To Strike an Accord

Much to his surprise and delight, the man known as Lord Beckett literally had the heart of Davy Jones in his grasp. There it was, in the middle of his desk, enclosed in a brown sack that pumped with a muffled hearbeat. Beckett stared long and hard, brow creased as he considered eventualities. Finally, he looked up and gazed at the man who had delivered this, his most sought after posession.

James Norrington, former Commodore of Port Royal, was a shadow of his former self. Dishevelled, unshaved and foul-smelling, he was no longer the invincible servant of the Crown who had kept its outposts safe. The man had been relinquished of his position in shame and humiliation, yet still felt loyalty to the power that had banished him. It aroused a sense of endearment within Beckett.

He glanced from Norrington to the guards that had escorted him in. "Leave us" he ordered, and dismissed them with a hand.

After the guards departed, Beckett rose to his feet. Prim, proper and pristine in his meticulous uniform, wig and hat, he placed his hands behind his back and circled the desk. The heart of Davy Jones beat faintly inside the sack and, though he was reticent to restrain his exuberance, he kept a level face as he met the gaze of Norrington.

"You have become something of an enigma, Mr. Norrington. Convorting with pirates, inhabiting illegal territories and encountering Davy Jones himself" Beckett kept an even tone. "How do I know that this is not some trick from...Jack Sparrow?" Beckett grinned as he mentioned the name. Flashes of a dungeon, scalding metal, burning flesh and a young man's screams entered his mind.

"I assure you, Lord Beckett, far be it from I to be in the employ of one such as Jack Sparrow."

Beckett ran his eyes up and down Norrington's shabby form. "So you wish to reclaim your post?"

"As I have told you Lord Beckett, I have done this for one reason and one reason only: to reclaim my position at Port Royal and redeem the...errors that have resulted in my current predicament."

Beckett raised a brow. "And Elizabeth Swann?"

Norrington opened his mouth awkwardly. Beckett smirked.

"She...I...of course, as a servant of the Crown, it is my duty to return her."

"In shackles and chains, if need be?" Beckett probed him.

Norrington said nothing.

"She is a fugitive, Mr. Norrington - a stray who has thrown in with men such as Jack Sparrow and turned her back on you." Beckett met Norrington's pained gaze. "And she was due to wed young Mr. Will Turner."

"I..." Norrington paused. "My duty is to the Crown and to remove all...ALL...enemies that oppose her."

Beckett turned away from the man and smiled to himself. In that instant, he knew Norrington would be a worthy enforcer - a man driven by revenge was a man who would carry through, no matter what the cost. It was someone he would need for what lay ahead.

"You will be reinstated to your position as Commodore, Mr. Norrington, but on one condition - you are to accompany me to fulfill the Trading Companies' ultimate goal: complete and utter domination of the sea."

Both men eyed the heart in the sack. "I will use the heart to control the Master...and we will have the power of the Flying Dutchman amongst our forces. The Flying Dutchman, FTW."

Norrington nodded. "Jolly good, then"

"Smashing"

Beckett nodded. "Right then"

Norrington nodded. "Yes, quite."

Beckett moved around the table and held up a decanter. "I say...a spot of tea, old bean?"

"I would quite fancy a spot, then. A bit of crumpet too, if I may, wot" Norrington replied.

"Jolly good show then, old bean"

"Right then, old chap."

"Hup hup."

The tea was poured. The two men tapped porcelain and watched each other carefully as they sipped, narrowed eyes peeking over their respective tea cups. They were like coiled snakes; pinkies raised, thumbs and forefingers clutching handles, wigs blowing across their eyes - two predators assessing each other with mannered aplomb.

Finally, they gave into their passion and lunged for one another. Beckett embraced Norrington in his arms and the two englishmen pulled tightly against each other. Lips met and tongues intwined as they kissed, warm and wet.

"Mmm, yes, quite."

"mmm, ahhhah, jolly good, yes...jolly good."

Suddenly, the door to the office burst open. The newly entered Governor Weatherby Swann gasped in shock. "Good Lord!"

Norrington and Beckett quickly broke their kiss and pulled away. The three men exchanged glances.

"Admiral Beckett!"

"LORD Beckett!"

"Lord Beckett?"

"...Governor Swann!"

Swann's eyes widened. "Mister Norrington!"

"COMMODORE Norrington!"

"Commodore Norrington?"

"...Governor Swann!"

They pointed at each other accusingly.

"Lord Beckett!"

"Governor Swann!"

"Admiral Norrington!"

"Commodore Norrington!!!"

"Commodore Swann?"

"Admiral Weatherby...?"

"Commodore Beckett!"

"Lord Beckett!!!"

"Admiral Swann!"

"Admiral Norrington!"

"ADMIRAL NORRINGTON!"

"LORD SWANN!"

"Omg, shut the fuck up!" Beckett banged a fist on his desk. ""What is the meaning of this intrusion, Swann?!?"

The portly Governor huffed and cleared his throat. "You summoned me here, Lord Beckett."

Beckett eyed the man carefully. "Ah, yes, quite right, chap. Jolly good show then, old bean." That Swann was a slippery one. He would have to watch him carefully.

"Very well then." He opened the sack on his table and removed the still-beating heart. A grin crossed his face. "Come, gentlemen. We have a sea to conquer."