather been looking forward to having that meddlesome pirate at the end of his sword. Taking a deep breath, Mercer dared to ask the question that hung heavy in the air.
“And the girl, my lord?”
Beckett’s back was turned to him, so he missed his master’s eyes closing briefly over too-bright blue eyes. He looked as though he was in pain, but only for a second.
“I am certain that I shall be forced to kill her at some point, but I admit that to do so right away would not be completely satisfying to me.”
Mercer smiled at the silken, deadly tone in Beckett’s voice.
“Sir?”
Beckett smiled mercilessly.
“She always was a good chess player. I shall wait and see what her first move shall be.”
Paring: Beckett/OC, one-sided Jack/OC, Calypso/Davy Jones, Calpyso/Jack, and hints of Norribeth.
Summary:A lord, a pirate, and a pick-pocket are reunited in London. Each has something the other wants. "You see, Mr. Mercer? Every man has a price. Even for that which he hoped never to sell. "
Notes: This is un-beta'd but thorougly re-read and self-edited. Criticisms, historical nitpicks, etc, are all welcomed. This is inspired by all the beautiful work that's been done in this journal. :) My dad bought me AWE for Christmas and revived my love for our favorite diminutive Lord. I hope you enjoy. <3
Jack knew when he was beat.
“I know you’re not well pleased with me at the moment,” he began, in what he hoped was a contrite tone, speaking to the empty night air on a strip of Tortuga sand.
“But I would appreciate some help, if you could spare it.”
There was a faint hissing sound, and the moonlight on the waves shimmered, and from the reflection it cast, a woman rose.
Jack bowed elegantly. The dreadlocked female looked unimpressed.
“Freedom suits you well, Calypso.”
“I will not help you, Jack Sparrow.”
His face fell. “Now, love, I know some bad blood has passed between us - but,”
“Tha compass - you know where it is pointing you.” Jack glanced at the bartered object that hung from his belt.
“Towards England, yes, I know that. Unfortunately, the thing is love, I’ve no boat to speak of and no crew, and Lord Beckett took a very important - er - thingy with him to his watery grave, and -.”
He stopped. The goddess was laughing.
“Jack Sparrow has not been paying attention,” she taunted.
“Cutler Beckett is alive.”
Jack stared. The goddess met his gaze with a quirk of her eyebrow. “You do not believe I can be benevolent?” She questioned.
“Not to the man who tried to control your domain, no - I admit I do have a bit of a hard time believing that you would show him mercy.”
“My reasons for sparing his life had nothing to do with him, Witty Jack.”
Jack digested this information with a frown and tried to think like Will.
Think like Will.
Proper leverage.
Beckett, alive, compass pointing towards England, leverage.
The wheels in Jack’s mind stopped turning, and his course of action became crystal clear.
“Oh, bloody hell.” He groaned. “You have to be joking.”
The goddess did not look pleased. “I do not joke.”
“I can't bloody well just do...that.”
She shrugged indifferently. “Than your precious Pearl will be lost to you forever.”
Jack’s stomach turned at the thought. “Even if I were to consider it....is it possible? And by possible, I mean will all parties involved come out of it with their extremties in all the right places?”
Calypso smiled mysteriously, her ink-spattered teeth luminous in the darkness. “Anyt’ing is possible,” her form started to recede from his view. She had given all the advice she was willing to, and Jack knew trying to persuade her to stay was fruitless.
“Give my regards to la petite bijou,” Her voice said, echoing through Jack’s head unnervingly. He gritted his teeth.
“I’ll be sure to do that,” He replied, taking a swig of rum.
“Assuming she doesn’t kill me first, of course.” He added under his breath.
Calypso’s laughter danced across the waves.
--
The Clever Cat was not unique from any of the many other pubs and taverns that littered the docks and quays of London in the respect that it served the same alcohol, and catered to the same kinds of people - sailors, officers, dockhands, whores.
Thus there was no real reason for the Clever Cat to be as popular as it was. It certainly hadn’t always been that way.
As Jack Sparrow observed the changes that the pub had undergone since his last visit, he was willing to bet gold he currently did not have that the tavern’s popularity had something to do with its proprietor.
The proprietor in question was currently behind the bar, but there was a certain dignity in her bearing that did not fit the profile of a bar wench. Her movements were inferred with a gracefulness that would not have been out of place on a fine lady going to a ball, and to look at her made a man feel that he was more than a lush in a tavern before noon.
It had been four years since they’d parted ways in Paris, and she still somehow looked exactly the same. God’s teeth, he’d missed her more than he had realized.
She lifted her head and looked in his direction, as though she’d felt his gaze on her. Though her appearance was unchanged, her eyes betrayed a soul that had survived much more than her twenty one years would belay. Sea green badges of grief and loss and triumph and adventure.
She promptly shrieked at the sight of him and dumped both mugs brimming with rich brown alcohol all over the man who’d just ordered them. She ignored his outraged spluttering and ran out from behind the counter. He noted that she was dressed uncharacteristically in black, a color which did nothing for her unfashionably suntanned skin.
“Jack!”
He smiled at the genuine note of joy in her voice. Julia was the only human being he’d ever known who was consistently glad to see him.
“‘Lo, darling.” He said grandly.
He held out his arms to her, but Julia Rex paused before leaping into them, her hands on her hips, faux suspicion written on her face.
“You know, I thought you were dead.” She said, and though there was humor in her voice, there was also a hint of accusation. Jack saw the tremble of her usually typically British stiff upper lip. Her eyes were red and - he noted with a start - she was still wearing that damn ring around her neck.
Women.
He would’ve pawned the thing years ago. It would have fetched a pretty price. He doubted her tears and the air of mourning were for him and was surprised to find that this hurt a little.
“Returned from the grave, love, when I realized I hadn’t said my proper farewells to my dearest friend. Give old Jackie a hug.”
She went into his arms gladly, burying her head in the lapels of his jacket and breathing in the scent of rum and saltwater that was so dear to her. She didn’t realize she was crying until Jack stepped back from her, a bemused look creasing his sunburned face.
“Here now, what’s the tears for, little one?” Julia turned away from him, swiping angrily at her cheeks. She said nothing, because she didn’t fully know herself who it was she was crying for. She caught sight of the peeved man she’d dumped drinks on moments earlier.
“Oh, hell. Give me a minute, Jack - I’ll be back.” She said abruptly, turning away from him and hurrying back to the bar, where a queue had formed in her brief absence. Jack watched her go, a curious mixture of emotions filling his head.
Jack didn’t have many qualms of conscience - it had never been his way, and yet as he watched Julia fill orders and wipe up messes in the tavern she’d always hated, he felt a twinge of guilt about tearing the fabric of her life to pieces all over again.
“What brings you to London, sir?” Jack glanced over at the sailor who had addressed him, and was eyeing his appearance with undisguised curiosity.
“Settling old debts, as it were.” Jack replied, his voice carrying effortlessly to Julia, who he knew was listening to every word. Glad as she was to see him, she was smart enough, and she knew him well enough, to know that there had to be a reason behind this visit.
“Ah, seems to be a lot of that going around these days.” The sailor replied, taking a pull from his ale.
“Oh?”
“Haven’t ye’ heard? Cutler Beckett’s returning to England as well. Though I would wager his debts are a bit more substantial than your own. At least,” he guffawed, “I hope so - for your sake.”
The graceful line of Julia’s back snapped up, and he saw her hands ball into fists. Thus confirming what Jack had suspected - she hadn’t known. He felt that annoying pang of guilt again. He’d have to work on that. He had things to accomplish and things like guilt and sense of fair play would only hold him back from his goal.
However…he hadn’t intended for her to find out like that. He was sorry that necessity made hurting her inevitable and wondered how many more times he would have to break her heart before this ordeal was over.
“Ah, yes - Lord Beckett. Another man recently returned to us from the brink of death.” Jack said carefully, fingering his dreadlocks as he watched Julia turn around slowly to face him, her face pale.
They stared at each other for a long moment while the sailor continued to expound upon Lord Beckett’s summons, from King George himself, to report on the disastrous sinking of the Endeavor.
“Word is he’s fighting mad, lost a lot of the power and the respect he once held, an’ he’s desperate to get it back.”
Jack kept his eyes on Julia, trying to hold her together with the force of his gaze. He wanted to apologize, but - again; it had never been his nature.
Tears sparkled in the corners of her eyes, her face taught with an emotion Jack could not place. It might have been terror just as easily as it might have been relief.
Just as she opened her mouth to speak, there was a loud crash from the stairs that led to the upstairs rooms. An elderly man Jack recognized instantly tumbled into view. The fall barely seemed to faze him, but Julia seized on an opportunity to turn away from Jack and control herself as she helped the man stagger to his feet.
While Julia still may have looked the same as she had four years prior, time had not been nearly so kind to this man.
The man saw Jack and his face darkened. “You!”
The force of his words caused him to dissolve into a fit of painful sounding coughs. Julia went back behind the bar and handed him a glass of water, which he rejected, and poured himself a mug of ale instead, earning him a harsh look from the younger woman.
“Da,” She began warningly. Thatcher Rex, the once infamous privateer, shook off his daughter’s concern with a wave of his hand.
“I’ve been dying for a long time, Julie darling. A spot of ale will do me soul good.”
“It’s not your soul I’m concerned for,” Julia said tetchily, whisking the drink from his hands and replacing it with water. “The doctor said it was to be water, tea, or juice for you - and I’ve no time to boil water or make juice at the moment.”
Thatcher scowled at her, and she matched his glare with her own, daring him to challenge her. Jack never knew she’d inherited one of her best weapons from her father. She’d also apparently perfected it, because Thatcher finally relented, throwing his hands up in mock surrender.
“All right, all right - as you wish, milady. A fine world it’s become when a lass will deny her poor old father a drink to ease his pain.”
As a response, Julia took the drink he’d poured for himself and deposited it on the bar for a heavily painted older woman with vibrant, unnaturally red hair.
Thatcher grumbled at this and sank into a chair with a loud groan. He noticed Jack standing beside him, and the two looked at each other for a moment with mutual dislike.
“She’ll not have ye’, if that’s why ye’ve come back, Sparrow.” Thatcher said smugly. Jack took a seat across from him and they both watched Julia work. Her long burnished gold locks tumbled over her shoulders as she took orders and handled rowdy customers with a flick of her too elegant wrists and a sharp word from her pretty lips.
“Don’t I know that? Not that I’d ask her to have me, anyway,” Jack replied, almost to himself. Thatcher scowled at that.
“Oh? She not good enough for the likes of you, then? I’ll have you know that she could’ve married a score of different men - fine men, good men. A captain in the Navy was mad for her a few months back, bought her all kind of fancy things.” He looked back over at his daughter thoughtfully,
“Course, she told them all no. Gave the trinkets back and sold them when he wouldn’t accept them. Likes being alone, she does. Strange girl.”
Jack chuckled. “She was always a popular girl. Though ‘tis a bit curious she never consented to marry any of these fine gents.”
There was a brief pause.
“I’m not fit to kiss her feet, Thatch.” Jack said quietly, taking the older man by surprise. “She was always too good for the likes of me, too good for you, as well.” He added, his voice sharp.
Thatcher flushed at this barb. “I may not ‘ave always been the best father to little Jules -,”
“That’s putting it right mildly.”
“She’s a good girl,” Thatcher said gruffly, “she came home when I…well, when it got harder for me to handle things on me own, she took over the pub - and lookit now, eh? It’s flourishing, innit? She’s worked wonders. Done more with it in a year than I ever could’ve in ten lifetimes.”
Jack looked around the tavern and couldn’t help but agreeing.
“She always was the more forgiving one in your family.” Jack said.
Thatcher looked ready to retort, but shut his mouth when he saw Julia approaching with a tray of tea and biscuits. He leaned forward, and Jack could smell stale alcohol and ill health on his skin.
“You’ve not come because of that wretched little bastard, have ye?”
Jack smirked. There could be no mistaking who Thatcher was talking about with that description. Thatcher’s eyes hardened and Jack saw the shadow of the powerful, great, man he’d been blaze across his sunken features.
“That son of a bitch ruined her life once, Jack, and I know I’ve not been a grand father to her - I admit it, all right? But I’ll be damned if I see her hurt by him again. It almost killed her last time; I almost lost her for good.”
Memories of Julia waking up screaming and sobbing flashed through Jack’s mind. Love, rage, regret. They were so similar it was hard to distinguish which one had been causing her so much pain.
“Da, you’ve not been giving my guest a hard time, have you?” Julia said, touching her father’s shoulder gently and smiling briefly at Jack over his head.
Thatcher scowled blackly at Jack and sat back in his chair.
“Just making conversation with an old friend, love. That’s all.” He said slowly, his voice laced with loathing, his fingers covering his daughter’s hand protectively.
Jack felt the twinge of guilt again and resolved to cure it with rum before he spoke with Julia and told her of his plan.
--
Once Thatcher had retreated back upstairs to rest, and the two other girls who worked at the Clever Cat showed up, Julia and Jack finally had a moment to talk.
“I got the Pearl back, you know.” He began conversationally. Her face lit up.
“Did you really? Oh, Jack! That’s -.”
“Course, it’s been cruelly stolen from me once more, but I plan to rectify that.”
Julia laughed and rolled her eyes. “You should take better care of the things you hold dear, Jack Sparrow.”
“The same could be said for you, pet.”
His words touched a nerve.
“So it’s true, then?” Julia asked, a moment later as they walked along the docks together. Her voice was different now, more cautious. She was on her toes. “He’s alive?”
Jack sighed regretfully. “That does seem to be the word on the street. It’s all anyone from here to Singapore can talk about. The pirate hunter, back to threaten everything that we hold dear. I was surprised you hadn’t heard.”
Julia smiled distractedly. “You’ve always had a better ear for gossip than I, Jack.”
Jack watched her carefully, gauging his next move. “I was also a might surprised to hear you’d come back to London, Jules, considering all the trouble I took to get you out of here.”
Julia shrugged. “I’d been gone for three years when Da got sick. There’s no one else to take over for him, what with Luke -.” Her voice trailed off, her jaw tightening in pain as it always did at the mention of her dead brother.
“Anyway,” she said after a moment, shaking herself out of the shadows of past. “I’d had enough adventuring for a while,” she said lamely. Her words, plainly lies, left a bitter, forced taste in her mouth.
“And I would imagine it got a bit hard to travel on the seas with all those pirate lords putting bounties on your head. How many of them was it, anyway? I’ve forgotten - two or three?”
“It was four, but Sao Feng is dead, so I assume my debt to him has been forgiven.”
Julia looked over at Jack, her eyes hard and shiny like glass, and when she spoke again it was with an air of resignation. She was steeling herself for the truth.
“Those things they said he did - Jack, all of those people that they say he had killed - is it all true?”
She silently pleaded with him to lie to her, but knew he wouldn’t. He thought of all the people Cutler Beckett had hung - not innocents in the technical sense of the word, but an odd mish-mash of whores, low ranking pirate members, merchants, and cabin boys. People who’d lived their lives by a different set of rules, but people who didn’t deserve the ignominious deaths they’d been handed.
He thought of Julia, pale and sad-eyed on the docks, and remembered that there was more than one way to hurt someone.
“All true.” He affirmed. Julia’s eyes fell shut, pressed close by the weight of the facts.
“I wish I could say I was surprised.”
Jack quirked an eyebrow at her. “You’re not?” Julia smiled bitterly, her eyes still closed tight.
“Surprised that Cutler Beckett wouldn’t hesitate to kill those who posed a threat, abuse the laws of the British Empire, and neatly destroy everything that was in his path, to get what he’s always wanted - total control?” She shook her head, and when she opened her eyes there was pain etched there, raw and tender.
“No, Jack. I’m not surprised at all.”
Jack reached out for her but she turned away abruptly, his fingers trailing after the lace cuff of her sleeve. “Why are you here?” She demanded, her voice flat and ragged like the edge of a knife.
He smirked. He’d wondered when they’d get to this.
“I’d thought it would’ve been obvious, darlin’. I need something…ah, procured for me.”
Julia made a soft tching sound in her throat. “Unless you are much changed since we last met, Captain Sparrow, I remember you to be a most accomplished thief.”
“Ah, true enough. But this job requires more than my own meager skill - I need a professional.”
Julia rubbed her temples and stared out at the ocean, her expression stormy. If he wanted to force her, he could. She owed him. She waited for him to bring that up, but he chose to remain silent, swaying slightly on his feet as he waited for her response.
“I’m out of practice.” She said finally. Jack beamed.
“But I would imagine that being an honest woman is grating heavily on your nerves, is it not, darling?” When she said nothing, he continued. “You can’t change people like us, Jules. It’s not in our nature.”
Her hand went absently to her throat, her fingers gripping the chain around her neck as if it were threatening to choke her to death.
“What is it you want me to…procure for you?” She asked slowly, a feeling of dread blossoming in her stomach. She had a bad feeling that she knew where this conversation was going.
“A ship.”
She waited.
“And Cutler Beckett.”
He saw her hand instinctively go to her bodice, where she kept her dagger. He waited until her impulse to stab him passed before he spoke again.
“He’s, ah, got something of mine. And I need to find it.” Julia did not turn around to look at him, her shoulders stooping as she struggled to breathe and remain upright.
“It’s…something I’ll need if I’m to get the Pearl back.”
That was as close as Jack Sparrow got to begging. Julia knew what the Pearl meant to Jack, he did not need to elaborate.
She tried to ration her spinning thoughts. Getting Jack a ship was one thing. She had her connections, she had a few people who owed her favors. Stealing a person - stealing this person, was another thing all together. Even if she could somehow disregard all the treacherous emotional baggage she was bringing to the job, it was going to be a veritable nightmare to plan.
After all, it wasn’t as though Cutler would be strolling down the street, unarmed and alone at any point on his journey. He’d constantly be surrounded by East India Trading Company personnel, his guards, that bastard Mercer…She felt a flare of resentment at the thought of his dreadful lackey. She also assumed he would be staying in his home - which she knew from past experience was a veritable fortress.
And it wasn’t as though Julia had much faith in Cutler’s benevolence if she did get caught, which she probably would. She flinched at the idea of it. He’d probably tell Mercer to kill her on the spot. Or - no, he’d probably prefer to kill her himself. Shoot her in the back, or something else that was dreadfully fraught with symbolism. He’d always had a weakness for dramatics.
She heard His voice in her mind as clearly as if he was standing behind her, whispering in her ear. Chills raced down her spine as she imagined his arrogant, intimate, drawl.
Afraid, darling?
She turned around to face Jack, her face impassive. “When do you need the ship?”
“How soon can you get it?”
“Come back tomorrow morning. I’ll see what I can do.”
Jack inclined his head gratefully. He didn’t bother asking questions. Julia had her ways.
“And the other thing?”
She flashed him a warning look. “That will take…considerably more planning.” And whatever’s left of my soul, she added silently.
Jack grinned and reached out to hug her. “Ah, Jules - you’re a star.”
She held up her hand to deter him from coming closer, and turned on her heel, her light, dancing footsteps taking her in the direction of the slums and brothels. He would’ve offered to accompany her, but knew she preferred to work alone.
“I might never forgive you for this, Jack Sparrow.” She said coolly, without looking back.
Jack watched her go, jingling the coins in his pocket absently.
“That goes double for me, love.”
--
“You called for me, my lord?”
Cutler Beckett looked up briefly from the missive he was drafting and beckoned Mercer closer. The manservant shut the cabin door behind him securely and waited for his orders.
The only clues to the death Lord Beckett had so narrowly avoided scant months earlier were the angry, slow healing wounds on his back and neck. Mercer was the only one who ever saw them, and only when they needed cleaning. Otherwise, Lord Beckett remained outwardly unchanged by his brush with fate - his brutality was now tempered with a desperation to restore his good name.
“See that these find the correct recipients, will you?” Beckett said, nodding towards the bundle of neatly tied letters at the edge of his desk.
Mercer picked them up and waited for Beckett to continue.
“Tell me of the gossip below decks.” His master said after a moment, his quill scratching softly as he wrote. Mercer pocketed the letters and clasped his hands behind his back.
“Nothing to report of much interest, sir.” What he meant was that there was nothing relevant to their situation to report. He did not tell Beckett that the precarious state of his position following the disastrous handling of the Endeavor had greatly depleted the influence that Mercer was able to wield over his sources. There were only so many ways that you could threaten to disembowel someone.
Beckett nodded, still not looking up.
“And…the other matter I asked you to look into before we left Port Royal? What of that?”
Mercer cringed inwardly. He’d been expecting this, but no matter how hard he tried he had failed to think of a way to put this positively. He opted instead for telling his master the simple truth.
“Sparrow was in Tortuga, sir, as you expected. But only briefly. Apparently he left soon after he was stranded by his crew - with intentions of sailing for England.”
The quill paused.
“And what is he looking for in England, I wonder?” Beckett mused aloud, his voice devoid of any emotion.
Mercer steeled himself for the fallout.
“He said something about finding la petite bijou, sir.”
He saw Beckett’s hand ball into a fist before he had time to control himself. He stood up abruptly, upsetting his ink well as he did so, the black ink covering his precious documents like night, like death.
Beckett made no move to clean it up. It reminded him of poison, not unlike the kind corroding his own soul. It reminded him of who he had become.
“He was telling the truth after all,” He said in a low voice, dry with humor. “She is in London.”
Mercer’s lips curled at the feminine pronoun. There could only be one to whom he referred.
“Sir, what would you have me do?”
Beckett tapped his fingers lightly against the edge of the window that overlooked the sea. He was still in the customary fine quarters he had come to expect, but apart from that he knew everything had changed.
“When we arrive in London, I would like for you to kill Jack Sparrow.”
Mercer was unsurprised by this request - in fact he’d rather been looking forward to having that meddlesome pirate at the end of his sword. Taking a deep breath, Mercer dared to ask the question that hung heavy in the air.
“And the girl, my lord?”
Beckett’s back was turned to him, so he missed his master’s eyes closing briefly over too-bright blue eyes. He looked as though he was in pain, but only for a second.
“I am certain that I shall be forced to kill her at some point, but I admit that to do so right away would not be completely satisfying to me.”
Mercer smiled at the silken, deadly tone in Beckett’s voice.
“Sir?”
Beckett smiled mercilessly.
“She always was a good chess player. I shall wait and see what her first move shall be.”