Friend Close, Enemy Closer

Disclaimer: I do not own the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise or any of its characters, nor am I making any profit by publishing this story.

A/N: So, the third story is well underway! I hope that you are intrigued enough by the summary description to read further!

It is highly recommended that you have read my stories Beckett's Debt and A Touch of Destiny before beginning this one, because there are elements tied in to the other stories. I will not reveal any massive plot points, but Beckabeth fans may enjoy this story. I won't be able to update daily, being as the chapters are all still very much in-progress. However, each chapter will be quite lengthy, so hopefully that helps out a bit. Alright, here goes:

Chapter 1: Of Cutlery and Chests…

The first hurricane that had occurred in the Caribbean since the liberation of Calypso from her human form had devastated the entire region; uprooting palm trees, flattening settlements, and washing ashore the remnants of long-forgotten shipwrecks and their rotting, paint-stripped wooden carcasses. Even the remains of the doomed Endeavour had been washed ashore, onto a small uninhabited island near the anticlimactic battle that had committed her to the depths.

Almost all of the Caribbean islands had suffered moderate to extensive damage at the hands of Hurricane Calypso – or so the remaining pirates of the brethren, in their hesitancy to leave the Caribbean, preferred to call it. It was treacherous to sail amidst the islands, being as ancient shipwrecks had surfaced in harbours and along shorelines, slicing gaping holes into the keels of docking ships. Even with these conditions, a small ship of the Royal Navy had managed to drift in close enough to an island that held interest to them. A tattered though not yet faded ensign of the East India Trading Company hung as a sort of proclamation in a dense cluster of mangled palm trees along the shoreline of this small uncharted island.

A skinny boy held up a dark rectangular object he had pulled out of the sand by a faintly sparkling handle. Nearby, a tall man bedecked in the garb of a lieutenant of the Royal Navy was carrying the tattered remains of the EITC ensign under one arm. As the sunlight glinted off the handle of the item, he couldn't help but notice the boy's curious discovery.

"Is there anything in it?" the man shouted to the boy, approaching him with long fast strides in an attempt to prevent his polished black leather knee-high boots from sinking into the wet sand.

"Maybe somethin' soft, I think," the boy said, shaking around the small ornate chest in his outstretched arms, hearing a squishy thump as whatever was inside thudded against the inside of the box. The chest was made of cold metal and was a bit slimy in his grip, so there was no way he'd be bringing it any closer to his body to listen any closer.

"Rattle it around a bit, Longfellow! But don't drop it!"

"I'm tryin', I'm tryin'!" the puny cabin boy whined, his stick-thin arms gripping the miniature chest with all the strength he could muster. Certainly Peter Longfellow, the son of a long line of high-ranking British Army officers, had made a mistake in running away from home and stowing away aboard a ship of the Royal Navy. He had become no more than a slave.

"Here, let me see that, boy," Lieutenant Thomas Morgan said as he stepped over weathered boards and sandy sinkholes, snatching the chest out of Peter's hands. The tall white-bewigged man held the small box at eye-level, immediately aware of a heart/crab shape surrounding what looked to be a keyhole consisting of two distinct slots. The remainder of the chest had elaborate tentacle designs on every rectangular concave panel, and rivets running in patterns along the strips of metal along the edges and convexities.

"Odd," he muttered, bringing the chest closer towards his face.

"What is it?" Peter asked him, crossing his pale freckled arms as he squinted into the sun to watch the lieutenant bringing his face so close to the chest. He noticed that the mass of splintered wood washed ashore from the wreck of the Endeavour made it difficult to spot the longboat they had pulled into the shallows.

"I think this is the…" Morgan had trailed off, now holding the chest to his ear. Peter refrained from watching the longboat shift with the tide, instead seeing the Lieutenant's face go pale, his expression one of sheer fright. Never had he seen the epitome of courage, manliness, and blatant disregard for danger –the square-jawed Lieutenant Morgan— show such unabashed fear.

"What's wrong, Sir; what is it?"

Morgan began to babble quietly yet unintelligibly, putting the chest to his ear once again. As the lieutenant stood frozen in amazement, the boy stood on tiptoes and placed his ear upon the chest. The blood drained from Peter's face as he lowered his trembling body onto the entirety of his feet once again. There was no denying it: therein the chest sounded the unmistakable rhythmic thumping of a beating heart. He had found the Dead Man's Chest.

Five weeks had gone by since the discovery of the Dead Man's Chest on the uninhabited island now unofficially dubbed the "Dead Man's Endeavour." If it hadn't been for the wreck of the Endeavour and its large recognizable ensign strung up so obviously in the trees, the chest would never have been found. Already the chest and its unattainable contents were on their way to England aboard the Navigator, the small ship of the Royal Navy that had drifted offshore as the discovery had been made, with the proud and handsome Lieutenant Morgan keeping the ornate chest near him at all times. With this discovery, it will not be long until I am made admiral and I can command a respectable ship, he mused.

Hurricane Calypso, having occurred during the Black Pearl's stay in Greenland, was of no past or present concern to her crew, who were now sailing due east from the Azores Islands. The Pearl had some unexpected guests at this point in her journey for the Canary Islands, including the much-maligned Cutler Beckett, who was supposed to have been traded for a hefty reward in the Azores, and Captain Jack Sparrow's daughter Joana.

Jack Sparrow was not the type of man to ask for help, or to admit to being completely out of his element. Especially not to a person he had mixed feelings about, a person who openly fraternized with the enemy. The person being, of course, Elizabeth Turner. Yet here he was, stealing away from the presence of his long-lost daughter Joana for a quick visit to see the former Miss Swann, to where she had previously disappeared below deck on the Black Pearl. Coincidentally to where the former Lord Cutler Beckett, his newly renewed old-time foe, had also disappeared.

Jack kept his usual swagger to a minimum as he descended the stairs to the gun deck of the Pearl, hoping in his silence—yet dreading— to catch Beckett doing some dastardly deed. Dread, of course, only being based on physical contact of Beckett with the other woman aboard the ship. It was highly probable that the two were fooling around, being as they hadn't even waited for the Pearl to be properly moored before running off on their own onto Pico Island, where the crew of the Pearl had planned to stock up on supplies. Even so, whatever the dastardly deed he'd find Beckett doing; it would immediately result in his ship being emptied of all trace of the former lord. Whether or not Elizabeth agreed to this action.

Once Jack had reached the gun deck, he could hear murmurings coming from the direction of the brig. He stopped where he was, grabbing the beaded dreadlocks hanging about his ears to make out what was being said.

"I was named after my mother's mother," he heard Elizabeth say, in the midst of a conversation with Cutler Beckett. "Or my maternal grandmother, you might say."

Elizabeth and Beckett were standing in the brig, having become involved in a conversation about names, being as Cutler had now implored Elizabeth to call him by the name Cutler, rather than Beckett. The former lord had hoped that his request would lead the conversation with Elizabeth in a different direction, but was prepared to participate in this inane chatter if it could possibly lead to the type of conversation he'd prefer to have with Elizabeth.

"Yes, the latter is certainly the proper description for that particular relative," Cutler replied, grinning impishly. "Mother's mother sounds like the name of a ship captained by fools—better known as pirates, of course."

"No need to be snobbish," was the reply from an exasperated Elizabeth. "Well, what about you… Cutler."

The way she had stated his name was slightly mocking, said with a joking tone rather than a nasty tone. Even so, Beckett didn't appreciate it.

"I think you just made my name sound like the most distasteful thing in the world. Thank you very much."

Elizabeth chuckled, giving him a little slap to the shoulder. Intriguing, he mused. Where will this lead?

"I didn't mean for it to come out like that, silly. But really, what is the basis for your—"

"Well, I'm rather hurt. I've never made fun of your name, you know," he said with a little pout. "Elizabeth Turner. Now, Swann: that was a rather nice surname. Graceful… just rolls off the tip of the tongue—but Turner—what is a Turner, exactly? One who Turns?"

"What's a Cutler? One who partakes in the business of cutlery?"

At hearing her definition, which was indeed a very likely description for his name, he froze in place, mouth opening ever so slightly. His ever-present arrogance regarding everything he was, everything he stood for, had never actually allowed him to make that sort of connection. It was rather depressing, and fouled his decently-jovial mood.

"I hope to God you're wrong about that. But I must admit; you are smarter than you look."

Elizabeth stuck out her tongue.

"I resent that."

"Now you know how I feel when you mock the name bestowed upon me by my parents. My poor mother, may she rest in peace."

"My poor mother and father, may they rest in peace," Elizabeth replied bitterly. With that, she had traversed on dangerous ground. And especially dangerous ground for Beckett.

He made a tsking sound, shaking his head in disapproval.

"No need to bring in the big guns, Elizabeth. I was not the one to poke fun at your given name. Just your married name to William Turner, may he rest in peace—"

"He's not dead!"

"Well, what do you call it then. He is forced to remain aboard the Dutchman for ten years shuttling between worlds, unable to traverse onto solid ground naught but once a decade. He is cursed to do so for all eternity…until someone takes his place, and then he will be in actuality totally deceased—"

"Stop it!"

"Only because you know it to be true—"

It was then that Jack heard the sound, and almost stumbled. The whole ship had probably heard the resounding slap Elizabeth had laid across Beckett's face.

Jack listened intently to hear only a very awkward silence following the sound of flesh striking flesh. He decided to wait until the pair began speaking again to barge in and pull Elizabeth aside. And attach Beckett to the anchor. Though it seemed as though Elizabeth was well on her way to doing so to Beckett on her own. At least, by the sound of that rather forceful slap.

Jack immediately reckoned that that particular slap may have even dwarfed Luiza's slaps to his own face, back in the day. Immediately he shook his head, disgusted that the thought of her had even occurred to him. Only his desperation of escaping his pursuing groups with fresh supplies caused his thoughts to wander back to that point in time. He had loved many a woman over the years, and Luiza was no more important than the others. Of course, she had been, for the time being, but, well—out of sight, out of mind. Most certainly Jack had other fatherless children out there.

"Never will I return to where I have spread my seed," he murmured aloud to himself. He then frowned.

"Bugger—wot does that leave me, then," he muttered bitterly, holding his fingers in front of him in preparation to think of literally fruitless destinations.

Cutler had shut his eyes lightly during and directly after the slap. He raised a hand to his face slowly to rub the stinging skin of his cheek.

"I don't want to ever hear you mention Will again, understand?!" Elizabeth half-shrieked at him, watching his anticlimactic response to the hard-hitting slap. Truth to tell, the palm of her hand was still stinging.

Cutler opened his eyes languidly, rubbing the struck cheek ever so slowly as he established eye contact with Elizabeth. He knew that it would surely be much easier for Elizabeth to forget her lost husband if he was never mentioned again. It would only be to his advantage to stop bringing up Elizabeth's reason for not taking things a bit further with him.

"I understand," he muttered under his breath, not even flashing her a glare of spite or arrogance to go along with his reply. He did not wish to be slapped again. Needless to say, Elizabeth was a bit startled by his immediately conceding to her wishes, but didn't want to push it any further and so let the issue fall.

There was a silence that followed. Now was the time. Jack moved forwards in the darkness of the gun deck to the ladder.

Suddenly Elizabeth changed her mind about letting things go, for she just couldn't be like Beckett in his ability to let things go. She yelled in anger, quickly barking out her thoughts on the situation.

"You can't just assume you can say anything to me now! How dare you think things have changed merely because of what happened earli—"

Upon hearing Elizabeth begin to shout rather unexpectedly, the formerly quietly traipsing Jack tumbled down the stairs to the brig in a state of shock over the loud unexpected exclamation, causing Elizabeth to stop speaking immediately.

The pirate captain landed on the floor on his back, hat knocked off to the side, his face several shades lighter than usual, in stark contrast to the kohl that lined his now widened eyes.

In his pitiful state now on the floor of the brig, Jack found Beckett and Elizabeth standing across from each other, Elizabeth's arms crossed, Beckett's hand shooting from where it had been rubbing his cheek down to his side at the sight of Jack's entering the brig. Truth to tell, a rather significant wave of relief washed over Jack at the sight of the pair standing about arm's length apart, not touching each other in any way. What had Elizabeth been going on about? He wished he had heard more of it, but much of what she had said was missed in his tumbling down the stairs. Jack rose to his feet rather woozily, snatching his hat off the floor in the process.

"Lizzie, I need to talk wiv you," Jack said to her, his expression grave and insistent, as he placed his hat upon his dreadlocked head. He gave Beckett a spiteful glare. "Elsewhere."

Elizabeth followed Jack wordlessly back up the ladder to the gun deck, then to the empty forecastle, being as the crew were all still above deck hastening the Pearl's exit from the region of the Azores. Oh, God. He knows. He's probably going to tell me to get off the ship. I don't really blame him, but I do not wish to leave. I'll just explain to him why I went ashore with Beckett. I can tell him that I went to the doctor to confirm that I'm with child. And then things can go on being as they were….

Once the pair had reached the forecastle, Jack turned and opened his mouth to speak. Elizabeth beat him to it.

"Jack—if this is about earlier—"

He narrowed his eyes, not expecting her to speak in such a way.

"Wot?" he uttered, crinkling up his nose.

The blood rushed to her face. He seemed to be caught off-guard at her insistence on explaining. Was that not what he was planning on talking to her about?

"Never mind," she murmured, feeling rather sheepish, "you go first."

"No," he replied, much to her dismay. "Wot about earlier?" His curiosity was roused at the thought of her implication of guilt in the way she had gone on the defensive almost immediately upon being alone with him. Perhaps between his tumblings down the stairs that subject was what she had been yelling at Beckett about. What had occurred between the two of them?

Sighing deeply, Joana Sparrow leaned against the gunwale on the main deck, watching the crew work their expertise on the sails and rigging of the ship. All these people around her—and yet she felt more alone than ever. Oh, the years of her life she had spent waiting for her father to return. Instead, he had returned only because he had supposed no one would think to find him there. And he hadn't even known that she was his daughter, spending all those years gallivanting all over the globe in his ship with naught but a care in the world.

The question then occurred to her as to why her father's ship had fired upon his former coworkers. Obviously Jack and his crew were not uniformed men—rather scroungy and tattered, in fact, but what were they, exactly? She frowned, pondering over the question.

"Is there somethin' wrong, Miss? 'Cause ye look t' be troubled," the friendly voice of Gibbs said to her.

The cordial older pirate was now standing beside her, leaning his brawny arms on the rail of the gunwale.

"I think I'm just lonely," she mumbled, watching the retreating form of her homeland in the horizon. "But I must ask—what kind of company is this? Surely not Royal Navy or East India Trading Company—"

"We are, in fact, pirates," Gibbs replied matter-of-factly. "Outlaws, ye might call us. Which is precisely why we had t' make a hasty retreat when all the lawmen arrived, if ye recall."

Could it be that this Jack wasn't her actual father? Panic rose in her throat. Had she voluntarily gotten herself stuck on a ship with outlaws, as well as complete strangers to boot? Her father had been a midshipman of the British Royal Navy, a clean-shaven man with wavy dark hair tied back in a neat tail at his nape, with far lighter skin than this darkly tanned, dreadlocked, kohl-eyed, bearded pirate captain. At least, the former was how her mother had drawn him on the now shreds of parchment that Joana always kept tucked safely on her person. A rather handsome man, her father had been. She just had to glance at the drawing again, to reassure herself of her father's appearance as it related to the swaggering playboy pirate captain's. Mayhap this Gibbs fellow could confirm….

Gibbs watched the girl with interest as she reached into a pocket, fumbling with some papery object she had in her hand. She unfolded it, holding it for him to see, yet not making eye contact with him for fear that she'd have been wrong all along in her assumption that this Jack Sparrow was her father. It was Beckett that had confirmed the supposed relation. It was essentially his fault that she was now on this ship…. If Captain Sparrow wasn't her father, Beckett would certainly pay….

"Ahh," she heard Gibbs utter, at the sight of the sketch. "'Tis Cap'n Jack, alright, in 'is law-abidin'youth. Looks a good bit different now, eh? Seems the more infamous he gets, the less proper gentleman he looks to be."

She closed her eyes for a split second, releasing a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. Gibbs noticed her relief.

"Didje not believe Jack t' be yer father? E'en if ye hadn't had that sketch fer ye t' confirm it with me, it's plain as day to me that he is."

"Why is that?"

"Ye've got his eyes. The colour, shape… identical. Didn' think it was possible for two people to share eyes an' still both be seein', but it is."

Joana flashed him a slight smile, but it faded as soon as it had appeared. This alarmed Gibbs.

"Wha's wrong?"

"I wait my whole life to meet my father. Now I am here, and he does not care."

"Eh, don' ye worry, Miss. He prob'ly ne'er expected this sort o' thing, an' may be feelin' a bit lost. Jus' gotta get used to it, is all."

"Where is he?"

"He traversed below deck to have a word with Mrs. Turner."

"Mrs. Turner?" The confusion in Joana's eyes was obvious.

"Elizabeth. The lady who was on land with ye, Beckett, an' Jack."

"I did not meet Mr. Turner," she replied. But she said she was with Beckett's child… obviously, because they then proceeded to kiss for a rather long time afterwards.

"That's because he's not exactly o' this world anymore."

"He's dead?" Well, maybe it does make sense that she is now with another man...

"Ehh…. Well, that be a rather long story. Best ye ask Jack how that whole rigmarole works."

Joana felt a bit irritated. So not only is Elizabeth a widow so early in life, she's with another man's child, and in addition to this, she is holding the interest of my father, thus most likely keeping me from ever knowing him very well. I think I already hate her.

"Do you have an interest in her?" Joana suddenly asked Gibbs, whose eyes went wide with surprise. He began to chuckle nervously in response.

"An' what would give ye an idea like that?"

"Well, Beckett… my father… her husband… all are. Why not everyone else?" She held her breath, waiting for the confirmation or denial of her father as being interested in Elizabeth.

"Well, that don' apply to me. True that she be well-rounded an' easy on the eyes, but I've no interest in girls young enough t' be me own daughter. I've some sort o' standard, though I be jus' as pirate as the rest o' the crew, if ye be thinkin' I've gone soft."

Joana waited a few more seconds, for Gibbs to hopefully disclaim Jack as being interested in Elizabeth. When he said no more, she felt a sorrow crash over her.

"I wish that you were my father," she blurted, her eyes looking a bit glassy, most likely with tears.

"Don' say that; ye don' mean to say things like that," Gibbs whispered back quickly, his eyes darting about nervously as he gave her a quick pat to the back. "Jack be a perfectly capable father, to be sure, but he jus' hasn't had the practice fer it."

Gibbs' own words sounded hollow and contrived to him. How could he predict the kind of father Jack would be?

"Can you fetch him for me?" Joana sputtered. "I want to talk to him."

Gibbs welcomed the chance to cease fielding Joana's questions.

"Wait right here," he replied, giving her a smile. "I'll go get 'im fer ye."

Beckett's opinion of Elizabeth was darkening with each passing second after she had left the brig with Jack. He paced back and forth in the dank room, aware that his cheek was still stinging. Who does she think she is, anyway? We kiss, she smiles at me and passes me ginger like we're in some sort of secret society, even hugs me in her revelation of pregnancy—and now she gives me a good wallop to the side of the face? No wonder bloody Will got himself technically killed—he probably realized what a mistake he had made from the moment he had married her. Elizabeth probably whacked him across the face right after the vows were exchanged. Maybe that's how she goes about things, with violence and vengeance. I must give her credit, because she does happen to be rather good at both. But there is no way I am going to take that bollocks from her. When I had gone about punishing her, as it were, I hadn't put a lot of force behind it. Yet here she is, slapping me across the face with all the strength she can muster.

Wherever we make berth next—I am leaving for good; Elizabeth be damned. Yet upon this thought, there came a sinking feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. Ugh, what the bloody hell is wrong with me?

"Was that not what you were going to talk to me about?" Elizabeth said to Jack, eyes wide in a sort of contrived innocence.

"In actuality, no, but now's a good a time as any t' divulge where ye scampered off to wiv Beckett, of all people."

"Cap'n!" an insistent voice rang out from the ladder. Jack and Elizabeth looked up to see Gibbs.

"Uh, Jack, yer daughter wants to speak with ye," Gibbs replied, in a much more hushed voice, eyes darting about tensely as he spoke.

"Tell her I'll be up in one moment," Jack replied, immediately looking back at Elizabeth, his expression changing to one of fright.

"Lizzie, before I head back up there, I need some advice. My intent for seeking you out—"

"Advice on what?" she said, eyes alit with interest.

"Me daughter… Joana. I don' know anythin' about wot I'm supposed to be doin'."

"Well, how am I supposed to know? I'm not a father—"

He put his finger up to stop her in mid-sentence.

"You, most recently of all of us, have—had— a father, an' wiv you bein' about her age, ye'd know best how I should be behavin'."

"Um, well…."

"Cap'n?!" Gibbs' voice rang out.

"Quick," Jack whispered, moving towards the ladder. "Gimme somethin'. Any sort of advice. Please, luv."

He was giving her quite the puppy dog look, and his dark brown kohl-rimmed eyes only aided in his adorable begging gaze.

"Take an interest in what she does. Ask her questions about herself. Maybe tell her about you and her mother—"

He raised a finger again.

"I'm not touchin' that last part," he muttered.

Elizabeth was a bit taken aback, but continued.

"Alright, so don't mention it. But try to stay by her side as much as you can, at least while she's settling in. The only person she has a reason to know on this ship is you. The rest of us are total strangers to her."

"Not quite, bein' as I introduced her to th—"

"You're the reason she's here, Jack."

He blinked in disbelief.

"You really think so?"

"Of course! You're her father. She wants to get to know you. You'd better get back up there before she thinks you've rejected her, or something."

Jack flashed Elizabeth a look of exasperation, as he grabbed onto the railing of the ladder.

"If I'd known about this, I'd've—"

"Shhh! Just go!"

Elizabeth felt rather good about herself upon Jack's leave. He was coming to her for advice on fathering. His desire to learn was rather endearing, but also rather scary. In a few months she would have her own child to take care of…. She would have to tell the crew soon about this new development, but maybe not until her belly was more obvious, lest she take all the attention away from Jack's poor daughter, who had essentially been an orphan for fifteen years of her life. Elizabeth felt rather sorry for the skinny girl with Jack's eyes.

Well, I hoped you liked this first chapter!!

And, ah, a preview for what is to come in the next chapter. Sorry for the shortness of it!

"This is neither the time nor place for that sort of talk," she muttered under her breath.

"Then when is the time and place for it then, may I ask," Beckett replied, with a smirk.